Just Where Did the Universe Hide My Keys?


I have only driven twice in the last year, once to the market to fetch ice cream. That treat was long gone before I realized I had even purchase it. Coffee. Coffee Chip. Or Banana Pudding ice cream. All three favors get my taste buds all aflutter.

Now that I’ve been home for ten weeks since my five week stint, the bug is hitting. I’m getting restless and eager to once again have the reigns in my hand. Jon will though be a tough nut to crack or otherwise. He’s come to enjoy the control, imput, and involvement in my recuperation.

He’s often likened the process to something like “Driving Miss Daisy” at which I readily balk. I, then, pout a little and allow my indignation to slowly dissipate. After all, it is the genteel South where we acquiesce just a little, then slowly surrender. We will then host either a proper soirée or a knockdown after-party that remains on “Ultra” mode until dawn.

So my plan is to slowly work my way back to the driver’s seat and turn my iPod to the latest Glasvegas tunes. And crank those ditties up. I’m back, or will be soon. Although once I have the transplant, it will be a month or more I can, by orders of Dr Rose-Jones, get back to my life, albeit a newly revised and hopefully improved one.

I will be prescribed a strict regimen of many anti-rejection medications. I shall have to slowly return to my schedule, forever: scrutinizing my diet, limiting my activities, and maintaining my, usual cheery, ebullient, and positive self. To fulfill all those requisite “musts”, I might need to my Medicaid communications over to a hawkish, more aggressive friend or loved one (Read Jon here!).

For all of those needs and reasons, possession of the primary Jeep key is half the skirmish. It is a precious Marklewood icon of control, albeit always well-meaning.

So I must make my moments matter. That time is ideal for making phone calls, texting, and returning long, delinquent responses to emails. I admit I cannot text nearly as quickly as Janet Franks Doll who I am certain has surreptitiously won national tournaments. Jon Markle is the email and application guru.

I best use my “Daisy” days wisely while Jon maintains the reigns.

I suspect I may even need to renew my driver’s license a couple of times before that last dance, a waltz with my friend, Nancy Kitchener . She will definitely let me navigate and steer.


(Image: “The Forgotten”by Ray Caesar, 2014.

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