On my way home from work on Friday night, I was in stop-and-go traffic behind a guy in a silver Miata with a black top. It was the earlier version of the Miata, the version with the plastic window, which he had unzipped. It made me smile, because I remembered that I used to do that, too, sometimes when I had mine. Yes, before the 2002 Miata I own now, I owned a 1992 Miata. What can I say, I love those little cars.
The thing I noticed about him beyond his car, was that he had a tick. I don’t know if he had Turret’s syndrome or what, but every 30 seconds or so, his body forced him to turn his head to his right, bobble it a couple times, while he mouthed a few words, and then he faced forward again. Over and over it went.
At first I thought it was kind of funny, then as time passed and we all slowly crept forward together, stuck on the freeway in a proximity closer than any of us wanted, I couldn’t help but think how exhausting that must be for him. Time after time I watched his head turn quickly, bobble, his car would mildly swerve in sync, and then he regained control, faced forward and acted as if everything was normal. It was normal for him. His normal.
Isn’t that what we all try to do? Move forward with each of our versions of “normal?” Whatever that may be?
Yesterday was the annual Green Dinner event at Tony’s church. It’s an event that we start talking about when we put our Valentine’s decorations away and bring out our St. Patrick’s Day decorations. It’s an event I always enjoy, where they serve delicious corned beef, potatoes, carrots, cabbage and cake (CAKE!!). This year, while the venue was a bit smaller and there were no Irish dancers, I still immensely enjoyed everything that was offered. Plus, visiting with the Seniors (Tony’s parents), and the Steve/Marigold/Huck/Milo Show made for a perfect evening, as far as I was concerned.
Today I got back in the pool for the first time in a month and a half. I felt like I needed to for my own sanity, but I was scared to do so, because I thought for sure I’d miscarry right then and there. The doctor tells you not to do something and suddenly it becomes Bad. Yet in a “normal” pregnancy, swimming would be Good. The mind is a funny thing sometimes.
The act of swimming felt weird to me after so long of a break. Although they knew what they were supposed to be doing, my arms felt like uncoordinated noodles. I was also ultra-aware of what muscles I was using to accomplish what came so easily to me not that long ago. The most surprising thing to me, though, was that I didn’t get winded at all… my stamina and endurance hadn’t changed much. Which is to say that I didn’t find myself huffing and puffing at all, and I was pleased with that. I guess I was in better shape than I had thought.
It was such a beautiful day here today. Tony refilled the bird feeders in our back yard and the sun was so warm and bright, I went outside and thought, “Wow, I bet it would feel wonderful just to lie down and look up at the sky…” And so I did. Then I fell asleep and ended up taking a 45 minute nap, lying on the warmed concrete in our back yard, with the sun shining warmly on my skin and a slight breeze stirring the leaves of the Eucalyptus tree behind me. I had a nap in the oasis, such as it is, of my own back yard.
Then I had to get up and do chores.
Normal. My normal.