Wednesday, March 27, 2024

     It is morning again.  Everyday it is morning again.  What should I write about.  Usually, the words just flow but not today. I eat my oatmeal breakfast and drink my coffee.  The heater is on. The sun is up.  I am sitting in my bedroom in the blue recliner and wearing my orange puffer jacket waiting.

     I am reading two books, BEING MORTAL, a book about old age and death, and DON’T CALL ME HOME, an intense memoir by Alexandra Auder. My reading life is much more exciting then my lived life now.

     The couple who clean my house biweekly come yesterday morning. They are gentle and kind and tell me that they are praying for me.  They don’t want me to be sick and dying. I am not fading, I am getting stronger. But they look at me and say they are praying for me.

     I walk on the street in the late afternoon. A short dead end street, no sidewalks, little traffic, just the local neighbors or lost drivers. Several rivulets of water flow over the street.  Neighborhood yards now are filling up with blossoms. My nose is becoming stuffy.  Allergies, maybe. I walk back into my clean house.