Sometimes people get gifts they don’t want, so they just give them to someone else. Christmas is a great excuse for this practice of “re-gifting.”
That happened to me today.
I woke to a rainy, misty day on the mountain. I got up because my back was aching to move.
I was very slow, still a little stiff all over from yesterday, my first day of weight-lifting since mid-November.
I made some plain oatmeal for breakfast. My stomach was rebelling about the sudden influx of candy the night before, since it’s rare for me to eat sugar of any kind.
Tom and I lounged and chatted over coffee. We read. I kept interrupting him with questions from my statistics book, then had to stop studying because my head couldn’t take it.
Tom had planned to hike, and I thought I might take a walk, but it has been pouring all day.
We ate Christmas Eve leftovers for lunch, and suffered consequences: two of the side dishes contained wheat flour, which we haven’t eaten in several years. Though a small amount would be OK, the cumulative effect of two meals was severe.
We will eventually get around to watching a movie, but that will be about it for the day.
We had no Christmas tree and there were no gifts under it.
Does this sound like a terrible, dreary Christmas? Or maybe just a very boring Christmas?
Not for me. Today is extraordinary and every moment of it has been a miracle. I’m smiling as I write this blog post.
I can walk, talk, cook, eat, read, write, learn, solve problems.
I’m safe and warm and dry and have plenty of food.
I’m basically very healthy, I have decent health insurance and got excellent medical care.
I have a job with colleagues whom I treasure, just waiting for my return.
I have wonderful family, friends, and most of all Tom, who helped me through these last six weeks.
I have many months of recovery ahead that will no doubt teach me even more lessons – perhaps even patience.
I remember more than a few depressed holidays that I had when I was much younger. I had a lot more going for me physically than I do today. And back then I had a lot more years ahead of me, which I often felt that I didn’t want.
Everywhere in the world, today and every day, there are people who don’t want whatever life they’ve been given. And, one way or another, they throw it away.
I almost did, long ago.
But on Nov. 15, 2015, I really wanted to live. I did not want to die on the kitchen floor. And, by whatever powers decide these things, I am alive.
Thank you for the re-gift, universe.
Today’s penny is a 2015. This blog started on the day I turned 56, and I am still celebrating.