I’m sitting here with a steaming bowl of pasta, patiently, quietly waiting for it to cool down long enough to eat it.

During this time I say a little prayer–Grace they call it. But I am interrupted. It’s the pasta. I notice a fly on it. I shoo it away.

I will still eat the pasta. But I will have to keep my eyes open as I give thanks. But then I realize I’ve had my eyes open all along.