It was my 65th birthday yesterday. I am reasonably sure that
there are millions and millions of people around the world who share that same
birth date. I would as well guess that there were hundreds and hundreds of thousands of people born on that date in 1949.
So my birth and my still being alive 65 years later is a very miniscule event in
terms of world history. And so when I woke up yesterday morning I thought about those facts, realized that my birth day
was not really that important and got on with my day. The sun was shining; I
had wool to work with, some other projects that needed completing and I knew
that at some point I would probably get a call from my daughter and my son. It would
have been enough.
But my day was so
much better than that. I did get to talk to my daughter and two grand kids for
half an hour; but I also got invited out for a two hour walk through the woods at
a provincial park and my son and I talked for just over a 100 minutes later in
the day (he and I talk far less frequently than do my daughter and I and
therefore we have so much more to catch up on). I got two birthday cards the old
fashioned way - through the mail and a "pile" of best wishes via the
internet. It was a full and delightful day. It was so much more that "just
enough".
Later in the evening as I was sorting and hand teasing some
wool, I reflected on the day. In spite of my sometimes frequent complaints
about the state of the world (and in particular Canadian politics) I truly have
a blessed life. While I quietly acknowledge that fact every night before I go
to sleep, I don't do it nearly often enough out loud so that others can hear.
And I should - so I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment