into the water, and set off by myself.
I didn’t cover anything close to the thirty- and forty-kilometer distances that were common for canoe marathons. But I was on the water long enough to realize what I’d been missing and convince myself that I still belonged there. By the time I arrived back home I was tired, sore, and the proud owner of a used canoe.
I didn’t miss a day until freeze-up after that and was back out again once the ice was gone. Every morning since, all the lamps in my room switch on at 5:45 A.M., a marching band starts into a particularly rousing version of “Anchors Aweigh,” and I am instantly awake, heart pounding while I stare, wide-eyed at the sign on my bedroom ceiling. Go canoeing . A note stuck to the alarm says the same thing: Go canoeing . As does the one in the bathroom: Go canoeing, you stupid cow.
The music might keep me awake, but the notes are what keep me moving.
“Go canoeing,” I whispered this morning while pulling on shorts and a T-shirt. “Go canoeing,” I said again as I tied my hair back in a scrunchie. “Go canoeing, you stupid cow,” I told the pale and puffy face in the bathroom mirror, then grabbed my notebook from the bedside table before dashing down the stairs.
In the kitchen, I opened my notebook and read the first lines on the page. Take meds. Check appointment book . The doctor had given me a brand-new medication box—a big clunky affair with separate boxes for each day of the week as well as time of day: morning, afternoon, evening, and night. A DYMO label across the bottom read, Flip up the next closed lid. Do not close it after taking medication. I lifted the last closed lid. Tonight, I would need to refill the container for the next week.
After jotting that down in my notebook, I poured a glass of water and shook the pills into my hand. Grace thinks they’re hormones—the benefits of which we have discussed at length. Just as we have discussed the memory cards the doctor gave me, as well as the reasons why I need to get lots of sleep and drink at least eight glasses of water a day. Preventive measures, I told her. To keep me healthy and help stave off old age—a luxury I won’t have anymore.
Pills swallowed, I poured more water and sat at the table, sipping slowly while doing Mindfulness Exercises. Breathing deeply, in and out. Focusing on the breath, holding firm to the breath before opening the memory box and picking a card, any card. Who is the prime minister? Where are you? What day is it? Silly little questions that were both telling and reassuring.
This morning, everything was wonderfully clear. No fog and no hesitation. It was Friday, I was in my kitchen and only too well aware of who was still in power. I was having a good day. I didn’t even need to check the appointment book. Every Friday, Betty Jane Parker came at nine for me, and June McKnight came for Grace. One point for Ruby.
Grabbing a couple more memory cards, I slid them into my pocket with the notebook and glanced over at Grace’s bedroom door. We usually ran into each other here in the morning, grunting a greeting, kissing a cheek before setting off in different directions. But I hadn’t heard any movement in her room since I came down the stairs.
I tiptoed over and rapped lightly. “Grace, you up?” No response. I knocked louder. “Grace?” That was when I noticed her binoculars weren’t hanging by the back door. Her shoes were gone too. I wandered over to the window. As was her bike. She always says the birding is best at dawn—or maybe she still wasn’t talking to me.
It still amazed me how quickly Grace took to bird-watching. She’d spend hours with that little bird book if I let her. Committing every fact, every statistic, to memory and throwing them out at the oddest times. Like the tidbit about Canada geese at the birthday party. Honestly, who cares that the dirty things poop every six minutes? And who was paid to find that out anyway?
But there were no
I didn’t cover anything close to the thirty- and forty-kilometer distances that were common for canoe marathons. But I was on the water long enough to realize what I’d been missing and convince myself that I still belonged there. By the time I arrived back home I was tired, sore, and the proud owner of a used canoe.
I didn’t miss a day until freeze-up after that and was back out again once the ice was gone. Every morning since, all the lamps in my room switch on at 5:45 A.M., a marching band starts into a particularly rousing version of “Anchors Aweigh,” and I am instantly awake, heart pounding while I stare, wide-eyed at the sign on my bedroom ceiling. Go canoeing . A note stuck to the alarm says the same thing: Go canoeing . As does the one in the bathroom: Go canoeing, you stupid cow.
The music might keep me awake, but the notes are what keep me moving.
“Go canoeing,” I whispered this morning while pulling on shorts and a T-shirt. “Go canoeing,” I said again as I tied my hair back in a scrunchie. “Go canoeing, you stupid cow,” I told the pale and puffy face in the bathroom mirror, then grabbed my notebook from the bedside table before dashing down the stairs.
In the kitchen, I opened my notebook and read the first lines on the page. Take meds. Check appointment book . The doctor had given me a brand-new medication box—a big clunky affair with separate boxes for each day of the week as well as time of day: morning, afternoon, evening, and night. A DYMO label across the bottom read, Flip up the next closed lid. Do not close it after taking medication. I lifted the last closed lid. Tonight, I would need to refill the container for the next week.
After jotting that down in my notebook, I poured a glass of water and shook the pills into my hand. Grace thinks they’re hormones—the benefits of which we have discussed at length. Just as we have discussed the memory cards the doctor gave me, as well as the reasons why I need to get lots of sleep and drink at least eight glasses of water a day. Preventive measures, I told her. To keep me healthy and help stave off old age—a luxury I won’t have anymore.
Pills swallowed, I poured more water and sat at the table, sipping slowly while doing Mindfulness Exercises. Breathing deeply, in and out. Focusing on the breath, holding firm to the breath before opening the memory box and picking a card, any card. Who is the prime minister? Where are you? What day is it? Silly little questions that were both telling and reassuring.
This morning, everything was wonderfully clear. No fog and no hesitation. It was Friday, I was in my kitchen and only too well aware of who was still in power. I was having a good day. I didn’t even need to check the appointment book. Every Friday, Betty Jane Parker came at nine for me, and June McKnight came for Grace. One point for Ruby.
Grabbing a couple more memory cards, I slid them into my pocket with the notebook and glanced over at Grace’s bedroom door. We usually ran into each other here in the morning, grunting a greeting, kissing a cheek before setting off in different directions. But I hadn’t heard any movement in her room since I came down the stairs.
I tiptoed over and rapped lightly. “Grace, you up?” No response. I knocked louder. “Grace?” That was when I noticed her binoculars weren’t hanging by the back door. Her shoes were gone too. I wandered over to the window. As was her bike. She always says the birding is best at dawn—or maybe she still wasn’t talking to me.
It still amazed me how quickly Grace took to bird-watching. She’d spend hours with that little bird book if I let her. Committing every fact, every statistic, to memory and throwing them out at the oddest times. Like the tidbit about Canada geese at the birthday party. Honestly, who cares that the dirty things poop every six minutes? And who was paid to find that out anyway?
But there were no
Similar Books
![Hard and Easy [High-Country Shifters 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)](https://fs.collectorofbookboyfriends.com/601893/thumbs/152x264/hard-and-easy-high-country-shifters-5-siren-publishing-menage-everlasting.png)
