It’s a December day when getting out of your pajamas, taking a shower, and deciding which pants and sweater are right for the weather makes no sense. 

It’s a December day when still cloaked in your flannel pajamas you linger over a hot cup of coffee and peruse your old Christmas decorating and recipe idea books.

It’s a December day when your Spouse’s hair is uncombed and wild tamed only by an old baseball cap, and he’s wearing his last pair of 501 jeans and an old long sleeved t-shirt covered with a pale green fleece vest. You don’t mind him in these jeans because after you made him look at the back end of men his age still in their 501 jeans, he went, “ewwww” too. Saggy at the butt jeans is not a good look. 

It’s a December day when crawling back under the blankets in your soft and still unmade bed and opening a novel to read is just what the doctor ordered. After all, you’re just 48 hours out from a hard-line chemo infusion. Sometimes you have to let the chemo do its work—and it doesn’t always let you feel top shelf.

It’s a December day for a nap with your Siamese cat at your side. The cat generates enough heat to make you both purr and tumble into dreamland even though the sun shines through the window.

It’s a December day to explore what’s leftover in the fridge. Last Monday’s homemade chicken soup pairs nicely for an evening meal by the television and an old movie blaring on the screen. 

For all of this, I am grateful.