One misty moisty morning
when cloudy was the weather
I chanced to meet an old man
clothed all in leather.
He began to compliment
and I began to grin.
How do you do?
And how do you do?
And how do you do, again.?

It is that kind of morning, and I sit by the window outside my mother’s bedroom and think of that nursery rhyme I used to sing to b!X when he was a toddler. I don’t know where we first heard it. On Captain Kangaroo, I think.
This is the kind of day I always loved as a kid. I could curl up on the couch and read and nap all day. I could just lie there and let my mind wander, create those magical lands to which I could escape.
Although it is misty and moisty, it is not that kind of day here.
My mother had a bad night last night, tossing, turning, wrapping herself in her blanket. A hint of shroud.
She tends to sleep on her side, and she puts pressure on the nerve bundles at her shoulders. Her bones are fragile, and we can’t help wondering if she fractured something. She hurts at that spot at the tip of her shoulder and down her arm. We prop her up in bed so that she can lie on her back, put pillows under her knees. Her hands and feet are cold, and we turn on the electric blanket. I heat up the mirowaveable packs I made (filled with millet) and place one on each shoulder. We give her tea with honey. I think she’s dehydrated. She falls asleep.
I’m supposed to start my exercise program at Curves tomorrow. It’s the one thing I really need to do for myself. I really need to do that.
Her breathing is so shallow that I have to watch very closely to make sure that I can see her chest rise and fall.
I sit by the window on this misty moisty morning. The snow has melted everywhere but on the lake. I notice that we have a few new finches stopping by the feeders. The squirrels, annoyed that we have put a baffle above the bird feeder, have taken to climibng up the window screen to get to the suet cage. I look up and one is splayed, belly to my face, across the screen. They are supremely persisent.
Yesterday, I started going through my seed packets, hoping to get a head start on spring.
Today I sit by the window and envy the persistence of squirrels.
I hear a noise and see my mother standing in the doorway. She looks better. She has the persistence of squirrels.
Not relevant to anything here, today is the Ides of March.