I've been watching the professional basketball playoffs with the same lack of enthusiasm I brought to the regular season. The last 2 minutes of the 4th quarter are about all I can stand. The finals are no better than most of the previous games; neither team seems to be bringing its A game for more than a brief moment or two. It's sloppy and that makes it hard to follow if you're not a total b-ball geek. And I am not.
If you need water-cooler conversation, the series is tied, the Mav's are the comeback kids, and where was LeBron in the 4th quarter?
I am a computer genius, it seems. Blogger was not allowing me to access my site. I tried it on Nellie the Netbook and everything was just peachy so it was this damn Dell again. I managed my anxiety fairly well and only felt one or two tears welling up.
Problems with electronics put me over the edge with alarming regularity. Since I got shot, I've been able to let go of the sense of control I needed to feel regarding these inanimate yet prickly items. I no longer default to screaming at the heavens. I (relatively) calmly read through the discussion boards on Blogger's un-helpful help-site and managed to delete my cookies and clear my cache and when doing that to the last day didn't work I moved to the last week and then 4 weeks and before I had to hit time immemorial (yes it is an option) Blogger recognized me and let me in.
I am a computer genius and don't let anybody tell you otherwise.
Went over to take G'ma for an adventure yesterday, but she was still a-bed though it was mid-morning. I offered companionship and travel and she smiled, thanked me, and rolled over.
This, too, used to drive me nuts. Yesterday, I smiled, gave myself credit for taking her out even though we didn't go anywhere, and drove to Target alone.
Those electric carts in the big box stores could be my favorite piece of recovering. When I'm upright, pushing the regular wagon, my cane stowed in the basket, I am unrecognizable. Sitting on the moving cart, I attract attention.
Yesterday I was, once again, hugged by a total stranger. This time it was in the potato chip aisle. She admires me and is inspired by me and then we shared stories about how wonderful nurses and therapists can be.
I'm not enjoying the attention as much as I am enjoying the connection. Healing gets lonely sometimes. It's nice to be reminded that I am not in this alone.
TBG finished his James Patterson novel, the one he took from Little Cuter in April. He may be the only person in recorded history to have taken more than two sittings to finish a JP book. He's not happy that he spent his time wallowing in the nether world of Kyle Craig and Alex Cross. "It just wasn't that good."
The man is too serious for trash fiction. I'm going back to suggesting biographies and histories.
The quail eggs have hatched and Mom and Dad Gambel are escorting their brood across the street. There are 6 or 8 little ones between them; they won't stay still long enough for me to get a clear count.
Mamma Mourning Dove is still on top of her next in the baby arms of the saguaro. Her due date must be later this spring.
I wonder where the road runner was before he started zipping through my front yard last week? We've lived here 5 years and he's only the second of his species I've spied out this window. He seems to have something going across the street under their Englemann's prickly pear cacti, but I am too lumbering to follow him apace.
Soon. Soon. Soon I will uncover his secret. For now, he remains quick and mysterious.