Kansas Snapshots by Gloria Freeland - November 29, 2024

Small blessings

I cradle the cup of coffee in my hands, enjoying its warmth and the steam rising from its surface as it meets my lips. Minnie, our gray-and-white cat, lies on the carpet near the deck doors, the sunlight and shadows alternately striking her fur. Husband Art, in his usual sprawled-out position on the couch, reads me snippets from stories he finds on the internet. I look around at the photo displays of family and friends and my Thanksgiving centerpiece of mementos from days long gone by. I am grateful.

The past two weeks have been a time of physical healing for me, and it's caused me to slow down and take note of things around me. I've always appreciated simple things, but there's something about being forced to slow down - in my case, from recent surgery - that enhances these feelings of gratitude.

My daily routine begins with awakening somewhere between 7-9:30 a.m. and fixing coffee for myself and Art, who is always up before I am. He shares the latest news and lets me know if he has heard from family or friends via email or text messages.

I then settle onto the couch and open "Duolingo" - a language application I have on my smartphone. I've been practicing French, German, and even a little Welsh for more than 1,700 consecutive days, something I began as the pandemic started, now nearly five years ago. It has almost become an obsession, but I like being able to learn bits and pieces of other languages in just 10-15 minutes each day. Quite different from the days when I had to go to a language lab to listen to tapes!

When 10:30 a.m. rolls around, I start thinking about "brunch" - what I might want to prepare or what I want Art to make. The past few days have included pancakes, French toast, cornbread with butter and honey, scrambled eggs, and fried eggs, bacon and toast.

About 1 p.m., Art goes off to work, leaving me to entertain myself until about 8 or 9 at night. I never lack for things to do, but during this time of healing, I have taken advantage of what I call "delicious" afternoon naps with Minnie serving as a leg warmer. I usually read a bit before heading off to slumberland.

I recently finished "The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating," a book borrowed from friend Jo.

The title seems odd and even a bit boring, but author Elizabeth Tova Bailey beautifully describes her relationship with a woodland snail while an autoimmune disease kept her bedridden. At age 34 on a trip to Europe, Bailey was exposed to a virus that resulted in severe fatigue and physical weakness. A friend brought her a snail native to her Maine home and put it in a terrarium filled "with fresh native plants from the snail's own woods: goldthread - aptly named for its colorful roots - holding its trio of delicate, paw-shaped leaves high on a thin stem; partridgeberry, with its round, dark green leaves and its small, bright red berries ...; the waxy-leaved of checkerberry; many kinds of moss; ... a rotting birch log; and a piece of old bark encrusted with multicolored lichen."

Bailey's connection to the snail gave her a focus that helped with her illness:

... Half the fun of having the snail as a companion was that it kept finding new sleeping places. So there was an ongoing game of hide-and-seek in the terrarium. It would blend so well into the woodland plants that I'd have to sleuth out its latest hiding spot.

... Though holding and reading a book for any length of time involved levels of strength and concentration that were beyond me, watching the snail was completely relaxing. I observed without thinking, looking into the terrarium simply to feel connected to another creature; another life was being lived just a few inches away. ...

Her words resonated, for I was paralyzed from an autoimmune disease for a few months in 1997. Like Bailey, I came to appreciate my ability to do simple tasks, such as brush my teeth or walk from the bedroom to the living room.

I feel my strength returning after this recent surgery, but my doctor suggested I take it easy for a few weeks, which I am doing. "Puttering" - going from one task to another with no particular goal in mind - is one of my favorite things - watering my plants, arranging tableaus on our dining room table and hutch, organizing my new "office," deciding what to fix for supper, or taking a short walk on a beautiful November afternoon. Messages from family members and friends keep me connected to the world "out there."

As Bailey recovered, she noticed her ability to share life with her slow-moving companion began to wane. She eventually returned the snail to its woodland home.

The same will almost certainly happen to me. I'll soon begin accepting the invitations life offers and will lose some of that ability to notice those small blessings all about me. But while I can, I'll enjoy this different life - and be grateful for it.