This morning dawned clear and colder, all traces of last night's storm merely branches and sticks and puddles on the ground and the tiny birds and the cardinals too are at the feeder, busy with the business of eating and it's supposed to be the day we head over to the island but for several reasons, I don't think we're going.
One, it's going to be cold. Really cold. The seas are six to eight feet today and that would make a miserable, wet crossing. And Lily called- Owen started puking at midnight so I just have a strong feeling that the Mer and the Bop are going to be coming down with this mess too and I don't want to be sick at the island. God knows I've kissed those boys too many times to think that I won't get sick.
Well.
I'm so torn. I want to be there, right this second, and that's not possible. The work involved in getting everything together and taking the boat and crossing and unloading is overwhelming to me right now. And I do not feel good. I ache. I ache everywhere and when I woke up I began to cry.

I'm tired, I guess. Just the thought of having to ask our neighbor to feed our dogs and let them out and to open the henhouse in the morning and shut it up at night is too much. I can't. I just can't.

And there are still so many things to do. I want and do not want but must have a meeting with all of the staff who were on duty the evening my mother died at the health center of the assisted living. It is always going to haunt me, the way my mother died. She collapsed at physical therapy and was unresponsive and her pulse was thready. That's what the nurse said when she called me. And then she apologized because she knew that Mother was DNR but the form was not there, not in her papers at the health center and so by law they had to try and resuscitate her and call the ambulance and she said in another call (how many calls were there in our desperate dash to get to the hospital before the ambulance?) that Mother had regained consciousness and yet, when we did get to the hospital, she was so obviously miles down the path towards her death, and why didn't that nurse call over to the floor where Mother's room was, just a few hundred yards away to get someone to verify that yes, Mother's DNR form was on the back of her door in the clear plastic folder where it was kept so that she would not be coded, would not be resuscitated and why wasn't that form in her papers, her chart and I want to hear what happened. 
No. It wouldn't do one bit of good to know but I want to hear. From the nurse, the physical therapist, from everyone involved.

I'm just so tired. And I hurt. And it's probably best to stay right here and rest, whatever that means. And it's not so bad here. It's not so bad at all.

The pink smear of the redbud tree reaching up to blue sky. Elvis trying to court tiny Miss Baby.

I swear to you, I just went back and read what I have written here in the past hour and it's like I don't even recognize any of it. Am I losing my mind? Am I dreaming? 

Maybe I'm just getting sick. Whatever. It would not be a good time to go to the island. I think everything has finally caught up with me and today I need to rest. Just that.