A Cross Section of Five Years
I had leftovers for dinner in the barn we’ve rented.
I mulled over a conversation with a student.
I swept the dog hair from its usual hiding spots.
I thought twice about what I’d get my family for Christmas.
I went to see a house with my financé - it wasn’t the one.
We reviewed the details of our wedding. I fell deeper in love.
I read a job description for a lucrative job with a big title. I don’t want it.
I wondered how much I could contribute to my IRA this year.
We went for a stroll in the dark.
She convinced me to stop at the Inn for a cocktail on a Monday, to celebrate.
I saw Hamilton with my students on a rainy Wednesday in Manhattan.
Between shaking cocktails and wiping the bar, I connected with strangers and old acquaintances.
I squeezed an espresso from the hand press & then another.
I hugged our dog and sang him a song. He reminds us what goodness looks like.
We hosted our friends for dinner - we met my parents for breakfast.
We celebrate the RSVPs returning to us for our day in early March.
I wonder if my zest and energy for life could be greater.
I climbed the last 73 of the 115 peaks . They parented the curtains between here and the divine.
I hadn’t noticed the date until Mom reminded me that evening. Five years have passed since the diagnosis.
Many of the details of the last five years aren’t what I expected.
I never dwelled on the mortality statistics - it would do no good, but I am not naive.
The contrast between my life and priorities before cancer and now is palpable.
The significance of living an entirely normal day is not lost on me.
