Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship.”
Back at my desk early after a 12.5 hour workday Monday. But God smiled on me yesterday, maybe happy to see me back around the old religious neighborhood after my morning devotional. I arrived at the office and set up first thing for my 8 a.m. deposition yesterday morning, only to learn that the witness and the other lawyer had agreed to postpone. Suddenly I had a little time to manage the empire and do a little housekeeping. Then my Wednesday depositions, all six of them, cancelled when Covid swept through opposing counsel's office and he claimed an inability to prepare. That also eliminated this afternoon's prep session over in Crestview.
Do I believe God works that way, sweeping clear the decks as some sort of transactional reward for reaching out to him? It's never been my personal theology, this "Jesus helped me find my car keys" school of faith. Then again, what the hell do I know? What does anyone know?
So today I'll defend a deposition in about an hour, then spend the afternoon on a couple calls and more taking care of long-neglected things into the early evening. Better that than heading to the yacht club too soon, where Jano the bartender would place a double Jameson's in front of me without me asking.
Oh, and this morning my BP was 148/92. Two days are a blip, I know, but let's see if a trendline develops with all this healthy living, and the return of a more manageable cadence. I'll weigh myself tomorrow morning at the gym. Funny thing--they hide the scale behind the front counter, and you must ask the staff to use it. I guess they had a few walk off over the years.
This morning I rolled out of bed at a quarter after five, and embarked on my first run of any distance since before Covid laid me out a month ago. The remnants are clearly still present--my heart and lungs felt like they were wrapped in wet burlap. But then again, that might have been the stifling, humid, mid-80s air.
Trudging around the neighborhood, noting the heaviness in my gait, I was heartened a little by only encountering one Trump flag on a thirty-four minute jog. Perhaps things are changing. Perhaps these hearings are making a difference.
I rounded a corner and admired the progress they're making in rebuilding Sudduth Field.
All three of my boys played tee ball and then baseball there. I even coached Drew, a case of the blind leading the blind. One Saturday morning as I was placing the baseball on the tee for him he took a premature swing and landed the aluminum bat square in my jumblies. The crowd winced and laughed. I tried to play it off, waddling in a crouch back to the dugout.
My old friend Mike, a real baseball player who I think played college ball somewhere, coached with me. His now-law partner William has been instrumental in giving new life to the old field, so badly damaged in the storm. William and I have always been cordial, but not really close. He recognized early the direction the political winds were blowing, and set his sail accordingly. I was what they would've called in the 1950s a "premature antifascist", thinking my combat record would render me immune from the consequences of expressing my disdain for the direction my party was heading. In that appraisal, I was quite wrong. He actually warned me about that.
But it all worked out for the best. I like William, and his civic-mindedness over the years has been a blessing to this town. And I eventually found a place up north whose residents felt more like my tribe, and my center-of-gravity in life has gradually shifted to those hills. Like a good divorce (yes, there is such a thing), it all worked out okay.
Soaked in sweat and panting a bit, I finally made it around the three mile circuit and back to the condo, passing a guy twenty years my junior out walking his dog. His waist was fully two inches slimmer than mine, about the size I was before Covid turned me into a late-middle-aged slob. Something to shoot for.
Then a morning devotional out on the patio, watching with concern as a kayaker rather intrepidly make his way across the bay among criss-crossing powerboaters.
Then a little granola and yogurt (P had expressed her displeasure that she bought me all of this Greek style yogurt that wasn't being eaten, so it'll be a centerpiece of my breakfast for the rest of the week), a couple articles in the online NYT, and into the office to prepare for this morning's deposition up by the airport at the client's production facility.
If P were here, this would be pretty great. Instead, it's just taking this interregnum life has forced on both of us, and trying to make something useful of the time. Or maybe just staying busy to keep the old black dog at bay. Or both.
Suddenly missing P, a wave that still hits several times a day. It'll be nice when this self-help exile gives way to life together again.
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