“How has your day gone?”

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How has your day gone?

I wake up, look about the dim November room, rub at the terrible crick in my back, and feel afraid.  My husband has said fear comes with aging. That makes me think of my father – who is still after three days at the hospital far far away.  I decide to call him that afternoon when it is morning in his time zone.

For now, I pace the house like a caged tiger.

It is raining; I can’t go for a walk. I could and should do some writing.  I’m revising a youth novel.  The boy Carl Caballo is in trouble and I’ve got to get him through it.  But how to put it into words?  I scan the first nine chapters for the hundredth time and revise chapter ten which tell Carl’s first conversation with the raccoon.

I try to print it.  A page gets stuck in the printer.  I read internet manuals and watch YouTube videos on how to get the paper out.  I remove the paper tray, push that button, open this catch.  The paper doesn’t budge.  My husband is out of town and I will have to wait three days to print or copy.

I call my dad.  His voice booms full and hearty once again.  He feels much better.  My sister is there.  She has driven 3 1/2 hours and come to the rescue!

She tells me she’s gone by Dad’s house and found his phone – that he dropped in water – and put it in a bag of rice to dry it out.  She also purchased  a second phone just in case. She brought him his bills; he wants to pay them.  And his dentist called and was leaving a message – the very dentist Dad needs to get permission from in order to have a certain treatment.  So my sister picked up the phone, told the dentist to wait, called Dad at the hospital, and put them both on speaker phone so they could speak to each other.  And the dentist agreed to give permission and to call Dad’s doctor.

And right now, Dad’s hospital doctor bustles into the room and tells Dad, “You’re better!  You can go on home.”

If that’s the way life goes, what was I afraid of?

6 thoughts on ““How has your day gone?”

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