LIVING IN THE RAIN in Postcards 4

Margot when she was living in Seattle. Photo PAH.

A day of dots again:
• Margot is having a trigger finger released this morning. Her first surgery. They do it differently now from just a few years ago. Just like with George, they want her using it as soon as possible. No big football of bandages. I like that.
• Yes, George is doing wonderfully. More of this use it right away stuff. They need to turn his knee inward a little. He’s even doing pretty darned good on the stairs. All sorts of stretches and other things. He says his Therapist knows he sits at a computer all day long.
• Rain. We have been having what they call showers, and we here in Southern California call heavy rain. As I was walking my laps in the pool this morning, the heavens let loose with great buckets of that ice cold stuff. Yesterday the Friends of the Library area’s drain was blocked. The sorting area flooded just as I was leaving. On the freeways, oil floats to the surface of the cement, and all the cars float too. Hydroplaning. Big rigs float just as excitingly as cars. This morning, at 4 something, a Toyota Corolla, much like mine, went the wrong way on the freeway. It went under the front of a fire engine on the way to help a pedestrian that had just been run over by a Toyota Corolla. Half a Toyota remained to glisten on the wet freeway.
• I remembered my teeth, but I discovered I had forgotten to bring a towel to the pool. I would hide my head in the sand about this, but it would only get sand in my hearing aids…which I did not forget.
• Life is good. Most of the time I see no reason to buy new books. This week I splurged, and in the bedroom the newest Louise Penny sits waiting for me. I love the little shop called “Mysterious Galaxy.” There mysteries and Sci Fi await anyone with a comfortable wallet. The store is up for sale, and I so hope it sells rather than closes.
• I feel so guilty if I pay 30 bucks for a book. Sometimes I will buy a hardback at Costco. Normally I spend a whole dollar for a book. Imagine the agony that even a discount price does to my sanity.
• Today, I’ll write here, wash the sheets, find something comfortable for lunch, and READ. Imagine that.