Push-Ups: Pick and Choose (Intended for 11/30/12)

Man! When my schedule circles the hours like so many airplanes backed up on Christmas Eve, I'm hard pressed to pick and choose. I want to accomplish it ALL within the space of 24 hours. Like this morning, for instance. As of yesterday, my plan was to head across town with my husband for his eye exam at 9:30am -- my prescription sunglasses need adjusting, so two birds, one stone, plus we can bask in one another's company -- and then swoop into the little donut shop across the main road to finally try their apple fritters. (This past year, I've developed a THING for apple fritters. Though I try not to imbibe regularly, I average about one a month. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. Glazed donuts don't invoke intense cravings. I can say 'nope' to a cinnamon bun or cream-filled. But I've been known to wake up with apple fritter on the brain.) Because the early bird catches the apple fritter first, an early call to request that the pastry-wranglers hold aside two under the name of Gloria Valdez would preface my outing with the hubby.

Once we had downed our greasily guilty sugar-coated pleasure, with the prerequisite mug of steaming coffee (of course!), I would return home to Hankie Mutt and my walking shoes for an outing in the slowly warming sunshine of this late November morning. Try and keep that fritter from finding a permanent place on my figure! This would be followed by a lovely lunch date with my oldest, Ashley, and the charming daughter-in-law of Earth Diva Gayla, one pretty and dryly amusing Jacqueline, at a popular coffee shop with great atmosphere and cold-brewed soy lattes, JoZoara's.

JOZOARA'S COLD-BREW SOY LATTE IS EVERY BIT AS GOOD AS IT LOOKS!

THREE EARTH DIVAS + A JACQUELINE
(ASHLEY LEFT BEFORE THE PHOTO SHOOT)

MUSHROOM BARLEY SOUP -- YUMMO!

Then, I would check on the great white hope of Marilyn Court, a.k.a. Hankie Mutt, before heading to Franklin for the viewing/wake of good friend who lost his year-and-a-half-long battle with terminal pancreatic cancer. He was also Jimmy's ex-boss. And his wife is a precious pal of mine. The viewing here allows Tennessee friends to say goodbye before his final viewing and burial in New Jersey. This really is a subject for another blog entry; it deserves its own space. Suffice it to say here that with his wife's long-suffering stubborn help, he far outlasted the prognostications of the physicians, making it through Christmas of last year, his daughter's college graduation this past spring, and numerous family visits and trips over the summer and fall. My family was extremely blessed to enjoy several wonderful meals prepared by our friend, his name is Phil, over the past few months. Gourmet in content and scope. His way of showing love. I recall mentioning that he might enjoy catering to outsiders and his reply said it all, "Gloria, I can only cook like this for those I love. That's when I enjoy it." Considering the repasts he specifically planned for us, I was, and am, sincerely touched. During our last visit, he said that we were their best Tennessee friends. I could have cried. But I didn't.

NOVEMBER 2011: PHIL LOOKING GREAT AFTER REBOUNDING FROM ONE OF HIS MANY ROUNDS OF CHEMO.

THIS PARTICULAR MEAL WAS KINGLY IN SCOPE!

HIS KIDS SAID THEIR DAD PULLED OUT ALL THE STOPS,

PREPARING HIS EASTER, THANKSGIVING & CHRISTMAS DISHES ALL AT ONCE.

A MEMORABLE VISIT OF MIND, HEART AND PALATE!

But all of those plans shifted . . . beginning last night when my son slammed a boy into the mat during a wrestling bout. His head hit at the same time as his opponent's body. For a couple of seconds, everything went black and he released his hold. From then on, he seemed out of gas and out of moves. A bit later, HE was slammed and landed headfirst -- though this wasn't clear from my vantage point. That evidently clinched the deal. He lost the match. I watched as he rather clumsily walked over to shake hands with the competitor's coach before lurching to his own side of the mat. All I could think was his bad shoulder was hurt; he was dehydrated; he probably didn't eat. But when he later explained how everything in his field of vision was wavy, or seemed 'delayed,' I realized we might have a concussion on our hands. His coach pulled him from the rest of his matches. We arrived home around 10pm. He finally managed to drift off to sleep around 3:30am; he asked me to sleep with him, which I was glad to do so I could monitor him. I kept him home from school today to continue my monitoring. Plus, the pain in his head rather inhibits the ability to sit in a loud and brightly lit room, trying to concentrate on lessons.

THE FATEFUL MATCH

OUT OF COMMISSION

So, already, late night and maternal concerns had encroached upon my morning. All before I woke up to my morning news feed on Facebook. (hee)

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[I'm posting this AS IS . . . which would be in an unfinished state. Called away, I'm sure, because the dog needed attention or some called for a last-minute favor. Of course, I never returned! I started this two weeks ago, on a Friday morning while sitting at my laptop with the "sunlamp" glaring and coffee in hand. My husband did, indeed, make his appointment AND returned home with two apple fritters the size of salad plates! We split one of those bad boys; the other was devoured the next day. My son continued to suffer with his headache through the weekend; we dropped in on our family doc and she sat him out of wrestling for two weeks; I spent another two nights sleeping in the same room . . . even had a panicky moment -- rare for me -- whereby I awakened and saw him sprawled on his pallet bed on the living room floor, still and cold to the touch. I shook him vigorously, yelling his name: when he finally awakened, dispelling the illusion of death which had settled over my eyes, he yelled RIGHT back!]