I think it's Thursday. Most days I'm not really sure, but I'm going to treat this like a Thursday and see what happens. Thursday is a sort of predictable day. Normal things happen on Thursdays, which is kind of comforting, to have one day a week that you think you know what will happen. It's rainy and gray outside, which I suppose is better than rainy and gray inside. Not sure when the dogs will get to go out. They don't care for raindrops pinging on their heads. Fortunately, they are both pretty patient, and have strong bladders. I guess they'll let me know.
Thursday is newspaper day, and flower day. It's really one of the most festive days of the week around here. At some point today, I'll gather up anything that needs to be mailed, and drive off to the post office. On my way, I'll stop at any busy intersection in town, and buy a paper from some brave person who's standing out there in rainy day traffic, risking their life for that twenty-five cent tip. We won't read most of the news. A glance at the front page to see who's in jail this week for killing their girlfriend, and then straight to the Tempo to read about the entertainment possibilities for the weekend. We'll most likely stay home, but it's always worth a look.
Later in the day, Katy George will drop by with a car load of fresh flowers. Katy is a clothing and hat designer, but in Taos, nobody does only one thing. Katy is also the Flower Lady. Every Thursday she delivers fresh flowers to a long list of people, for a mere $14.50 plus tip. I always tip. I am a firm believer in tipping. It might even be a religious thing for me. And even though I'm cutting back on a lot of things these days, I've assured Katy that flowers will be the last to go. Times aren't that bad, and it's a touch of gentle pampering once a week to have cheery new flowers in the house. It's a small thing, and it makes a big difference. It keeps things feeling kind of normal.
Defining "normal" right now is tricky. With Rick's back out of whack, nothing is really normal at all. He feels awful and can't do much of anything but find a comfortable position and read a book. He spends most of his time in the bedroom because, fortunately, we have a good bed. It keeps him from hurting too much. But he has to be getting bored by now. He's not a slacker couch potato. He's an active guy who likes to be moving around a lot. And as hard as this must be, he's not complaining at all. You know how most men turn into terrible babies when they're sick or hurt? Not Rick. He's amazing. And his amazingness makes it easy for me to be a much nicer nurse than I normally would be. I'm usually good for two or three days, tops. Then it's just time to get well, dammit.
We're learning a few things from this. It's been a week now, and we've already discovered that there's no point in wanting to get back to normal. Back to anything never works. And I think it's interesting that it's his back that's injured... The only way to go is forward, so that's what we're doing... moving forward, by smidgens each day, to whatever the new normal might be. I can't even guess. But moving in tiny bits makes it a lot less scary. I imagine snails and turtles to be pretty fearless. One little slide or step, take a rest. What's to worry about? Normal happens at every moment. Now, and now, and now...
Finishing up here, the rain has stopped, and the sky opened up to show a dusting of new snow on the mountains. I took the dogs out and had a look around. Snow on a Thursday in June. Definitely not normal. Guess we'll have to wait and see about the rest.