The Big Pinata

 I've had this discussion often with my friend Lev, also my storytelling mentor.  He's a legend in the art, known for over 30 years as Grandbear.  Lev has had Parkinson's for several years and as he told me, he could feel himself "being pulled slowly into the dark" but he's noticed, as I have, that when a true crisis hits your life, a shower of little blessings falls around you.

I've been too supersitious to officially write a thank you note to cancer for giving me early retirement, relative financial ease (after making the out-of pocket maximum my insurance actually did pay out for everything with my critical illness claim and short and long-term claims) and support.  I never dreamed of the kind of support you get from palliative care, but that says nothing of the kind my friends have shown, like JD, who stayed with us for a month after my surgery and talked me off every proverbial ledge, and who has always been in touch since and Kimmy, who has called me EVERY DAY to just yack and BE THERE, which is thee most important way to show up, by the way, to literally just show up), my neighbor, Deb, who's been amazing company and support, and most of all Jim, my Emotional Support Viking, who's support is -*ahem* none of your damned business.  I'm leaning on all my flying buttresses of support like a billion-ton mideaval cathedral.  Also, when it comes to a just barely finished raggedy little novella, I've got ridiculous support behind that, too.  And all of this support is given casually, warmly, with shrugs and I love yous.

When the universe breaks The Big Pinata over your head, the little gifts shower around you like reduced-price candy, but treat each crackly little treasure as a gem wrapped in cellophane; each is precious, even if packaged as common.