I'm not a good patient. I don't do rest and recover well at all. I was gathering up laundry, eyeing the vacuum, rearranging bookcases, bending over and cleaning out the litter box and otherwise giving my son fits. He'd arranged to work at home 'just in case'.
I'm sure he felt like he was keeping after a three year old, with 'don't do that' and 'I'll take care of that' echoing up and down the hallway. He did give in and allow me to go to the grocery store with him. I pointed, he secured the item and carted it, lugged the heavy bags and stuffed the goodies onto shelves and into the fridge.
I wielded the debit card and tried to look perky. Fact of the matter is: that little excursion wore me out.
So, in the midst of all this feeling sorry for myself, the UPS guy showed up, not once but twice last week. Bearing gifts. The first was from a florist: a beautiful, heavyweight squarish glass vase with tulips and irises poised on the cusp of blooming. Spring had arrived, compliments of a dear friend, Sessha Batto.
The kindness, the thoughtfulness of a friend, turned my world around, brightened my day and reminded me that sharing love overcomes everything.