It’s the Little Things
Those of you who joined our Babes Get Lei’d emails know of our spectacular time aboard the Sojourn where this babe indulged her passion for schnitzel and meat samosas.
The emotional and gustatory high diminished quickly when the babes returned home to snow and a week’s worth of below zero temps. That’s Fahrenheit. Talk about major depression.
I had a day to unpack before—wham—woke up with a massive headache, tested myself and have now joined the ranks of Covid sufferers. Is any air safe to breath?
My secret for recovery? And I shall let you in on this because I think it’s important even for the Puritans among us. I was still feeling wonky Day 8 and decided, screw it, I’ll have my nightly bourbon. The next day I was totally back to normal. And that’s without Paxlovid. Kentucky, you have a lot to answer for politically, but gotta love your bourbon.
Even in the midst of my pain there was joy. I noticed that the perforation in my toilet paper is now scalloped. How artistically intriguing. Every time I see it, too often some days, my serotonin levels go up.
That’s why I say it’s the little things.
Like, after a month in the cold, my car started. I was ecstatic. It’s only been a year with this new battery, but I didn’t purchase it from the dealer. Ergo, every time I stop the car, it gives me a “low battery” notice. I was about to take it into the dealer when I read on line that it was simply an adjustment to some computer sensor, not a problem with the battery at all. And the dealer was going to charge me $219 to look at it. So I shall happily drive with my “low battery” notice and save the bucks.
With the weather, stuck at home no longer means stuck without anything to read. I hope all of you out there have access to a system like “libby.” I can browse through a whole library of books, magazines, audiobooks, put some on hold and download those available. What a pleasure and I treasure the excitement when one of the books on hold magically tells me it’s ready for me. Silly? I said it’s the little things.
Remembrances also bring joy. Like remembering Chita Rivera. There she was in “West Side Story,” which I saw on Broadway the year it opened. What a show that was, the dancing was incredible and of course the music.
I hadn’t realized that I also saw her in “Bye Bye, Birdie.” I remember Dick Van Dyke and that the show was marvelous fun. And then there was Chita Rivera in “The Visit.” Not so much fun, but it was good to see her anyway.
I used to love the theater. At one time it was reasonably priced, both in New York and London. No more and what a shame that is. I was privileged to see Alec Guinness in “Dylan” and Richard Burton in “Hamlet,” also Rufus Sewell in “MacBeth.” Now I must admit I’m so lazy it takes a lot for me to get out at night to see anything.
Am I only left with fond memories to warm me in this, the winter of my discontent? Well, there’s always the scalloped toilet paper and something good to read. Sometimes focusing on what’s good can keep the bad at bay. Like, we’re having our first day of sunshine in three weeks. The fog of doom is lifting slowly. Time to celebrate.