Rebirthday

Monday was my rebirthday. It was also my 61st birthday. I'd decided in advance to designate it my rebirthday—it seemed like a good idea since I'm still returning from a flirtation with death. I'd establish a milestone add structure to my recovery. I didn't restrain myself from telling friends and family who came by yesterday that it was my rebirthday. At the same time, I tried not to have preconceptions of what a rebirthday might be like, just to stay open to possibilities.

The day came and went and it was wonderful.

Yet while reflecting on how what I might present it here the following day, I almost missed the point, the wonder of it all. I didn't feel as good as I would have liked. I guess I imagined that after my rebirthday, my regular energy, or better yet, some wonderful new energy, would return - and it didn't. In fact, I was tired all day - which, of course, colored my perception of the previous day.

My plan for this reflection was immersed in stories of what didn't happen on my rebirthday: if only the dinner guests at dinner had gathered in the garden first, if only this or that, I can't even remember what now, had happened, the day would have perfect. I even spent some time trying to figure out how I could share some very personal details in an impersonal way.

Fortunately, by the time I sat down to write, I realized what I'd lost sight of.

Here's what my rebirthday was really like.

I woke up early and went to see how the compass garden the boys made and planted the previous afternoon was doing.

It was flourishing!

Liam came out with me and picked the first ripe tomato. (Well, it wasn't quite that magical. The tomato plants had already been in the garden for a month or so.) The tomato joined some others as part of the huevos rancheros Tom made for breakfast.

I spent most of the day in the garden. Friends came to visit. The new flowers, lobelia, echinacea, yarrow, coreopsis, autumn sage, gazania, gloriosa daisies and petunias, free of their constricting pots, opened outward in the perfect sunshine. The breeze played the wind chimes. The dog worked on her bone in the shade of the redwood.

At lunch my daughter and son-in-law and the three boys joined Tom and me for lunch at the Wild Donkey Cafe. It lived up to its excellent reputation.

I spent the early afternoon back in the garden, reading my new book, napping a little, and watching the boys rehearse for their show at dinnertime.

At about four, Elisa and the boys and I went for a delicious walk through Leaning Pine Arboretum.

And when we came home, more family joined us for the boys' show and the extraordinary meal Tom had prepared: puff pastry filled with seafood in a cream sauce, cucumber salad, and a peach mousse cake.

How could I ever imagine anything was lacking in a day like that? I could I ever imagine anything is lacking at all?

"Want or poverty is not in the system of the universe or the normal elements of nature. It is a deviation from the natural norm." - Ganesh Baba