There was enough food and enough clothing and enough room in our home when I was growing up, but only just enough. We always planned ahead. Grandma’s Sunday roast beef became sauerbraten on Wednesday and hash by the end of the week. But one summer day, standing on a bridge overlooking the Jacks Fork River, Mom and I lived for the moment, emptying a just-bought quart of buttermilk in great, glorious gulps straight from the carton, relishing the tangy taste and the sun’s flashing reflection on rippling water and simply being alive in that moment with no concern for tomorrow.
Laura Jacoby is a freelance editor in San Francisco who writes for pleasure and pain. Visit Laura at www.jacobylm.net.