Dear readers,
I began this blog two weeks ago just as the weather was turning nice. I opted not to post it and relax. You'll see that I had a pretty good excuse.

This morning I woke up to a weather report that promised it would be hot. Like every veteran of Springtime in Seattle, I echoed my husband's skepticism: "I'll believe it when I see it." After spending Mother's Day and the following Monday in the hospital (more on that later), I thought of the phrase that adorned many posters and cards in the early 70s: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life." I wanted to shout Amen and Hallelujah! I wanted to bound out of bed and plant myself in the backyard with a glass of iced tea, and spend some time absorbing all the vitamins I have lacked because of my confinement. After all, I was under doctor's orders to take it easy.
I hate, seriously, I hate talking about the details of my health. I know I have written a few blog entries about my go-round with colon cancer, but I felt that it served a purpose in explaining my absence, as well as promoting screening for early detection. With that said, I had a little complication over the weekend. On Saturday I sneezed, and on Sunday, there was blood. The short version is that the problem was fixed, and I am home. Hence my joy when I realized the weather would finally be nice. I had lost about 10% of my body weight with surgery and all, and I was afraid that I was never going to feel warm again. When I arrived at the emergency room on Mother's Day, the wonder-nurses at Group Health Eastside (and I really mean that!), had to pack my arms with moist heat in order to find veins for an IV line or two. I ended up back at Virginia Mason downtown. I had a "procedure," at which time they cauterized the spot that was bleeding. Once again, I was amazed at the professional level of the nursing staff. I could not have had better care.
Before I was discharged from the hospital, I turned on the television and found news reports about the terrible earthquake in China. I saw the images of so many who were injured, displaced, and grief-stricken. I immediately thought about all the parents who had lost their "one glorious child." My own closely-monitored pain of the last few months seemed insignificant.
For the most part, The Big Table meals have moved to the covered patio. Our boys and their respective girlfriends have been dropping by to check on me. Other friends and relatives have kept me company. Lenny's cousin Linda flew in from California just to make sure I was really ok. We've played a few rousing games of our new favorite game, "Catch Phrase." I have cooked a bit, and learned that I don't have to do it all myself. My floors haven't been swept or vacuumed in a few weeks. I don't really care. When I'm back to normal, maybe there will be a new normal. There seems to be a lot of that going on in the world.