Wednesday, February 24, 2016

That's quite enough, 2016

This year hasn't been a good one. To borrow from the late, lamented Glenn Frey, each day seems to promise "a heartache tonight." I hope 2016 gets its act together soon, because it's delivered quite enough ick already.

I've been sick. All year. I'm on the mend, which I'm enjoying enormously, but I'm still not well. This has been going on for 62 days now. And I have a colonoscopy to look forward to. I know the procedure is nothing to be worried about, but it's such an icky investment of time. I really resent it. The whole gastrointestinal thing is wearing me out.

 Glenn Frey died. I was saddened not just because I enjoy his work -- and I always have -- but because ulceritive colitis contributed to his death. I really don't like thinking about that these days.

My florist is closing her doors on Friday. Her husband since the 1980s and business partner for the last 24 years is deteriorating rapidly as a result of pulmonary heart disease. She just can't juggle caring for him and keeping the shop open. I worry about her. I'm concerned that once her husband passes and the shock of his loss wears off a bit, she'll miss this little business that they built together. She's losing two of the anchors of her life at once. It makes me very sad.

David Bowie died. Now I admit I never understood his appeal. He struck me as achingly pretentious and his voice was so thin and reedy it almost literally hurt me to listen to it. But that's not the point. A lot of the people around me were great admirers of his, and since I respect their feelings, his unexpected passing caused free floating grief to hang all around me.

Money is on my mind. And I hate worrying about finances. I thought 2016 was gonna be OK. I planned to get a new sofa, finally finish my bathroom, and maybe, just maybe, slip in a spa getaway this year. It's been two years since I treated myself to a solo luxury escape and I really miss it. Anyway, a wrench has been tossed into the works, with the specter of special assessments looming.

Trump worries me. He indicates that there's something very wrong in our
country. I'm trying to inoculate myself against that toxicity with a photo of what's right in our country. 

And, of course, Joey. Though I know I should be grateful that he is comfortable and at peace. And I do know how lucky I was to know him at all.


Baseball is just 39 days away, and I'm always happier when I have my Cubs.

This summer will be busy with nice things. In June, I'm attending my niece's graduation and taking my friend John to Springfield to see the Lincoln sites. My oldest friend is coming in this August for The Fest for Beatle Fans, and that's always fun.

Thinking of the Lads from Liverpool -- and they are seldom far from my thoughts -- it's also helpful to remember that the Beatles were invading us this month 52 years ago. This was #1 on this date in 1964. As with Joey, I know I'm lucky to have the Beatles in my life.