I don’t know what to say about today. Things happened. Now I’m ready to go to bed. Blah.

Okay, I’ll try again.

This morning I got up early to ride with my dad and aunt halfway to Oklahoma City, where we dropped my aunt off with my aunt’s son (my cousin) and two of her three grandchildren. (She’s spending the holidays with them.) On the way there, I read a book; on the way back, I visited with my dad. When we got back to town, we ran a couple errands.

Since then, I’ve been at home organizing paperwork, doing laundry, and worrying about my health. Also, I’ve been working on a puzzle off and on. It’s slow going. Everything right now feels like it’s slow going. Slow going and overwhelming. One minute I feel like I can do this, the next minute I feel like I can’t. Earlier I went outside and looked at the stars. It’s been weeks since I’ve star-gazed, and I still don’t have a handle on the winter sky. The Northern Cross, which was overhead all last summer (and every summer), now dips below the western horizon well before midnight. Even this sent a streak of panic through me. I thought, Wait! Come back. I liked you.

This evening a friend came by to give me a Christmas present–a thousand piece puzzle that promises to be one of the most challenging things I’ve ever done–because it’s basically a mix of solid colors, and (get this shit) the colors change whenever you look at them from a different angle. I hope that makes sense. (Here’s a link to a similar puzzle if it doesn’t.) Anyway, my friend said, “When you’re working on it and get frustrated, just remember–I really do you like you.” Hum, I feel like there’s a lesson here. Recently someone said, “Consider the idea that you’re loved.” Like, by God, the universe, or life itself. So I’ve been trying to do this, to remember that just because I’m frustrated now, doesn’t mean the world is out to get me. Indeed, years from now I could look back on my current challenges and think, Absolutely necessary.

My puzzle friend, who’s had their fair-share of injuries and surgeries, suggested that I be as patient as possible with my body. “It may take longer than you want it to,” they said, “but one day you’ll wake up and think, This is what I used to feel like.” In the meantime, they suggested I be thankful for my body–because it’s doing the best it can. Even now, they reminded me, the muscles in both my legs are working hard to compensate for the damage we’ve sustained.

This is something I intend to do, to recognize where my body is knocking it out of the park. Because when I think about my injured knee, I think, Wait! Come back. I liked you. And yet in thirty-eight years, I’ve never told it, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me walk. Thank you for letting me dance.” Along these lines, I’m considering the idea that I’m loved not just by something “out there,” but by my own body, something “right here, right now.” That is, I have a body that serves me the best it can every day. Granted, it doesn’t always do what I want it to, but I don’t always do what it wants me to either. So good that we have this time to slow down. Maybe now we can learn to get along, learn to listen to and appreciate each other.

Okay, we’ll try again.