The washing machine broke, then my cat threw up. It was one of those days. But did it have to be? I didn't want to plow along on this battered trajectory, halted by each new tiny disaster that riddled a potentially ripe day to shit. I mean, cats throw up. Occasional hairballs come with the territory. And washing machines, just like any other important piece of machinery that maintains daily life, break. Nothing that couldn't be remedied with the swipe of a paper towel and a call to the repair people. And what a blessing that was. I could choose to feel decent, I daresay--happy, even in a day sprinkled with hiccups and clean-ups and fix-its. Face the flood, toss my sopping, un-spun laundry in the dryer and congratulate my cat on his incredible ability to self-clean and upchuck the buildup as required. With lighthearted humor about life's roll-out, taking things in stride and not over-dramatizing . . . gawd I wish I handled things that way, more often. But today was one of those days, where I did.