The Old 45s

Yes, I'm of the generation that knows what the old 45s are.  And today, I'm the old 45 !!!!!  Older, and feeling very vinyl in this world of laser and digital and virtual and viral, and not wishing it otherwise. 

I painted my toenails, took the day off tomorrow, determined that today nothing would keep this smile off my face despite a big bleach splatter right across the whole right side of my new scrub top, waking up an hour early due to inadvertently re-setting the time on my alarm clock instead of setting the alarm, and drama drama drama on the job.  But the truck ran, the wipers worked even in a downpour, the house smelled like fresh baked banana bread, our clothes are clean, my dog loves me, my daughter phones for long talks, the AC works, and Jack still laughs at my really lame jokes and kisses me a lot.  And I got some really wonderful emails today from friends (thank you!)

We might do nothing special tomorrow, but even that will be something special if Jack and I can have it together.  The rains came today and there is an actual springlike cool outside tonight that is simply delicious!

I have the last two chapters left of the Number One Ladies' Detective Agency series to curl up with beside my unconscious and slightly-snoring hubby.  And plenty of South African Red Rooibos tea to inhale (it smells wonderful) and savor.  My house is halfway clean, which percentage-wise means I'm 100% content relaxing in it if the lights are low (ha!)  

One of my clients is well cared-for, but frighteningly lonely and anxious.  She weighs on my mind a lot.  Today, we decided to begin a project.  Each time we're together, we'll write some of her memoirs.  Maybe paper and pen can anchor in words some of the parts of herself she fears she is losing.

"One day at a time, one moment at a time..."  I say those words aloud, but I think I need to hear them as much as she does. 

How quickly those days and moments have added up to the number 45.   

Memory is the only precision instrument needed for instant replay.
And like those songs on the scratchy, comfortable vinyls,  the sound can get stuck repeating in the darnedest places.