We were almost home after a long drive from visiting our grandkids when we spotted the sign in a restaurant window: Free Beer Tomorrow

“Awww . . . too bad it’s not tomor—“

My husband’s look brought me up to speed.

“Of course, I get it!”

Let’s be clear: I’m not a big beer drinker. But I still remember the one I shared many years ago with my then 80-year-old mom—one spunky lady.

We stopped at a peach stand in Georgia while road tripping to Florida where my sister lived. Mom had packed 2 cans in newspaper to keep them cold, and after 300 miles they felt as if they had just come out of the frig. We laughed at what we looked like sitting on a parking lot curb with a peach in one hand and an Old Milwaukee in the other. We certainly got a few stares.

Contrary to what I might have led to you believe, beer is not the topic of this post.

Tomorrow is.

Tomorrow. The day we’re waiting for when life is, well . . .  different. Happier. Easier. Perhaps now that school has started your “tomorrow” is here. Now I’ll get organized. I’ll eat better. I’ll read more. Really. I will. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow . . .

But tomorrow comes and we find ourselves waiting for the next tomorrow, and the next and the next. And if we can hang on, we’ll finally get there, like the “Free Parking” space in Monopoly—the jackpot filled with perks we’ve been eyeing the whole game. As kids we always loaded that space with tax and penalty money. Each turn brought you a little bit closer to the bounty. Maybe this time. Nope. Maybe next. Nope. Maybe the next, or the next, and around and around the board we went.

You get the idea.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

sunset sun horizon priroda

Tomorrow I’ll call that friend or meet my new neighbor. Tomorrow I’ll read that book. Tomorrow I’ll look at my phone less and my child’s eyes more. Tomorrow I won’t be so impatient. Tomorrow I’ll get my act together.

Tomorrow life will be . . . better.

You’re only a day away.

When the sign disappeared from my side-view mirror I looked over at my husband.

automotive cars expressway guardrail

“Hey, let’s pull over and . . . I don’t know . . . have a beer.”

“What!?!” He nearly ran off the road. Who was this woman sitting next to him?

“Okay—an ice-cream, then.”

“Now? But we’re almost home!” (He’s the practical one.)

“So? Who knows about tomorrow?”

Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow.

Author and poet, Mary Jean Irion, from her essay, “Let Me Hold You While I May.”

Here are a few books to enjoy with your child today about tomorrow:




Sometimes tomorrow’s too late to do what should be done today.


We all know what taking a first jump feels like! A sweet story to celebrate those first brave undertakings. There’s nothing like today to step out into something new!

And for when today is ending, and tomorrow is soon to come .  .  . 

And for all the reasons we read . . . 

two persons holding drinking glasses filled with beer

Here’s to you. . .

for all the stories you read to help those little shoots of yours grow into their tomorrows.


Oh . . . one more thing! Check out this easy-peasy TOMORROW SALAD! and make it TODAY!

8 thoughts on “TOMORROW, TOMORROW, I LOVE YA . . .

  1. Barb says:

    Thanks, Karen–I will be singing that song in my head all day now! But that’s all good, because it will keep reminding me of the powerful message of this entertaining AND profound blog post. Cheers to today!


  2. Lindsey says:

    This was a great reminder! It makes me think, too, of all the times I hope that next week is just a “normal” week! Nope! Not normal (or the same every week) is “normal”! I’m learning to live and enjoy whatever that looks like for this week! Stopping for ice cream is always a good decision.


  3. Sheryl McDowell says:

    Thanks for the reminder to appreciate and be grateful for the NOW. That seems o be a theme when I talk with people. I hope you and Randy enjoyed the ice cream!


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