A HAPPY HEALTHY NEW YEAR TO ONE AND ALL SEPT 2020

It does my spirit good to know that some who make up my extended family and friends have been venting their political frustrations by participating with like-minds in positively focused, proactive activities, such as fund raisers, designed to get out the vote.

After returning from my labs at Mayo, on Tuesday, we received a call from Taylor, my internist’s assistant, suggesting we hightail it over to get our flu shots given in the parking lot, that same day, after which I rested for awhile (smart) until the over achiever in me surprisingly loosened the reins of my brain (not smart), and I found myself spunkily unpacking clothes, which had remained untouched during these past three weeks since our return from Houston.

At any rate, before I knew what had hit me, my pain level heightened, and I began to feel physically worse than had been true for most of this week, so all I ate for dinner was chicken soup, which suggests why we decided to save our friend, Susie’s home made dinner for Wed. night, in hopes of my feeling well enough to relish all of the love with which she’d flavored each dish.

I took it exceptionally slow on Wed., having accepted the fact that recovery takes two steps forward, one back.  Then, both Will and I began to  enjoy several meals, stacked on our refrigerator shelves, as dear friends make certain that Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is not bare!  And each heartfelt demonstration of love, coming so soon after David’s departure, is deeply soothing, for sure.  (Perhaps, we’ve been inundated with dinner offers in hopes of nourishing our spirits after David’s leave taking became public knowledge.)

Yesterday, I spoke with my internist, a brilliant mother of three, whose delight, concerning these first six weeks of recovery, was palpable upon my disclosure that need for hydrocodone has decreased from 60 mg daily to 20 mg.

Following this week’s blood test at Mayo and flu shots administered in the parking lot, and my dear friend Susie’s loving delivery of a home made dinner, we enjoyed a surprise delivery of Philly cheesesteaks from Andi’s thoughtful son, Ryan, who, before moving to Philly, had been one of the crew who’d considered our residence as their private clubhouse, every weekend when group sleepovers burst into bloom, beginning in first grade, continuing throughout all four years of high school, suggesting, once again, that much to our pleasure, what goes around comes around.

Then yesterday, another neighbor offered to make us dinner, so I asked if we could accept her kindness, next week, being that our fridge is stuffed with love, and in the holiday spirit, a brisket and all of the high holiday trimmings were just delivered by Jill so as be enjoyed, tonight, with Steven, Celina and Ravi.  As to left overs, they’ll be enjoyed after zooming football, family style, on Sunday, because Andi, Mike, Judy and Julian plan to prepare and enjoy a socially distanced holiday meal on our patio, Saturday night, while Will and I participate from inside our home, next to the Arcadia door, once sundown eases the brutal heat of the desert sun.  And did I mention that three separate florists rang our doorbell, today?  Seriously—what could have been a sad lonely holiday weekend has become yet another reason why Will and I feel immeasurably blessed with an abundance of love flowing freely, back and forth. 

With David’s departure, we’ve been searching for quality TV to occupy our minds, evenings.  So far, the only well written series we’ve not yet seen seems to be The Gilmore Girls, produced 20 years ago, and much to my delight, it proves so entertaining that both Will and I have been hooked, binging with nostalgia for that earlier time when loved ones, now deceased, had participated wholeheartedly in our lives.  We’ve also begun to enjoy another, more sophisticated Australian comedy, Rake, and as Covid lingers, additional recommendations will be deeply appreciated with this caveat—unfortunately, Will can’t remain awake when dialogue requires subtitles—oh well, thank goodness it’s football season, and I’ve become a fan, though ‘too many games‘ in a row sees me retreat to our bedroom where I indulge in The Crown, which also brings forth my husband‘s snores😴

And as that brings me up to snuff, I’m publishing today’s post infused with the mouth watering aroma of traditional holiday dishes warming in our oven, none of which will have been made, this year, by me as each one appeared outside our front door in the loving hands of friendship, along with a trio of colorful bouquets of love, from both near and far ....🙋🏻‍♀️❤️