I wake up Sunday, hearing the birds in our backyard and feeling the chill of 40-degree air wafting through my open bedroom window as I remember my face-smashing incident from Saturday. I am still sore, but it is an acceptable soreness. My body is weary, even after eight hours of sleep. I think about skipping work — staying home and just relaxing and healing.
I spend six hours working. A productive but exhausting day. I barely noted the lovely springtime weather.
My grandchildren, especially my grandson, are solicitous, wanting to help their battered grandma, asking if I need anything and giving me massages on my whiplashed neck and shoulders. I am lucky to have them — my grandchildren. I am lucky to have my teeth and an unbroken nose and a usable pair of glasses.
I am lucky.