Little Z helped me with the chickens and the turkeys tonight. The young chickens are just starting to lay their first eggs. I snuck into the henhouse and moved all the eggs from the upper nests down into the lower ones. Then she found all of the eggs by herself. Walking back to the house, she was carrying a white turkey feather in one hand and the basket of unusually small eggs in the other. It was foggy and just becoming really dark, and our bats were coming out. She was counting them,
"I see two bats!... I see three bats! ... I see four bats, now!"
It's sort of something I don't want to say. People don't admit this a lot. But it's times like this that my life is some sort of magical lucid dream. I'm, you know, happy.
I had this horrible car accident when I was maybe nineteen, and right after it I truly, honestly wondered if I had survived, or if this was the afterlife. I had trouble relating to people for six months or so. Then I successfully blended back into the day to day worries that people have. I was heartbroken, listless, depressed, I worried about money, etc. I was back in the swing of things.
And then now and then I have these moments. Where I realize. That this is a all a gift. Everyone who saw that car when I was nineteen said, "You should be dead." But truly, everyone lives on borrowed time. I'm not unique. What's amazing is that we're alive at all. Grandma Ruth told me,
"Every day is a gift from god. That's why they call it the present."
I have her on a recording saying that. It's not original, she's the first to admit.
I was mostly worried and stressed all day today, and then that little girl of mine holding a feather and eggs and counting bats just brought me out of myself, and I can't get back into my worries. Tomorrow is the first day of school with students, and I'm not quite where I want to be. But.
It's just going to work out.