This morning started a few hours after I decided to stay in bed.
The neighborhood woke up without me. My neighbor Francisco was whistling. The folks in trailer #3 were playing Spanish music that could be heard from blocks away. The din of shop vacs meant it was going to be a busy day for the car wash next door.
I felt my body curled in the fetal position. What is going on that I can't bear to leave the safety of my cocoon? For hours, most days of the week, I fail to convince myself to "get up already."
Tulip has been quiet all this time, which is out of character for her. She is now so content because I fed her immediately. She's settled in my arms, purring the message "I love you, Mom." It makes reading or writing a challenge for me.
This calm tableau is disrupted by an incoming call to my home phone. I get up from the recliner, unceremoniously letting my unwilling-to-move kitty down.
It was a local number I didn't recognize. I picked up the phone anyway. "Hello," I said. "Hello?" No answer. Why do spammers work on weekends?
Yes, I have to get to work outside to blow piles of leaves to the curbside. I have yet to eat, shower and dress. Still in my nightgown, I decided to take a selfie of my still-70-year-old self. Mind you, the purple bonnet I'm wearing covers a greasy treatment for scalp dermatitis. I'll soon turn 71. I'm wondering whether I look age-appropriate?
Tulip is back in my lap. In a fetal position. She nearly fell asleep, but some noise outside got her attention. Maybe it's the dueling radio stations. I think the car wash's radio must have been playing her song.
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