Tuesday, August 02, 2011

Treat Me Like You Did the Night Before ...

What am I doing home? Shouldn't Paul and I be together again at Wrigley Field?

I loved going Sunday and Monday. He played for three solid hours each night in 90ยบ heat -- God knows how many extra degrees the hot lights added -- and was upbeat, energetic and in terrific voice. How does he do it at age 69? Bouncing from Yesterday to Helter Skelter, his voice should have been ripped to shreds, but it wasn't.

Between the two nights he did most of the songs I really wanted to hear and see ... Got to Get You into My Life, All My Loving, Hello Goodbye, Get Back, I Will, Birthday, We Can Work It Out ... too many to list over the accumulated six hours.

I was thrilled to be THERE, too. Wrigley Field, the Friendly Confines. Home of the Chicago Cubs. Last night I was actually ON the field, shallow right center. Just past the pitcher's mound where my beloved Hall of Famer, Greg Maddux, once stood (landing on both legs, thanks to his textbook perfect stance). Fergie Jenkins. Ron Santo. Billy Williams. All the heroes of my girlhood played there, and now my ultimate great love, Sir Paul, has played there, too.

At times I felt like one of those Make a Wish kids, so worried about my upcoming procedures. Is this my last chance to see Paul before I'm gutted like a fish?

Oh, I know I'm being silly. But I'm worried. Worrying is what I do. I appreciate that his Lordship did his best to take my mind off of my medical problems for six hours this week.

And I Love Him.

August Happiness Challenge -- Day 2

My cats make me happy. I am mega moody today. My last day off and I was having (long) previously scheduled tests. Even though I just had them done as a precaution, they will be useful to my doctor as he decides how to treat my stapler-sized cyst. The thing of it is, my gyne is on vacation until next week, so I just have to wait patiently to find out how we proceed. And waiting patiently is sooooooo not my strong suit.

So I bounce between being annoyed by the process to anxious about the variables (what will be done, when, and how much time off work) to scared by the word "biopsy" to happy as I relive my two nights with Sir Paul at my beloved Wrigley Field. And I'm sick of this freaking heat.

Which is why my cats are a treasure. Each has an individual personality -- Charlotte is imperious and possessive, Joey is a happy and lovable tub of guts who wants nothing more than a good head rub, and Reynaldo is a wild man, fascinated by every aspect of life. They are living, breathing distractions that keep me in touch with nature. I love watching them. I bask in their affection. I am grateful for them.