It got ahead of me. Way ahead.

I started well. Up early, before 4, had my orange and checked mail and news, swam at 7, did a little shopping (looking), waited for groceries to be delivered. Late. Not late but later than they have ever been. Finally ate breakfast (scrambled eggs with mushrooms and a slice of sourdough bread, toasted). I sat down with the NYT magazine—thinking any minute now—and read the whole thing, well, two long articles I didn’t think I’d have time for. Just finished as they came.

So I put things away, made coffee, checked the bill, planned menus, especially dinner: all vegetables. And then I lost it, the day, control, everything. I sagged into Netflix, ignoring what I planned to work on. About 3 in the afternoon I had lunch, an ice cream bar, delivered this morning, and went for the mail—nada.

I assembled the vegetables I planned for dinner. I had to be finished early because I had signed up for a ZOOM lecture at 7 p.m.

Harvard considers me a graduate because I was a fellow at the Mary Bunting Institute at Radcliffe before their closer relationship now. So I’m on the mailing list.

This was the first time I signed on for a ZOOM event, a lecture by a therapist on the nervous system and how it affects the brain and the body. I had some vague idea that maybe I could relieve some of my chronic pain by approaching it from a different angle.

The presentation held me; it was well done. I took notes and appreciated the graphic summaries and images. Questions from the audience and answers by the lecturer had little to do with my problem, but they were useful in a way. I have some thinking to do, about my childhood. My new (projected) book will help.

My vegetables: leftover sweet potatoes, from last night, sugar snap beans, Brussel sprouts roasted in olive oil and maple syrup, and two hash brown potato pads from the freezer. Didn’t eat it all. Too much.

Not a great day, but I might make something of it.

Everything takes time.

I’ve probably told you this story before, but if you are a long-time lurker, you won’t mind or you’ve forgotten…

This is a domestic tale told in England to reassure people (women) that they are safe.

Mrs. Brown was a long-time resident of the little town she was born and bred in. Her husband died and her children had left for jobs and marriages in the city. The family came home for her birthday and for Christmas and Easter, but that was about it. They were busy.

Mrs.Brown was busy, too, helping out when someone was sick or needed an exrtra hand with the children, or a pot of cock-a-leekie soup. She learned to make it when her husband was alive because he was Scottish, but she didn’t put prunes in hers, just so you know she was her own person. She lived just off the town square in a house that was older than she was but she’d been there long enough for it to be called the Brown House. Everyone knew it and knew her and watched out for her. It wasn’t that hard. They knew her habits.

Every morning when she woke up, shortly after daylight, Mrs.Brown would raise her blind to look at the day while she drank her tea. It was a green blind.

Everyone knew it.

“The green blind is up. All is well.” If people didn’t always say it out loud, they thought it. If it was slow rising, they knew she was tired, or sick. But it always went up.

Now, here’s my analogy.

My blog is my green blind.

Watch for it.