A Pie and Pigs Fly

I believe in the power of positive thinking and truly writing your own story.  What follows here is a silly example but it's still one in which I thought about something and how I wanted it to turn out and then made it happen.  Wrote the story so to speak.  

A couple weeks before I went on my spring trip to Arizona, I had this feeling of wanting to bake a pie with my mom, door open to the backyard letting the breeze float in. 

It happened.  The pie started in the afternoon with the crust making while the sun was still out and ended after enjoying a delicious meal outside made by Dad-o.  

After the crust went into the fridge that afternoon, I went on a bike ride with both of my parents at the same time for the first time ever in my thirty years of existence.  When you grow up on a farm in North Dakota, summer is for working.  There are a great deal of when pigs fly moments that seem to happen when in that desert air.  If you would have told my eleven year old self that one day I'd be riding bike down a street in an Arizona city with my mom next to me and my dad ahead of us taking the lead, I would have gave you a look.  A look and then a when pigs fly.  

Never count things out I guess.  

My parents left after the sun disappeared to get Sister Pister from the airport and I finished the pie with my ugliest lattice work to date while music joined the breeze floating.  The pie went in the oven and I finished my glass of white by the fire.  I could live by a fire all the time, these constant cold bones of mine love being roasted.    

Sometimes things just feel really right.  All is aligned and you just can't help but give a thank you kiss to the sky.  Give a thank you to when pigs fly.