We had a great weekend up at the cabin, swimming and boating and walking. Then a long, trafficy drive home. Oh, well, going anywhere on Labor Day weekend is risky business. It was worth it to get away, stare at the lake, and search the skies for Osprey. The dogs always act like what can we be thinking when we head back home. They'd be happy chasing sticks in the lake for the rest of their lives. But they are back to hunting for fallen apples and stealing socks.
This morning my husband decided to inform our insurance company that my Medicare had begun, and first they said we shouldn't have filed for Part B, which is what they had previously instructed me to do, but after thirty minutes on the phone it was semi straightened out. Oh the joy of bureauracy. They contradict themselves! Welcome to serious old age.
Despite breaking a toe falling over backwards on the rocks on the lake, I don't feel too much more decrepit than last week. It's my husband who has strained his back (a chronic problem for him) and boy is he grumpy. He doesn't want to face the doctor, because he hasn't done the exercises, or any of the other things the doctor annually recommends. At least I know it usually gets better without doing anything right. But I nicknamed him Titanic this morning, as he lists to the side.
So maybe we're both slowly sinking, but still. There is music playing, we're among friends, and the vast wide ocean is part of this old earth and our experience on it.
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