My Beautiful Little Monkey

Yesterday was a great day. For the first time in a week I felt well enough to leave the house to go somewhere other than the market, the pharmacy, or my GP’s office.

While I overslept and was unable to eat lunch with my mom and dad as I typically do every Sunday I was able to maintain the rest of my Sunday routine by taking Maddie-dog on a long, leisurely stroll and then going to chapel.

I’m a fan of some organized sports but not all; professional sports I could really care less about. I had committed to drive down to watch the Super Bowl with my brother’s family after chapel was over and of course I was more excited about seeing them than any football game. When I asked Clara who she wanted to win she indicated that her preference, like mine, was the “baldy-mow ribbons.” My own reasoning had nothing at all to do with any of the actual players or statistics (nor was it the color of their uniforms, however). My family hails from Boston andthe Ravens are the singular pro sports team to be named after a poem. The 49ers may be swell but they can’t beat that.

So “my team” won. I’m more excited that Clara’s team won because this kid was into it. At one point she smacked the table. Maybe she understands, or even likes football – who knows. If it brings her happiness so be it. It has not really been the case for me. It has been for me a source of background noise to many things that have truly brought me joy, be they good books, good company or both. Last night it was the latter. I loved every moment of the too-limited time I got to spend with Bryan, Setou, baby Matthieu, and my sweet sweet Clara who showed me some very inventive dance moves during the half-time show in the cutest pajamas I have ever seen.

Super? That’s an understatement.





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