contemplative moments

At my age, you discover reasons to go the doctor on a fairly regular basis (except for Ed – who never discovers anything and when or if he does, he deems it not MD worthy). Your thyroid bulges, your foot grows numb, you need this checked, that confirmed.

I had a bunch of such curiosities to check up on this week. That in itself is not blogworthy – not even on every-miniscule-detail-matters Ocean. But here’s what’s blogworthy: my total understanding of how lucky I am to have such fantastic, quick, smart, reactive but not overly invasive care at my fingertips.

One of these days I’ll get on Ocean and write something like -- I have six months to live and so forgive me if my posts are going to be longer and weirder. But if that point in time is later rather than earlier, I attribute it to the fresh and honest, Mister Red, and the fantastic health care available to me here in Madison. Well, too, the people in my life who keep me happy.



If I were to complain today about anything, it would be that I had too many hours of work and too few contemplative moments. But “too few” does not mean none. Leaving the hospital (test for numb foot. Verdict: it’s numb. So be it.), I scoot down to the lake. I used to bike this way...






...yes, this was once part of my everyday.





I give in to a a sentimental grin.




Then, in the hours of the late afternoon, I finally turn toward the farmhouse. Last turn, quarter of a mile more. Ah, for amber waves...






It was, in the essentials, such a good day.