Sporadia

 In the mail:

An annual magazine, published for well over a hundred years sent by my sister every year from my home city of Cork.  150 pages of Cork past and present and cherished by every Corkonian.

An Irish calendar from my now oldest friend still alive (70 years of unbroken friendship), also sent every year, and hung from my kitchen wall.

My hallway of postcards, many now sent by Grandgirl who lives in Paris but treks around Europe most weekends and never fails to buy a postcard everywhere, including art galleries and museums and exquisite old churches.

I was reading up on sleep requirements for eighty year-olds. I am nearly always shy on sleep and feel the lack of it in listlessness, lack of energy and a need for an  inordinate amount of waking up time to feel human. I am way under what's needed, sometimes I only get 4 hours. I was astonished to read I need about 10 hours a day as body is deteriorating and lack of sleep can contribute to "inagility of the brain," a frightening thought.

Grandgirl gifted me a Fitbit when she was here and I am now honouring (or trying to) the sleep I should be getting even if it means crashing on the bed at odd times. The Fitbit is clocking everything, heart rate, quality of sleep, steps, exercise, hydration. An enchanting new toy, offering daily detailed reports and quite unobtrusive on the wrist. It even notifies me of texts and emails.

What a time to be alive!

Day 7

 A bit of a rough day today as a massive snowstorm is predicted for tomorrow and I had planned to grocery shop along with two medical appointments and library drop off and pick up after a day of rest.

I was reminded of Robbie Burns' famous poem: "The best laid plans of mice and men......."

So I staggered out to do the curbside pickup, really tired to begin with, thinking I didn't have that much but it turned out to be a lot when I added it all up as I include so much fruit and veggies in it now and they are awkward and well LARGE.

I called both clinics to say I wasn't risking my life on unpredictable roads and their snowplows so cancelled the tomorrow stuff. Another day.

Huge attack of the munchies as I drove home, realizing that I loved to stop at cafes and pick up a snack along with the Americano and just sit at a masked distance from others and well people watch. I knew it was a no-go as the flesh is almighty weak and I would fall on a pastry or scone. So I didn't. A masked wonder was right into my bread she saw poking out of my cart when I got to the entrance of my building. I was grouchy but my mask covered up my snarl. I may wear one both permanently. I would never invade another's groceries and comment, but that's me, pandemic or no pandemic. Boundaries all the way. Yeah, I get sprouted bread, and had to give her tips on how to separate the slices, exhausted as I was. Now she thinks we're bonded over bread. Shyte.

What a lovely surprise with the mail though. Plural. A gift of a book just published by a friend, I've already read two of the stories and they are brilliant. And another book by Irene Kelly about her life in one of those infamous Mother and Baby Homes that are all over the papers these days. And a gorgeous handmade postcard from Daughter who extolled on the back of it how we have nearly 54 years travelling together, across oceans and continents. Very moving.