It’s the number one question, even surpassing the many about my magic hip: “Now that basketball is over, what are you going to do?”
People are genuinely curious. I get it. When the everyday is part of the life you share weekly, they just want to know.
First, in my opinion, the NCAA men’s basketball tournament was underwhelming.
There just were not enough upsets to make it exciting. And except for Michigan State, I am always for the underdog in the first four days.
After that, because the upsets didn’t happen, you expect evenly-matched games.
And then the Spartans lost - and my only interest was seeing if (hoping) Duke would lose.
The reasons are probably irrational, but what sports emotion isn’t?
When Houston beat Duke on Saturday night in the Final Four, that pretty much made my tournament.
And honestly, I didn’t care nearly as much about the championship game, though I was rooting for Houston.
But now that’s over.
So in answer to the deeply meaningful question, “what will Sal do now?” there are multiple choices.
Unless the Avs or the Nuggets get hot, I’ll harbor little interest in the NHL or NBA.
Because my nightly dinner guest requires the TV to be on, that means Jeopardy! and the Rockies.
The Rockies are so horribly bad we rarely watch a whole game before he is released to go home to watch Ancient Aliens or some movie he may or may not have already seen.
As for me, books are my evening companion.
I actually love going upstairs in time to watch the sunset, which is obscured in the living room, from my bedroom.
While completely immobile and waiting for my first surgery, I read 37 books since January 1.
Many were terrific, but there have been some dogs.
I am not a DNF girl, which in book addict parlance means Did Not Finish. The prevailing thought is life is too short to waste time on a bad book, so it’s okay to dump it.
It’s rare for me to not finish a book, I guess I’m always hoping it’s going to get better.
My most recent read was set in a struggling bookstore with a daughter and her grandfather trying to keep it afloat after the sudden death of the mother.
There was some history and some romance and some wonderful conversation between the 20-something woman and her ailing grandfather, and a lot of wondering how to pay the bills.
I loved it. But bafflingly, just pages from a happily ever after, fairy tale ending, the young couple smoked marijuana.
Prude alert follows. In 68 years, I have never done that, never wanted to, never been tempted.
I just don’t understand why it needed to be in the book. And yes, it completely changed the way I now view the book and the author.
In other news, I am driving again and absolutely love the independence that provides.
I am still with numerous “assistive devices,” but as long as the parking lots and sidewalks are dry, I am going.
My next big challenge is getting to church on Palm Sunday and then three times next week.
It’s not going to be easy, but I want to try.
Nearly daily, we learn of another dear friend or acquaintance with a serious illness.
One of my dad’s closest friends since their college time at Albion died this week at 92.
His family is grieving, but I know how fortunate they feel to have had him for 25 years longer than we had Fritz.
Being immobile for so long comes with many life lessons.
Among them is the precious gift of time. From my chair, I can check on people with a call, an email, a text or a real written note, which I can actually take to the post office and put in the drive-up box.
I would invite you to not wait until tomorrow to check on your neighbor, your mom, your pal from college.
Take it from me. “I have been thinking about you and hope you are well,” is a lot more fun to write than a sympathy card.
