Being homebound since early January because of a bad ski decision (who knows if I had turned on the right instead of the left what would have happened), has its share of good and bad news.
Here they are without any order of preference:
The good news is that for the second week in a row, I finished the New York Times Sunday Edition before anyone else.
The bad news is that I have to wait for Sunday to be entertained.
The good news is that I have approached agents and editors for several of my manuscripts.
The bad news is that they aren’t probably stuck home like me and that I will have to wait before I hear from them.
The good news is that my husband has turned into a gourmet chef.
The bad news is that someday I will have to match his skills.
The good news is that I will be able to take a shower on Friday when my dressing, cast, icing pad, stitches, and who knows what else, are removed.
The bad news is that I won’t have a personal hair stylist to shampoo my hair (aka my husband, the gourmet chef).
The good news is that my friend Julie is no longer an exclusive expert on Ken Follett.
The bad news is that I have to wait for the second volume of his new trilogy, knowing that the first one was published only a couple of months ago.
The good news is that my nails are longer and stronger, thanks to no dish washing, no cleaning, no laundry, no gardening, no nothing.
The bad news is that I can’t show them off.
The good news is that today I have left my bed around 10:00 am instead of noon.
The bad news is that I have elected the sofa as my new bed.
The good news is that I do my left straight leg raise exercises.
The bad news is that I used to never think there were exercises.
The good news is to receive cards and e-mails from my friends telling me all about their lives.
The bad news is that life goes on even when someone has quit being a full part of it.
The good news is that I appreciate the little pleasures of life such as a square of chocolate after lunch or a cookie in the afternoon.
The bad news is that it is how my parents who are eighty years old live.
The good news is that my beloved Yosemite is still somewhere behind my window.
The bad news is that I won’t be able to join my hiking buddies on our annual spring hike.
The good news is that I eat now like a real American around the coffee table (easier for me to sit on the sofa than a chair) as I watch Anderson Cooper.
The bad news is that I can’t pretend anymore that I’m not a couch potato and a TV addict.
The good news is that for once I am grateful to someone I don’t know and won’t ever meet: the donor who gave me his knee ligament.
The good news is that I am a donor too.
But the best news is that we are Tuesday night and that in two days I will be a free woman.
The bad news? Weeks of therapy ahead of me.
The good news? Physical therapy is like a gym with personal trainers.
The bad news? Like personal trainers, they expect results.
The good news? For the word lover I am, I’ve learned the true meaning of the word and adjective PATIENT
The bad news? I hate it.
The good news is that tomorrow is another day bringing, I’m sure, plenty of good news.