It's Friday and it's been snowing for two days straight. NYC schools are closed for the second time in a month (and only the fourth time in six years). Benedicta headed down to the Financial District an hour ago to work a 9-hour day at the Reading Room as the librarians from New Jersey and Long Island can't get their cars plowed out. And I'm relishing the smell of granola baking in the oven, the hum of snow blowers on 25th Street and the sight of icicles growing on the window frame.
Today is the first day this week my head doesn't feel like it's weighted down with soggy, salty newspaper stuffed inside and I'm not plastering vaseline on my outer nostrils to keep them from chafing when I blow my nose. I'm sitting upright while my peppermint tea brews. I've just made the bed with all the proper tucks and turns. The one task I've wanted to accomplish all week - that batch of granola in the oven - is nearly complete. Hallelujah!
As I've puttered this morning, attending to my tea and sitting down to write, I've enjoyed each task with the freshness that recovery brings. Remembering that with health, life swirls on with ease just as the snowflakes softly spin to a gentle landing. With health, free from the the push-back of unwilling and unable limbs, simple acts like washing the dishes and taking a shower are no longer overwhelming. On this day of recovery, they are done with joy. The joy of finding life livable, of tackling the mundane without effort, of feeling good.
Thanks to the snow I'm keeping it in low-gear today. I'm not jumping back to my to-do list and running over to Lord & Taylor to look for black pants on the clearance rack. I'm not easing back into normalcy by slipping on my snow boots and trudging over to Chelsea Cinemas to catch a matinee. I'm not going over to UPS to make photocopies of my tax return. I'm staying put. I'm sitting in my favorite chair watching snowflakes swirl. I'm simply enjoying the simple joy of every flake.
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