this blog brought to you by the letter F

First of all, I'm delighted to report that in spite of my fear that my newfound sense of feeling better would be fleeting, I am still feeling well. It's been a week, now. It's still sort of a shock. May I never again take for granted the joy of being able to think clearly! Being able to focus on a task and follow it from start to finish is fabulous. If it weren't for the lingering fear that it won't last, I'd be positively giddy.

Before you think that all the words beginning with F in the last paragraph is what inspired the title to this blog, I'm going to share the F litany that's been running through my head when I contemplate things I'm thankful for.

FEET: One of my quirky depression symptoms is sore feet. They just ache. It's part and parcel of the I-don't-want-to-go-anywhere-or-do-anything angst thing, I guess. But I've been forcing myself out for an hour of seriously sweaty exercise on the seawall several times a week and it's paid off. Also, if you've been reading this blog at all lately, you'll know that tango has played a not insignificant role in my battle against depression. I am deeply thankful for my sturdy size ten feet and all they enable me to do. My feet were sore today, but only because yesterday I ran four kilometers, did an hour-long tango technique class and then danced for two and a half hours at a community milonga. I love my feet.

FRIENDS and FOOD: I have been richly blessed with friends who feed me. If it hadn't been for the left-overs and specially prepared food that my friends have shared with me over these last months, I'd have wasted away. Just yesterday a friend had me over for lunch and then sent me home with soup enough for at least twelve meals, a bin of organic salad greens, kale, camembert, cheddar, apples, crackers, chai spices, tomatoes, carrots, a cucumber, cashews, grapes, and a brand new frying pan, just because. She's a hero. It's so good to be so loved.

FAMILY: My parents live approximately well over five-thousand kilometres away from me. Still, we look out for each other. We call just to chat and to say things like, "Wouldn't it be lovely if we take a coffee break together?" or "We have a delicious pork roast in the oven. Wish you could join us!" My dad was away, curling, last weekend, so I called my mom every day, sometimes twice, to keep her company. That, in turn, kept me company. The big news is that for the second time since I moved to Vancouver in 1990, this year, my parents are coming for Christmas. I think of it every day.