Mr. Turtle's Big Adventure

Wow, it was stiflingly HOT yesterday! I went out around noon to show the rental houses, but before I could drive out, I had to remove this little fellow from the driveway:

Maybe his mama forget to tell him that he's an amphibian, subject to fatal overheating in the eleventy-billion-degree noonday sun in August! And that if you wander around on a concrete driveway, you run the risk of getting run over by a car! He pulled his head in as I approached, making a neat little package, so I picked him up by his shell and moved him over to the grass in the shade. The things we have to put up with living in the wilds!

Bill arrived safely in the Orient and is ensconced on his ship. There is a current kerfluffle about the sudden departure of the Chief Engineer, so if a replacement is not found in time to sail, Bill may get a 3-step promotion out of necessity. He has the license to be the Chief, but not the confidence, even though he's been on this ship many times. The Chief's job isn't just the engineering, but also the LAN administrator, not Bill's forte, and mountains of paperwork, not Bill's favorite occupation. But he's decided to tell them that he'll be happy to do any job, from 3rd Engineer to Chief, as long as he gets off the ship in time for his daughter's wedding.

I am off to Morristown today, to look at refrigerators. Yes, the appliances are in revolt as is usual when Bill leaves. The hated side-by-side that came with the house is making odd noises (hopefully fatal this time), and if Bill's going to be making a Chief's salary, this may be the right time to replace it.

I was thinking yesterday about how far I've come since the last time Bill left, right before Christmas. Then, I was about 6 weeks out from the surgery, still unable to drive more than 50 miles by myself, unable to lift anything, open a jar or can, or do much of anything except whine about how miserable I was. Now, eight months later, there's almost a sense of normalcy in my physical strength, and a huge difference in mental attitude. I am not so afraid. I am not so sad. I still despair a bit when I catch sight of myself naked in a mirror, but I close off that picture mentally and move on. Yes, it is an outrage, what was done to my body, but it had to be done--it saved my life. The things I have to put up with--the occasional pain, the constant artificial feel, the stomach clench at the sheer ugliness of it--are minor, so minor, compared to the gift of time.

I don't sweat a lot of the little stuff anymore. I try to laugh everyday, no matter what the day brings. And I never forget how precious each new morning is. I lucked out, and I'm determined to be happy about that.