It’s instinct now. I suppose I’ve done it for years, but for some reason I noticed it this morning. When making something on the stove, like this morning’s coffee, I have to tilt my head down and to the left. It’s no surprise that I’m taller than the last French generation, and the hood over the stove is a good reminder.

But I don’t really think about it. My head just seems to know, and makes the adjustment. Maybe it doesn’t sound like much, but what a marvelous creation — this brain!

This brain that worked for years and years processing one language. A brain that knew the signals and prompts. That navigated the grids and grins of one culture, now being asked to learn it all again, (and bend over a little if you don’t mind.) Even in the face of tears, and fears, and the I don’t want tos and the I cants, somehow it keeps going. Marvelous! And maybe it’s the heart that tells it so. Who can be sure who’s leading. That heart that got more than knocked by a kitchen corner and still keeps beating. So pained by love, still knowing there is nothing better. The heart that only smells the coffee brewing and looks forward to the day.

I mention it, not as a reminder of the struggle, but a reminder to give thanks. To take a moment and tell this brain, this heart — thanks for getting me here. For making the adjustments when life knocks us around.

I sit at the morning table. My cup is full.