|Back from surgery|
Time marches on . . .
12/22, Sunday. I do not recommend catching a plane out of Grand Island, Nebraska, in the morning darkness of 6:40 a.m. with the rental car registering 15 degrees on the dashboard and you’re stepping out onto the parking lot into a breeze straight off the northern prairie.
12/23, Monday. A postponed anniversary is observed tonight with candlelight, wine, homemade pizza, and reflections on 48 years together.
12/24, Tuesday. Still half on Nebraska time and swilling down Robitussin at regular intervals to subdue the effects of a recent visit to the winter virus belt, I have to keep remembering that somehow it got to be Christmas Eve.
12/25, Wednesday. Amused as I realize in the middle of opening Christmas gifts that both of us are already reading our new books.
12/26, Thursday. The mountains all in shades of velvet blue today, and I’m traversing streets named for Dinah Shore and Ginger Rogers to the hospital in Rancho Mirage named for a five-star general, Eisenhower, to retrieve the star of my own brief life who waits in surgery recovery for a ride back home.
12/27, Friday. The microwave stages a comeback after going dead on Christmas Eve, expiring with one last word “WARM” on its control panel, then waiting for me to discover two days later that somehow the plug had mysteriously worked its way out of the outlet.
12/28, Saturday. When you’re in your sixth day of a cold, you find your focus drawn to chicken soup recipes, getting out the slow cooker, and rummaging in the kitchen for ingredients.
Image credit: Ron Scheer
Coming up: Top 10 recent frontier fiction