I have the flu, I think. Achy, sore throat, nasty cough, sleepy. I came down with it right after an annual post-health fair check-up when I assured my new doctor that I never get sick, and that she will only see me about once a year, and always in April, as that’s when I care most about my health, or more accurately, mortality, since this is the month I was hit by a truck and almost killed, and the month my mother died, and so it’s also the time of year when I’m pretty sure that the swollen muscle in my arm is not from swimming too hard on Friday but rather a potentially fatal blood clot. (It was our first visit since my old doctor, the one I had for 30 years, retired and moved to a larger, warmer Washington town with more Jewish residents so his children could go to proper Hebrew school, among other totally understandable reasons.)
On the plus side, this isn’t Easter, the weather is awful– rain and snow and windy cold– which makes lying low much easier; I read a great book, “Falling from Horses” by Molly Gloss, and poking around on facebook I found this homily from Anne Lamott:
“The mystery of grace is that God loves Dick Cheney and me exactly as He or She loves your grandchild. Go figure. The movement of grace is what changes us, heals us and our world. To summon Grace say “Help!” then buckle up. Grace won’t look like Casper the Friendly Ghost; but the phone will ring, or the mail will come, and then against all odds you will get your sense of humor about yourself back. Laughter really is carbonated holiness.”
