Snippets from Sunday

Brownies cannot be created without unsweetened chocolate squares so it was off to Wally-World for me today.  The drizzle hadn't started, I was finished in the gym, and it was too early for lunch.  The parking lot was empty; I parked right in front of the door.

I found milk for $1.57 a gallon and I smiled in the baking aisle as a mom showed her son how to comparison shop.  Someone recognized me and complimented me on my gait. We commiserated about cold and rainy weather's effect on old and achy bodies as I handed out cards for the Stroll and Roll and promised them pictures if they came over and said "Hi!"  The tree fit nicely in my trunk and Big Cuter attached the stand, carried it in, and straightened it up before snuggling back down into the corner of the couch, sharing football and brownies with his father.

It's a lovely lovely day.

When I'm asked for a status update I'm going to put this memory out there like this

I am back to having a normal life.

Of course, my normal life now includes chatty phone calls with NBC national news producers.
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JannyLou and Fast Eddie  packed up my decorations last year, as I was otherwise indisposed.  It's been a delightful adventure to open the boxes, carefully labeled and brimming with pink popcorn, to find what they thought should sleep with what over the intervening months.
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I'm toying with the idea of a themed tree.  My ornament collection is trending towards Santas, which is appropriately heathen for my tastes.  Little Cuter assures me that she still believes, and, because we've always defined Santa as love and joy and wonder and surprise, I do not doubt her word.

Big Cuter, on the other hand, figured out the scientific impossibility of delivering toys to all the little girls and all the little boys when he was in the first grade.  After carefully and quietly confiding the facts to me, he leaned in and whispered this admonition: "But don't tell The Little Cuter... she still believes and we shouldn't spoil it for her."


The look of love on his face was coupled with the emptiness reality had left in the wake of his belief.
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I tried to open a jar of nail polish this morning.  I used my hands.  I used a wrench.  I used the jar opening tool.  I failed.  My son's strong hands made short work of the task.

I knew there was a reason.I had children.
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I wouldn't say that I was scampering up and down the step-stool as I adorned the tree with strings of colored lights but the fact that I was going up and down unaided was cause for celebration.  After all, it wasn't that many months ago that lifting my knee off the couch pillows was a stunning occurrence.  The next time I'm recuperating I'm going to take more detailed notes on my physical progress over time.
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