The one
thing I’ve learned from this year is less is more, and appointments or meetings
are almost always suggestions, not “have to” events. My circle has tightened
and my priorities have changed. It takes me longer to do tasks and my body
limits me. My hands and knees are on strike about half the time, not always the
same half. Two halves make a whole lot of aggravation.
The
last week has been a chronicle of frustrations, failures, mistakes, and
household disasters. The problem with spending 99.9% of my time in the house is
that when something goes wrong, it’s much harder to ignore than when I spent
most of my time going hither and yonder.
The
plumber is on speed dial for a slow wait. He’s been here so often lately that I
think we should become Facebook friends.
My
old-faithful Malibu decided to be cranky about starting and shooting out a wide
variety of warning lights. Of course, when I took it to the shop everything checked
out “no problem” until I got in the car to leave. The brightest part of my week
was discovering that all I needed was a new battery.
I’ve
learned the danger of setting a high power cleaner on a countertop. Who knew it
would develop a slow leak and etch an oval into the Formica?
This
afternoon, I’d decided enough was enough. I drove to the park, found a shady
spot, rolled down the windows, and enjoyed the breeze blowing through my car. I
shoved the seat back, reclined, and closed my eyes.
I was across from the shelter where Jim and I met with four people and a dog for our first Alzheimer’s walk. I thought of all the times I picked Jim up from the nursing home and took him to the park for a walk. Usually, it worked out well, but one time, I couldn’t get him back into the van. As I struggled to get him inside, one of the male nurses’ aides from the nursing home came to my rescue. He had been eating his lunch nearby and saw that I needed help.
My memories were cut short by a buzzing sound. I opened one eye, and made eye contact with the biggest bumblebee I had ever seen in my life. The stinger looked like a hypodermic needle, and I swear he had a murderous glimmer in his eyes. I held my breath and thought seriously of opening the door and making a run for it. Apparently, the bee didn’t find anything of interest and buzzed out the passenger window.
Finally,
something went right. Feeling spiritually refreshed, I started my car and took
a newfound pleasure in how quickly the motor responded. Maybe, just maybe, I’d go home and tackle a
project on my to-do list. One step at a time. Baby steps, but steps, just the
same.
Copyright
© September 2020 by L.S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
#ENDALZ