Oooof!

Getting out of bed this morning was an Olympic event. After my marathon painting and hefting and hands-and-knees scrubbing of yesterday, my body is in full-fledged rebellion. I am currently waiting for my stomach to wake up so I can eat something and then down an 800 mg ibuprofen, so I can actually move around today without groaning.

But the good news is the painting is done. Finis. Well, almost. One quick roller final coat on both sides of the closet door, and that end pronouncement will be true.

I generally like to paint. I find it contemplative and relaxing, monotonous yet rhythmic. But I've reached my personal limit of brush-brush-think-think-roll-roll this time. I want desperately for this to all be done, so I can get on the road and do my other favorite contemplative activity, driving America's highways.

MaryAnn asks: "Why do you like driving cross-country, when you never look out the windows at the scenery?" She and I have a running joke that I drive with a mono-maniacal focus on the view straight ahead. She has followed me in town repeatedly, waving, honking and trying to get my attention, to no avail. I am not to be distracted from my mission! Maybe it's that I never expect to see anyone I know in town, or that I am focused on driving super-safely in an all-too familiar environment.

Out on the road, I am much more relaxed, not so destination-driven. I do look at scenery, and traveling with Echo forces me to stop each hour, walk around and scope the sights while she smells the scents of other traveling pets, her very favorite activity.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. There is still much to do: the laundry, the packing, the cleaning up so I don't have to come home to a dirty house. A year ago today, (I just realized), I had my mastectomy. How different my concerns are today, compared to 365 days ago. Now there's something to contemplate and be grateful for.