It’s been a tough week since returning from our cross-Atlantic adventure. I haven’t felt much like sitting down at the keyboard after bouts with dizziness and nausea. Initially, I thought I might have Covid, but the test proved negative. I sat down at my desk on Monday and the room began to spin. Maybe in the back of my mind I was suffering from Tax Day, but I had already sent in my pound of flesh before the trip. My wife was playing bridge, while I watched our new schnauzer puppy, Fosse and her sister Tally. Otherwise, I was ready to settle into a homebound routine. By dinner time, I had the chills, lost the chocolate that filled my stomach, and couldn’t maintain any sense of balance.
I was hard pressed to remember the last time I was this sick, undoubtedly vulnerable after heart surgery. I was soon in bed under a pile of blankets but still couldn’t control the chill spasms that racked my body. Also, my head was pounding like the Iron Claw had a death grip on me. In the past, I would have probably recovered by morning, but the day was spent on the couch with a diet of plain toast, rice, and sips of Gatorade. My wife picked up my grandson at the bus stop and prepared for her first day of school in more than a month. She also had an evening Zoom meeting with her former high school classmates as they finalized details for their 50th reunion. I struggled to set up the computer.
Wednesday wasn’t much better. Dog duty was a hassle, and the grandkids were coming over to see the new puppy. We ordered for Pizza Boss delivery. I took a couple of Nyquil Cold & Sinus Nighttime tablets to knock me out. By morning, I suffered another relapse and made a doctor’s appointment. All the energy I had went into binging of the Stormy documentary and the series, Truth be Told. I tried to go for a walk but was just too weak and unsteady. I was not looking forward to driving my wife to and from school the next morning, along with picking up my grandson, and running a slew of errands in between. There would be no time for a nap before our Borrego Street get-together in the evening.
An early alarm set me scurrying for dog duty, followed be a quick shower and drive to school. The doctor then scheduled me for a MRI, wanting to take a look at my inner ear. I picked up a prescription for Dramamine, got a haircut, shuttled my wife home, mailed a package, and delivered my grandson home from the bus stop. It turned out to be a nice evening with the neighbors, but I had little energy.
Today is our 23rd wedding anniversary. We were married in Las Vegas at the Bellagio. My wife had already bought herself some pearl earrings on the cruise, claiming them as an early gift from me. We’re headed to the Pink Elephant in Boca Grande for dinner. I wrote this poem to celebrate the occasion:
Pink Elephant
Not too much to drink,
Or a hallucinogenic pill.
I saw a Pink Elephant,
And it was a thrill.
We dined there, too,
In a romantic light.
As the sun sets,
On our anniversary night.
Gasparilla Island,
Surrounded by Gulf.
Where the privileged play,
Tennis and golf.
No more pirates,
Just Bush and Saban.
Snowbirds abound,
A tropical haven.
Boca Grande,
With its beaches nearby.
As we drove the miles,
Under a sunny Blue Sky.
It’s the perfect spot,
For a Twenty third.
No flying Elephants,
Bird is the word.
I want to express,
My love for you.
Because of all,
The things you do.
My wife, best friend,
And nurse of late.
Travel companion,
And dining date.
You cook and clean,
Without much help.
While mothering two pups,
The newest full of “whelp.”
My go-go girl,
You’re always busy.
Maybe it’s you,
Making me dizzy?
Afternoon bridge,
Aqua-fit and tap.
While elderly me,
Takes a nap.
You thrive on friends,
And party planning.
And if there’s time,
Poolside tanning.
You love the beach,
And your golf cart.
Thanks for giving,
Your whole heart.
I couldn’t ask
For any better.
Lover, Looker,
And Go-Getter.
Twenty-four hundred miles,
From where we said I do.
I’d do it all again,
As long as it’s with you.
Copyright 2024 johnstonwrites.com
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