Things You Can't Control

"The first wealth is health".

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

1.13.25

Thirty-two and snowing lightly out there.

Yes, that's a Bills flag out front again. We're pretending to be in the tribe, getting ready for the annual disappointment when they choke down the stretch. That's always been their way. I remember sitting on the stinky pink couch in the alert barn during the Gulf War, in the wee small hours Saudi time, watching them blow Super Bowl 25 against the Giants with a wide-right field goal miss as time expired. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

There's a strong smell of skunk out there, surprising to an ignorant southerner who assumed skunks hibernated or migrated to Florida when it turned this cold. A couple years back Slane got into it with a skunk out in the yard at Tara, returning to perfume the entire house in the aroma. Peg got undressed and dragged him into the shower for a bath, as I recall with some folk remedy like tomato juice or some such. If I'd been thinking, I could've made a video that would have paid for our retirement. I'm hoping we aren't in for a repeat of all that.

I especially hope there's no skunk bath today, with Peg home sick. She started feeling a little pekid a few days after we returned from Florida, no surprise given that everyone at the Wyldswood manager's home was sick with the crud while we were there. She's since endured a little outpatient surgery, and instead of running its course the crud got much worse afterward. I can hear her coughing in the master bedroom down the hall right now, despite the humidifier I heroically secured for her yesterday with a dreadful venture into the Painted Post Wal-Mart. She's sleeping in fifteen minute increments, and has been for the last three days, waking up to gag. And she's saddled with the world's worst nurse--me.

But we'll get through all of this. It's just an overwhelming time, between her health and my work and all the accumulated responsibilities we assiduously failed to address over the holiday, as we carved out a little time to think about what we wanted the rest of our lives to look like. All those visions involved both of us being healthy. We are not off to a hot start.

Mom's birthday is today--she would have turned 81. I always sent her flowers, maybe with a confection of some sort given that she and Bobby had a sweet tooth, and called in the afternoon. Now there's no one to call, unless I buy a Ouija board. Maybe I'll shoot Bobby a text and let him know we're thinking about him. This has to be a rough day for him as well.