It’s a luxury to cry, when you’re socialized to be a tough guy.
It’s a luxury to drive a car, when old age reaction time slows too far.
It’s a luxury to touch your toes at 77, when in my 20s, I could not leaven.
It’s a luxury to no longer own a home, no responsibility for maintenance groan.
It’s a luxury to create flower gardens around my apartment, a large rain barrel now included in the rent.
It’s a luxury not to use plastic – maybe like choosing to nurse your baby, tacit.
It’s a luxury to bicycle Black Diamond Trail through trees, several waterfalls sending a breeze.
It’s a luxury to dance swing, cha-cha, hustle, Argentine tango, and waltz, when trusting my body to live music – schmaltz.
It’s a luxury to cherish my two amazing daughters, never a love I would alter.
It’s a luxury to remember an extraordinary nurturing father (dad), for whom tears flow often four decades later.
It’s a luxury to be healthy, more than to be wealthy – to clutch knees to my chest as I sit in the kitchen table chair, husband Dave stating an admiring declare.
- It’s a luxury to live in Ithaca, New York where there are no tornadoes, flooding, or wildfires…yet to know that much of America is truly suffering from climate change…the suffering of Mother Earth and Father Sky!