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A new year—new hopes

A New Year Flower

     The buds are opening up on the orchid plant; my car keys are safely in my purse—outside of my locked car; two rooms in my home are undergoing cozy transformations; Paul is needing less and less of my time; my friends are still my friends; the roof leaks are sealed; my first great grandson has turned a year old; a second great grandson is on his way, anxious to meet us all.

     A new year—new hopes. A new year—good vibes, politics aside and that's all I'm going to say about that. Spring is not in the air yet, but there's a spring in my step. That's due to finally, finally sticking with the stretching exercises the doc gave me, long time ago. And good times with family, friends and strangers. Lots of strangers. They help with getting Paul in and out of unwieldy doors; they solve questions about which light bulb will work with which lamp; they take my money at the gas station with a smile and friendly remarks. Some become new friends.

     Okay. So I'm a Pollyanna. I can't help it; it's in my blood; it's in my jeans—oops, my genes. Whatever.

     I looked at the sky this morning as I walked my 5-5-5 routine. That's how I convince myself to do fifteen minutes. I set my phone timer to five minutes, press "restart" when it dings. The ding makes me feel so accomplished I keep walking until the second ding, and that one keeps me going for the final five, which makes—yay! fifteen!

     The sky is filled with whooshes of bright white clouds sweeping in arcs and swoops of paler white ones. The sun gazes out from its perch in the midst of a wispy cloud. More of God's artistry. Amazing—the beauty of his world, the world he gave us, and the infinite numbers of his "paintings," no two alike.  

     My walk these days is changing. Until a month ago I walked slowly; now I change up my pace. Hurry, hurry. Long strides, long strides. Slowly, slowly. Recently I've even jogged a bit between slowly, slowly. And sometimes I carry weights to strengthen those bones. Only two pounders, but I'm ready for the three-pounders that are waiting for me inside.

     Tonight I'll walk again. I do 'most every night. Love to feel the sharp sting of the cold on my face and look up at the distant stars trying to be seen in the night sky of El Cajon. I can just barely make out Orion up there and oh! there goes a plane, its lights flashing, telling me there are humans up there.

     Back inside I'm revved. I did it! Fifteen in the morning, fifteen tonight. Thirty minutes!!! And guess what? I'm grabbing my Kindle and off to the garage where the exercycle waits for me. No wispy clouds; no dark sky holding a crescent moon; just the readout panel, ready to tell me how long I've been pedaling. I started with five minutes. Now I'm up to fifteen. Last night I turned the resistance up two notches. The latest novel in my Kindle keeps me absorbed while my feet work the pedals. I try not to look at the elapsed time before at least seven or eight minutes have gone by.

     Next: time to go inside for my stretches. Funny time to do it, before I go to bed, but hey—whatever works, right? Music from the CD soothes my spirit—or energizes me—as I stretch away. Five sets of thirty second stretches, three times each, and then roll over, climb under the blankets, and ask him for a zillion things, mostly to take care of his people, my friends.

     A new year, new hopes.

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