You know the day will hold challenges when you briefly contemplate whether you need glasses to find your glasses.
By the time I finally snagged mine from where they had fallen, the alarm had been sounding from my Android for several minutes and put itself to sleep. Thank God, I muttered, stumbling to the bathroom as I jammed my thousand-dollar specs on my bloated face.
Old age poses challenges.
I stepped on the scale, muttered some more, then grabbed yesterday’s coffee from the desk. As I passed the alarm panel, I miraculously remembered to deactivate it which meant the new neighbor wouldn’t jump out of his skin when I let the dog outside. Welcome to Brookside! Hope you aren’t a light sleeper!
I hit the two-minute button on the microwave to warm that leftover java. Heating coffee seems to be the only thing for which I ever use the silver box, but dang, how convenient that can be at times. When you spent $11.00/pound on beans, no sense pitching the six ounces you don’t drink right at first.
At the back door, I have a moment of thankfulness that I found a company to mow. Never mind that they trampled the tulips about to burst with color around the front of the house. What little grass clings to the scratchy earth by the street can now see the sun, the old moldy leaves having been raked to smithereens. I feel kind of bad that the foot-high purple clover in the back has been shorn, but I don’t miss the dandelions and at least I can see the dog sniffing along the back fence line.
Five minutes work gets me perfect scrambled eggs and I sit down to read the digital New York Times. Bannon’s out; Sessions slams Hawaii; the White House wants to take away our medical insurance again. Ugh. I move over to Facebook and spend a few minutes smiling at the photo of Leslie and Kurt with their new baby. Couple number one on the dance floor produces a perfect Little Sailor who no doubt already has her father right where she wants him.
Pale sunlight dances outside my windows. I sip luke-warm leftover coffee and think about the day, the weekend, May, and the rest of the year. The tide hovers, about to turn. I might have choices. I could be cleaning cupboards and jettisoning extra baggage. The hold could spring a leak. Waters could rise. Winds could rage. A twister might carry me to a magic land or dash me to the cracked earth.
It’s one of those days when I can’t be certain if I’m depressed, hallucinating, or just about to break out of the deepest part of the woods. But I’m not complaining. In the immortal words of the late Judge Leonard J. Hughes, Sr., Ladies and gentlemen, I woke up this morning, which is more than a lot of people can say. So let’s get the show started.
It’s the twenty-first day of the fortieth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.