What I love about each new day is the very fact that it is a new beginning.

When I open my eyes each morning I don’t know what that day will bring.

I don’t know what my attitude will be. I don’t know what pain or pleasure will come my way.

But I do now yesterday was wiped away and I now have the gift of a new day, whatever it brings.

I love the potential of a new day.

When I get up each morning my husband usually asks, “How are you feeling?”

Mostly, I mumble, “I don’t know yet.”

I have to get up, get dressed and walk around a bit while I see what works and what doesn’t. That’s been especially true in the early days after gallbladder surgery and after the experience of passing a kidney stone.

But this morning there was no question about what kind of day it would be.

As soon as I opened my eyes and looked out the window I saw something astonishing.

I saw a puddle.

You may wonder what’s so special about a puddle.

I can’t remember the last time I saw one, but it certainly must have been a long time ago because what used to be my front lawn is now the equivalent of baked clay.

My “to-do list” for the day was going to include watering my parched lawn. But the puddle told me I didn’t have to. During the night God watered everything for me.

I could see and smell the freshness of the newly watered earth.

I am so in awe of this thing we call “life” and the transformations each day brings.

I love the way dawn colors the sky and the way a chorus of birds welcomes me every morning.

Sometimes it’s just a few crows cackling at each other. Sometimes it’s mourning doves singing sad-sounding coos.

I celebrate the newness of it all because I don’t care how many times it happened before, the dawn of a new day is something I welcome and celebrate.

I viewed the substantial puddle in my yard this morning as a promise that the day would hold something special.

A few hours later I celebrated life in a big way. For the first time since surgery and the necessary fasting to allow my stomach time to adjust, I gave in and decided to try one meatball.

I made a pot full of homemade sauce and meatballs for my husband so he would have something to eat while I had simple things like chicken broth and Jell-O.

My surgeon said I should try more foods a little at a time.

OK, this was the time for one meatball. I ate it ever so slowly, savoring the taste one tiny bite at a time. It took me about 20 minutes. At least it seems that way.

I’ve learned that experts don’t seem to agree what kind of diet works best after gallbladder surgery. “Everyone is different. You have to experiment to see what works best for you,” my surgeon said.

My one meatball was part experimental, part celebration. Coming through the physical challenges of the past few weeks has heightened my sense of appreciation even more.

My next-door neighbor Linda had serious surgery to remove a tumor under her eye the same day I had my surgery. We both had good results and are healing more each day.

“When I made it through surgery and heard those marvelous words, “nonmalignant,” I felt like I was born again,” Linda said.

She understands why I am so over-the-moon about every little thing, including a rain puddle and one little meatball.

When some hear me gush about the thrill of a rain puddle and a single meatball, they may wonder what I’m drinking. I’m just high on life. Always have been and that intensified after surgery.

I’m grateful for feeling stronger every day. This week I was able to complete my normal morning walk for the first time in more than a month. That was just one more reason for me to feel thankful.

It also means so much to me to have the kind of neighbors who ask, “What can I do to help you?”

Steve and his wife, Gayle, let me know they are there for anything I may need.

Steve also packs a little picnic every week for Ginni, our 93-year-old neighbor.

While she likes the food, Ginni says what she appreciates most is having someone to talk to. “When you live alone it can get pretty lonely,” she says.

Steve and Gayle know she’s lonely so they are faithful in staging the weekly picnic.

Yet Steve struggles with his own serious health challenge. He’s in the midst of chemo treatments for advanced cancer.

While he knows better than most of us that he can’t take one day for granted, he is determined to make each day count by helping others.

Of course no one can take any day for granted. But we do, don’t we?

When a health crisis comes along, it reminds us of the preciousness of every single day.

When that happens, if we’re lucky, we learn to back up and see and appreciate all the little things in our life.

Maybe even puddles and one meatball.

Contact Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net.