How lucky am I?

Very, very lucky. So I'm sitting in the dining room this morning, working from home because, in honor and recognition of house guests who will be arriving Sunday, hey Rebecca, I mean you, I finally made an appointment to have a carpet cleaner come to the house and make the downstairs extra bedrooms habitable for humans after Gladys and Lucy had dueling canine urine wars down there with me so clueless about dog behavior that I didn't get a grip until after Gladys went home (we were dog sitting) and I walked into that room and the smell made me drop to my knees. Damn dogs.

So, anyway, urine is what it is and it had to be cleaned and the nice guy that is here to do the job gave me a "deal" on the kitchen tile, damn kitchen tile, never buy a house with textured ceramic tile on the kitchen floor, it just isn't worth it. Although the price was the same as the last time he was here when there wasn't a deal, I said, yeah sure, I'm to the point of hating that floor so much that I would rather pay someone $100 to clean it because he's here and willing than mop it by myself this week. So he had just brought the hose up the stairs and is starting on the tile and I hear a loud pop. I don't even look up. I figure he hit something and if it he had damaged it, he would stop and then I would look at it and shrug, because what can you do, but he didn't stop. A split second later, he calls from the kitchen, "what was that?" I get up and shrug, look down and hop. A liter of Diet Pepsi (the one and true diet cola) exploded in the wierd pantry room off the kitchen and it is spreading fast. He grabbed his big water sucker upper wand and took care of it in a jiffy. I went behind with a wet rag and got it off the walls and it is as if a full liter bottle of Diet Pepsi never exploded in the pantry.

Can you imagine the horror of walking in on that later this afternoon if I hadn't been home with a professional carpet cleaning technician right at hand when it happened. The horror, the horror.

So, I ask, how lucky am I? Very. Did you know that one time I flew to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, was met by friends, picked up my bag at the luggage carousel, got into the friends' car at the curb and drove away full of excitement for the upcoming festivities and carousing. About 30 minutes away from the airport, I asked who had put my bag in the car? no one? really? let's check. Pull over, my bag is not in the trunk. Head back to New Orleans airport, and it's full on Mardi Gras, hordes of people, and there's my bag on the curb. So, again, how lucky am I? Very.

And then there were these times I went to China and met four beautiful children who didn't have parents and I was able to bring them home and love them. How lucky am I? Very isn't quite the word to describe that level of good fortune, and I'm stuck for a word that could.