So, here goes, after literally months of avoidance, I return to this blog and attempt, the day after, to begin a healthy process of recollection on a single day's activities, to gain some sort of perspective on this all-to-short human life. As I write this on St. Patrick's Day of 2015, a bright overcast day that will rise into the low 60s and as the grass has received a dosed of pre-emergent fertilizer from Nick, who knows Dancer and is greeted by her in the backyard as he takes the machine in rows and my darling
Not Nick, not the front
yard and not the machine used.
therapy dog is not fearful, only attendant and loving as always, I know that this is a start, like my horoscope spoke of, a way to break out of the morass of inaction (Christine Shaw leads yoga at the YMCA as I type this and I am not there, again, to enjoy her healthy, physical pedagogy and spiritual enlightenment and to tell her how much I enjoyed the Delaware Symphony Concert where her group sang the accompaniment to opera selections ... loved her "Toreador").
At long last, I made the trip across the street and introduced myself to the "new" neighbor who moved in at the end of last year, yes, that's right, over 3 months ago. His name is Bill and he is the son of a DHS grad of '75, Cherie (?) Smith, who grew up in Limestone Acres. His wife -- this is 2nd marriage for both of them -- is Nicole and she is due in April with their first child, a boy, but he has a son from his previous marriage, a boy who has cerebral palsy and is wheelchair-bound and will start school next year. The ebullient, singing child in the front yard, on occasion, is Avah, and their loving dog (name I can't recall). She came over and asked to ride her bike around the block. She is forthright, outgoing and just a dear.
