It was the best of times, it was less than the best of times. I had a birthday, hey! It was lovely seeing as how I spent hours the day before in the emergency room, a three car crash happened a bumper away from the ambulance that hauled me, and we were stuck in traffic a good fifteen minutes or more. I landed in the wrong hospital . . .
I wanted three things for my birthday. I wanted at least one pomegranate margarita. Cantina Laredo makes the best. I cannot drink, so wishing does no harm. I wanted to dance. Naturally I could not. A bum leg and shoulder are not conducive to shaking your booty, but Erin shook and waved her arms in the air like I did not care, and she did it for at least seven minutes to Rick James' "You and I." FaceTime as a wonderful invention! My third wish was a weekend of fine dining in Chicago. It didn't happen. So, I had a bowl of fish stew from WFM, a slice of our favorite traditional birthday cake, and a glass of water.
My good friend, Patty texted me her version of the birthday song. It was so lovely I called my mother and told her the only way I would forgive her for forgetting my b'day was if she and my brother sang it too. They did. My sister, Elaine, called, and started singing the second I said hello. Nephew II wished me a happy one. No way could I embarrass him in front of his fellow Marines by having him sing. I'm an understanding aunt. Beautiful cards and gifts came by post. I'll show and tell as soon as I can work with both arms and stand without a cane or my candy apple red walker. (No. The walker is a leftover from knee surgery after I tripped on the elliptical trainer--a whole other story.) All in all, it was a very good day.
Good comes from convalescing, just as I read.
(A work in progress.)
A lap desk, a good pencil, markers, a quote, and a little imagination makes it easier.
I've missed too many of your birthdates. Perhaps you will forgive me when I tell you my memory woes are related to my MIA thyroid gland, and not dementia! So, will you please, please, please send me your b'date the next time you write? It will be inked into my four month old address book. B'days are special. They make us, and others, happy that we're here.
Be well. Write on, but only if it doesn't hurt your cervical spine. Sciatic pain is a rip too.
Hint: Sometimes illness, injury, or a need to take it easy is Life's way of making us take time to heal or be still.