There are crumbs on the table and dust bunnies on the floor and there’s something sticky on the back corner of that one shelf in the fridge that I’m afraid to investigate.
I’m tired and I’m getting a cold and my desk is a mess and the laundry’s piling up and it’s rainy and disgusting outside.
I am profoundly grateful for all of it. This life, my life, is sweeter and more blessed than I deserve. Every year I dread my birthday—vestiges of ghosts long since past—and every year it arrives and I look around and realize, “Life is good and I am lucky.”
Because it is, and I am. Even if this IS the last birthday I’m planning to have. Ahem. (39 is the new black, or something, right? Right.)
And if for some reason I didn’t realize my good fortune, magical forces are hard at work to remind me. (more…)