Today I realized that 'fine' is a very subjective concept.
As Ms. G ages and has had various health challenges, family and friends often ask how she is doing. Often, my response is, "Fine." And most days she is fine, based on the current subjective definition of 'fine' in the objective situation we live in.
A fine day for G means that she woke up feeling good and relatively alert. After arising, she walked safely to the kitchen. Hungry, she ate from the breakfast prepared for her. On a fine day, she can (and will) shower and dress herself and take care of her dental hygiene. She can get her morning medicine from the daily dispenser with only needing help to remember what day of the week it is. She will want to listen to the audio version of her scriptures for at least 30 minutes on a fine day--she can't read them anymore due to failing vision. A fine day may find her spending most of an hour in our community gymnasium working on the stationary bicycle and the exercise machines, after safely walking the 100 yards from our front door to the community center. Later, on a fine day, she may enjoy the lunch prepared for her and then an audio book before a nap. She may call her sisters or one of our kids. On the occasional days that she is better than fine, she may unload the dishwasher or fold a basket of laundry.
On a fine day, she doesn't ask what city we live in, or what year it is. Or how many children we have or if her father is still alive. She doesn't faint from orthostatic hypotension on a fine day, nor stumble and fall while walking. On a fine day she doesn't sleep for 18 hours, or get lost in our yard.
Not all of our days count as 'fine.' But most do.
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