The Red Cross trailer was parked in front of Lowe's on Silver Drive just like it usually is. The little booth in back felt even more claustrophobic than usual, but the attendant was very professional and polished in the procedure. She had perfect skin. I don't think she smiled or frowned once during the entire 45 minutes. My blood pressure was 120/80. The otherwise too-loud radio played "Baba O'Reilly" too softly while they hooked me up and I squeezed and released the little rubber ball every five seconds.
I ate the entire bag of Cheez-Its while sitting in the parking lot before going to my next errand, saving the trail mix for later. Must maintain energy. The rec. center was not as close as I'd imagined when I made the appointment, thinking that Lowe's would be on the way, when in fact it was a few miles out of the way at the opposite end of Clintonville, an easy mistake to make if coming from Methodistville. The drive up High Street was not unpleasant if you like that kind of thing.
In the rec. center parking lot the midafternoon sun was slanting across the field as it does in winter, and it drew me to the three pine trees beside the softball diamond. I've always liked those three pine trees. Even facing into the wind it was a good time to do a little qigong, having just given blood, and when is it not a good time for some internal healing practice? I just hope the recipient of my pint appreciates the high-quality rum remaining in my system from a bit of Friday night celebrating.
A few drummers were already banging away when I entered the room, and a collective shout went up welcoming me back, because I hadn't been there in a few months, kind of like Norm walking into Cheers. It was great to see some familiar faces and another great source of healing to join in the rhythm-building, shape-shifting, bass and treble-making crescendo and diminuendo of the drum circle. After one particularly awesome jam, Mark remarked, "Was that specifically fun?" You had to be there.
I got home just before dark, so I put the new lights on my bike and went for a very short, very cold ride. I think my mistake was removing my gloves to fiddle around with the straps that attach the lights to the handlebars, thus starting out with cold hands, so my fleece gloves had no chance. After quickly turning back, I ran warm water over my frozen fingers, started a fire, and poured a glass of red wine to watch the Crimson Tide dominate the Gators.
The next day, right on schedule, I began to descend into my annual preholiday funk. Call it stress, call it seasonal affective disorder, call it uncertainty and change at work, or feel free to make up an interesting new name for it, whatever you call it, I am not making the transition into winter smoothly. Consequently, 'tis the season to humbug. At least that I know how to do. Some time around noon on December 24, I fully intend to become a nice person again, at least long enough to enjoy some lutefisk and lefse.
Like everyone else in this krazy krismas kulture, I have many preparations to make, and compared to most my preparations are minimal. Some of them involve ripping out a doorway, cutting through lath and plaster, and pulling nails, which can be satisfying in a cathartic sort of way. Then the hard part comes - putting the slightly enlarged doorway back together with a semblance of stability. Like any task worth doing right, it will take more time than it seems at first.
The good news is the weather was slightly warmer on Sunday, and while bread dough was rising I took the time to get out on le Trek Vert for a nice long ride down Alum Creek Trail. It was a successful test of helmet, tires, gloves, and matching le windbreaker vert, all of which handled the weather just fine. Best of all, I was not as exhausted and unfit as I feared, having neglected any aerobic training for far too long. At least one positive sign heading into the season of darkness, I won't need a pacemaker quite yet.
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