I went to the retinal specialist in Albany to check on them e serious swelling in my eyes near the retina a few years ago, something that can happen with diabetes, a disease that can show up anywhere and can cause blindness if not treated. It almost blinded me.

I’ve had several different kinds of treatment, including special drops and three laser surgeries. I hadn’t seen Dr. Falk in seven or eight months; we each had to cancel a couple of appointments.

I got into a conversation with a tech named Nicky, who told me about her son, an autistic child who was seven. I liked her very much. She was young, intelligent, empathic, and full of love for her son.

She spoke of how much she loved him and how challenging it was to care for him. She works seven days a week to pay for his medicines and doctor’s visits. On weekends, she works as a tech in a pharmacy.

She has had to call the police three times to deal with anti-vaccine fanatics who yell at her and threaten her, and tell her that the vaccines contain microchips so that the government can get into their brains.

Several of them threatened to kill her.

We shook our heads at the craziness Facebook and some cretinous politicians can cause.

I took off the two Amish bracelets I wore and told her to give them to her son.

As I left, I almost hugged her and then remembered that that was not a proper thing to do. So I shook her hand; it felt just as good to me.”

“I can’t thank you enough for these bracelets,” she said, “Brian will love them.” We waved goodbye, I doubt I will ever see her again, I think we both knew that. Two strangers are able to make a connection.

I sat outside her examining room, eyes dilated, eager to get home when my cell phone rang. It was Mike was a good friend and neighbor. He lives just behind us and over the hill. “Are you all right?,” he asked me a strange question at 4 p.m. while I was in Albany.

Mike, one of the calmest people I know, sounded very concerned.

“Yes, I am,” I said, “why are you asking?:

“Because I am looking down and over the hill where your house is, and there’s a huge amount of smoke rising where I think the farmhouse  might be on fire.” There is a hill between Mike’s house and mine, he could see the smoke but not the house.

I felt my heart nearly stop.

Maria was waiting for me in the car outside; she wasn’t allowed into this office during the pandemic. I was frightened but unsure what to do. Stay calm, I told myself, think this through. Another heart attack won’t help anyone.

“Mike,” I said, “if you see a lot of smoke coming from where you think the farmhouse us, do me a favor. Head over there and check and on the way, let the fire department know about it.”

We live in the country, and while our volunteer fire departments are heroic and much loved, it takes them a very long time to get organized and get to a burning building. Usually, they put water on smoldering basements, no fault of their own.

If you want police and fire trucks that come in minutes, the country is not for you.

I sat in the waiting room almost trembling, my heartfelt as if it would rise right up and pop right out of my chest. We’ve done that, I thought, think of something else. I kept thinking of our dogs, all three either confined or in crates. I couldn’t get them out of my head.

I couldn’t bear to think about that. I decided not to call Maria outside until I knew something, and it would be awful if the house was on fire and we were two hours away. That would be a ride home from Hell.

There was no reason to upset her about something that might or might not have happened. There was no reason for her to feel what I was feeling, which was the awful feeling I could recall.

What of the dogs?  What about the other animals? What of the house and our things? My computer, my Leica, my clothes and medicines. What about Maria’s studio? Was it on fire also? It’s very close to the house.

Where would we sleep? Where could we live? Our lives and blood and savings are all in that house. I remembered my police reporting days and calmed down. Freaking out is of no use and can’t change a thing.

Just as I was called into the examining room, the phone rang. I told Dr. Falk I  had to take the call; my house might be on fire. She said, of course, take it.

Mike was on the phone. It seemed like forever since I last spoke to him, but it was probably just five or ten minutes. That’s a long time if you are waiting to see if your house has burned down with three beautiful dogs and everything you own in it.

“It’s okay,” he said. “The house is fine. No trouble, everything is as it should be.”

I thanked Mike profusely for noticing, caring, calling me, and rushing off to check.

I nearly cried; I was so relieved. I took out my specially made necklace, a gift which spelled out “gratitude” in software code on a platinum stick.

It is always with me to remind me to be grateful. To give thanks for what I have, not what I have lost.

I kissed it and took out my Onyx Cross and kissed that too.  Perhaps the Blessed Mother would help out, even if I wasn’t a Catholic.

The other people in the waiting room looked oddly at me as if they thought I had gone mad.

I called Maria and told her what had happened; she scolded me for not calling her right away. I am glad I didn’t.

Dr. Falk congratulated me about the fire and stayed focused. She turned to look at the photos and X-rays of my eyes. “Wow,” she said, “the swelling is radically reduced, at least 20 percent. You look great. Keep doing whatever you have been doing.I don’t even need to see you for six months.”

So there it was life itself. An awful scare that took me hours to come down from, a piece of important news for a writer and blogger who needs to see to do his work and his photography.

We had the happiest ride home; we couldn’t stop talking about how lucky we were. And how grateful. I was a reporter; I know how any of those stories end. I was never happier to get home. I heard the donkeys whining softly at me through the pasture gate, and as always, I rushed to the barn to give them some alfalfa cubes.

I kissed Fanny on the nose. They would have been very unhappy if our house had burned down.

The day was nothing but good, and the scare left me feeling gratitude, relief, and love for the people and animals, and things in my life. Yesterday, I learned my toe had fully healed, today I learned my eyes were healing beautifully, tomorrow I learn whether my heart is beating properly at night with my sleep apnea mask.

I’m going for all three, a trifecta, we used to say at the track.

I am so glad none of us had to suffer in what way, as so many people have and do. How wonderful it is to be home writing this.

In my study, With my dogs. In my house, writing on my computer, with my wonderful wife in the next room reading. We’re about to watch a movie, I’ve had enough excitement for one day.

(We never did find out where the smoke came from.)