a good little patient

Election morrow, and trust everyone expressed self by ballot. Who failed to vote forfeits all moral right to complain about what happens between now and next election. But will whine all the same. 

Too busy week, with something scheduled for every single morning. This morning a conflict and I had to cancel the walk in order to report to the dentist for 7:30 appointment. Instead of the brisk walk followed by breakfast out with eggs over-medium, early snack of guacamole on crispy thin toast and black coffee. Now for the amoxicillin, four pills one hour before sitting in the dentist chair, to ward off infection getting to the heart or something, I don’t know, I just do what I’m told. A doctor once called me “a good little patient.” Yes. I was 75.

Back from the dentist and now out on the downstairs front screen porch and a lovely Florida fall morning. What’s lovely about muggy and overcast? Life. Slightest cool Gulf breeze coming in across the Bay. Black coffee and a slice of apple crisp Linda made from two Northern Michigan apples a friend brought to church last Sunday. Tart for munching, perfect for baking. Love Michigan but it was early in the Navy career, more than half a century ago. Who would have thought. Joe was two, Malinda four. Japan was next. 

Passing down front: medium large ship escorted by two tugs. Just thinking: this house doesn’t have seven bedrooms, it has four master suites, each with its own full bathroom, bedroom and sitting room or study, plus three three living rooms and a powder room. Dining room, “formal” as the saying goes, enormous kitchen. And a dove cooing in a pine tree down front.    

Ol’ buttermilk sky.

T