Everything counts

1-2-3-4-5,
6-7-8-9-10.

Today my dear father-in-law underwent surgery, the amputation of a pinkie toe, one of his balancers, due to a diabetes-related foot ulcer and a bone infection.

Start with 10, take away 1 and what's the remainder? Gratitude that it wasn't far worse. Flocking flustered family, self-medicating with hospital cafeteria tater tots and parenting shop-talk. Black humor. Physical therapy and patience. A good wife's assurance that, yes, she can indeed love a 9-toed man.


1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12.

Today I met a man who overcame some powerful addictions and turned away from a self-destructive and dis-eased way of living, and in time gave himself over to healing and faith. "12's my favorite number," he said; he was married on 12/12/12 at 12:00. He's a 12-step Jedi master. I liked him the first moment our eyes met.


1-2-

Today the paperwhites Rob planted for me in a shallow dish finally popped open in tandem with blooms. Talk about heady! Their perfume is potent, but Rob can't smell the fragrance permeating the rooms of our house. Odd; it nearly knocks me over. The wonderful things!

When Rob stopped at our favorite greenhouse for a poinsettia at the end of November, they were giving away warty blue Hubbards and selling loose bulbs for not much. Rob brought home a large squash and 3 nice big flower bulbs to force, and left them on the kitchen counter. In my fatigue I mistook them for onions and sliced 1 in half, then immediately recognized my moment of stupidity. Every time I look at the survivors I think of the 1 that almost ended up in stir-fry, but the 2 paperwhites which are left are lovely, and good enough, standing there quietly, remembering their fallen member.

Do they feel phantom flower pain? If they do it hasn't hindered them from listening to that inner voice which tells them to create beauty.