It Doesn't Get Better Than This

Today was my birthday.

I spent it with the most important people in my life.

I am so blessed to love and be loved.

Nope.  I don't live on a hill . . . but this was the best of the photos.

A Miracle Just Happened

And this is not an April Fools Joke..... My Internet failed this morning. This meant no wireless connection for my iPad.....which later would mean no Netflix for the evening. It also meant that I could not access the wild and wacky world with my hard wired computer either. Since my iPhone has access to 3G or 4G (whatever that is), I wasn't entirely unconnected to the rest of the on-line world, but its screen is small compared to the other options and I'm spoiled. I unplugged the router or modem or whatever it is called. (It has about seven lights in a row that show if the thing is working.) That didn't fix the problem, so I tried it again and a third time. And then gave up because I wanted to deal with the continuing saga of my moving-in chaos. I worked in the garage at a good pace, but felt gloomy and anxious. I couldn't shake off that nibbling sensation of my world being off kilter. And then the miracle began. I took a break and called AT+T. The computer program that has the voice of a very nice man asked me a few questions. (Usually I end his spiel with insistently saying "operator.") Today I answered the questions. After a few interchanges he told me that he'd reboot my connection. I hung up when the silence that he told me to expect came. A few minutes later the blinky blinky router or modem or whatever it is called blinked happily along. AT+T fixed the problem. (I won't ponder whether or not they caused the problem in the first place.) AT+T got it right and it only took a few minutes to do so. That feels to me like a miracle.

Will I have to pay tomorrow with incapacitating pain for energetically tearing through the garage, unpacking boxes, finding places for my recently dispossessed possessions? I have much to do to complete this exhausting and seemingly interminable move, the most difficult that I have ever experienced. I continue to feel the tension of the desire to work frenetically and the desire to rest so that my body can heal.

Enforced Self Indulgency

I am laying in bed on a slanted wedge with two pillows propping my head, another underneath my knees and another on my lap supporting the iPad on which I am writing. I have been in much pain the last several days with a fierce backache. I have just emerged from Ann Tyler's novel "Digging to America."  It is a story about two families, one Iranian and the other American, who meet at the airport when each of them are being given the Korean babies that they had adopted. I feel as if I've just left these people as I leave people in my real world; just as people in my real life continue to exist when I'm gone, so does Maryam and David and Bitsy continue living their lives beyond the novel. (If I e-mailed them, they might respond).

It has been raining all day.I hear the tapping of rain as it hits the window. Unlike the banging of rain in the downspouts in the house from which I recently moved, this sound is peaceful and reassuring. My writing - and before that my my reading - is interrupted periodically by my sweet little cat, Daisy, seeking my loving attention - or the feline equivalency of that. (While in bed, I have eaten pretzels, rice pudding and best of all, Otter Pops.)

As I lay in bed, I feel like a kid excused from school because of sickness. I also feel like I'm playing hookey. There are tasks that NEED to be done and I feel the imperative to act. On top of unpacked boxes of books in front of my desk, there is a multi-level (and constantly growing) jumble of sheets, towels and blankets - used in packing during my recent move. It has been sitting there for two plus months. Half of my garage is crammed with cleaning supplies and office supplies and stuff and stuff mixed up in various boxes. This is a result of a move stretching to almost three months from a house 1.8 miles away.  I moved in stages and hand carried many things. I packed disparate items in the boxes so that they were not too heavy for me to carry.  Packing Windex, boxes of paper clips and staples, and rolls of paper towels in the same box made sense then.  (I don't recommend this.)

Laying here in bed, I feel like I'm faking my need to be in it.  I should be actively creating order from the chaos that surrounds me.  In the kitchen, I move a few items and then a few more.  I open the door from the laundry room to the garage, make a path to some cleaning supplies and bring them into the kitchen.    Gradually and then insistently the fierce pain in my back reasserts itself. I return to the bedroom and sink into the luxury of enforced self indulgence.

Is this even food?

Click on the images and decide.

Andre Ward, the Boxer

When my sweetie asked me if I'd like to join him at a press conference for Andre Ward, I said "no."

"I always do the things that you want to do," he said, "but you never want to do the things that I want to do," He said this partly kidding, but also partly not kidding.

Andre Ward is a boxer for whom my sweetie and one of his friends maintain a fan site. They even have press passes when they go to one of his fights . http://www.andre-ward.com/

"Even if you don't care about boxing," my sweetie continued, "we'll get to spend the day together."

Of course, I agreed to come.

And I had a great time.

Andre Ward and his opponent, Carl Froch, will be fighting to keep their belts at the
Super Six World Boxing Classic on Saturday, October 29th, in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Both men were at the press conference as well as their managers, Andre's coach, and local dignitaries. (Andre grew up in Oakland where the press conference was held.)

What impressed me first was that neither men wore "bling." Andre wore a watch; I don't remember if Carol was wearing one or not. And that was it. No gold chains. No diamond rings. Both men, in casual clothes, could be your average Walmart customer.

Though both men talked about being confident about the upcoming fight, they were respectful of each other. In different words, they both spoke about the reality that there would be a winner and that there would be a loser. Carl predicted that he would win the fight. Andre said that he wasn't brought up to talk about being the greatest fighter; he'd let his actions speak for themselves. Both men said that each of them and his opponent were already winners for getting so far in the competition. However it turned out, the sport itself would be the winner of a well fought match. I'm not a sports' enthusiastic and have never seen a boxing match, but on October 29th, I'll be watching the match on ShowTime Sports and I'll be cheering for Andre Ward ('cause he's the local guy. )

What Seniors Do In Bed

It is 3:12 a.m.

My sweetie and I are in bed. He is listening to a recorded book on his laptop
I have just finished reading on my iPad about Congress's inability to craft a new budget that
addresses current realities. The possibility of the U.S. government defaulting on
its fiscal responsibilities is being talked about as something that really could happen.

In my mouth I have a piece of sugar free hard candy because it reduces the coughing
that I've been experiencing since early February. The cough is part of the reason I am still awake.
I've seen numerous specialists and think I've finally been given the correct diagnosis. I'll
contact the ENT doc with whom I've previously consulted two or three months ago to work out a treatment plan.
I though my sweetie had fallen asleep but then he commented that I'm coughing more
than usual. I'm going to try again to enter Sleepland. I'll catch up with checking out my friend's blogs in
the next week or so. It's 4 a.m. now.