Happy Happy To Be Alive Day!

A year ago today, Professor Taco and I were in a catastrophic car crash. We spun out on some black ice, headed into oncoming traffic, headed back into our own lane, but pointed backward, hit the guardrail, were flung into the air and rolled several times before the car finally came to a rest on its back in the snow. Catastrophic. The car was a write-off.

Except that not so catastrophic, because the professor and I? Alive. Very much so. And mostly unhurt. And as Valentine’s Day and its stupid overpriced roses and less-than-premium chocolate and impossible-to-get restaurant reservations approached this year I said, hey, let’s screw Valentine’s Day forever, and instead celebrate Happy to Be Alive Day.

And so we will. Taco will be home from work soon, and then we’ll figure out where we’d really like to eat supper (last year, we ate at Chuggles in Antigonish while we waited for Johnny Parker to come get us…bar steaks, fries, cheesecake and several Bloody Caesars since, hey, it’s not like we’d be driving home or anything). I’ll give him his presents (a few guitar gizmos; he already gave me mine, a shiny new waffle iron), we’ll gaze at each other across the table and laugh and laugh at how alive we are.

And it doesn’t matter tonight what I eat or don’t eat, what I drink or don’t drink. Because it’s all fuel for this glorious body which, despite being rather overweight, can dance, walk, kickbox, hug, swim, cook, clean the house, hold my nieces and thrill my fiancé. Sometimes I fight with my body, it’s true. Sometimes I think, knees, why are you so doughy? But I never, ever think things would be better if I didn’t have this body. As long as I’m in it, I’m alive, and that is a-ok by me.

So here’s to steak and cheesecake and vodka, and here’s to hitting the gym tomorrow and making this body sweat, and here’s to all of that making me feel so alive.