Warm Fuzzies Too

The last couple of weeks have been… interesting. I’m still having trouble sitting because of my spinal problems, so I’ve applied to my insurance company for partial disability until I’m back on my feet (or, more accurately, back on my butt).

Let’s just say it’s *ahem* ironic (this is the most tactful word I can summon) that, in order to be compensated for a disability that prevents me from sitting and working at the computer, they require me to submit personal and corporate documentation that takes over forty hours of computer time to produce.

I’m reminded of the joke about corporate policy for sick days: “You may only be absent from work on medical grounds if you submit a valid death certificate signed by your doctor and witnessed by you.”

I’ll say no more, lest I tumble into a bottomless well of snark and cynicism. Instead, I’m choosing to focus on some more warm fuzzies this week. Here are some bright moments that can make us all smile whenever we remember them (or, better still, when they happen again):

  • The crisp ‘ping’ of your one perfect golf swing in an otherwise abysmal game. (Okay, that’s probably just me — most people get more than one good swing in a game.)
  • The first cold, crisp mouthful of beer (or your beverage of choice) on the Friday night after a tough week.
  • That last-minute substitution in a recipe where you didn’t have all the ingredients, and the dish turns out even better than the original.
  • After practicing for days, the first time that fast intricate passage flows from your fingers and out of your musical instrument without a mistake.
  • The once-in-a-lifetime euphoria of successfully choosing the shortest grocery store lineup.
  • The glorious synergy when you’re charging down the basketball court and your teammate throws the ball exactly where you need it to make the layup.
  • The pure satisfaction of standing in your lush veggie garden and knowing you’re surrounded by a year’s worth of delicious and nutritious food.
  • The lucky brushstroke that creates exactly the look you wanted in your painting, even though you didn’t plan it.
  • And the heart-lifting joy of spring flowers peeking out after a long winter:

What are your warm fuzzies for this week?

Book 17 update: Despite my insurance company’s appropriation of my writing time, I still managed to make it to Chapter 28. The Department is in disarray, and Aydan’s murder suspect got released before she could finish questioning him. Now she’s lost her only lead, and an(other) assassin is on the loose.

A Few Warm Fuzzies

Good news and good feelings have been pretty scarce lately. So for just a little while, I’m going to focus on some feel-good stuff. Here, in no particular order, are some memories I revisit when I want some warm fuzzies.

Disclaimer: I have the world’s shittiest memory. The feelings and experiences I report here are true. The dates and times? Your guess is as good as mine.

One glorious autumn (or maybe spring) a couple of decades ago (maybe more): My sister came to visit me in Calgary, and we decided to hike in the Alberta Rockies. At the time, there was still public access to the trail up Mount Indefatigable in Kananaskis Country. (The trail is permanently closed now to protect grizzly bear habitat.) The steep rocky path started at an elevation of about 7,250 feet and went all the way up to the 8,750 foot summit, but our goal was the midpoint around 8,000 feet. We panted up there and collapsed on the bench only a few feet from the edge of a cliff, overlooking a sheer drop to Upper Kananaskis Lake nearly 1,000 feet below. The sky was flawless blue, and the sparkling lake mirrored it. The breeze gently lifted our hair and sang the soft eternal song of wind through conifers, and the clean scent of spruce and jackpine surrounded us. As we watched, a cloud drifted below us, then dissipated. I’ll never forget that moment of peace, awe, and sheer happiness.

Spring 2017: Hubby and I had just moved to Vancouver Island, and we were renting a creaky little place on the beach while our house was under construction. One night an extra-low tide was predicted, and I couldn’t resist. The sky was clear and the moon was full when I slipped out onto the beach and followed the sound of surf rolling up on the rocky shore. The moon struck bright silver off the crest of every ripple, and the fresh briny air was intoxicating. I stood for a very long time in the coolness and solitude, just listening to the heartbeat of the earth.

Spring 2020: Our irrigation pond had been in place for a year, and every night the chorus of frog-song was so loud that we could even hear it indoors. One crisp black-velvet night I stepped out onto the porch to listen for a while, then gave in to the temptation. Grabbing a flashlight, I sneaked out to the pond. Footstep by cautious footstep, I crept closer, triangulating the location of the loudest croaking. A quick flick of the flashlight, and there he was: A leopard frog with his translucent throat inflated, singing his little heart out. He seemed transfixed by the light, and I watched him for long seconds before he went silent and ducked under a branch. By the time I got back to the house the chorus was back to full volume, and I spent the evening wearing a smile.

Care to share some of your own ‘warm fuzzy’ moments?

Book 17 update: I’m on Chapter 23, and Aydan just got caught sneaking out of her Director’s house in the middle of the night. This doesn’t look good…