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My plan was to rise early, have a leisurely morning at home before leaving for the 10:00 Independence Day Mass at St Benedict Church.  The morning was about recovering the sleep I lost the night before as a general and inexplicable anxiety gripped me.  I knew all was well, physically, mentally, and emotionally. Yet body and soul rebel, as  they reject all the cognitive evidence of normalcy and safety. So I slept.

Around 10:00, I call Dorothy and we plan to go to the Y, she to use the machines, and I to swim.  Frequent rain storms command the course and outcome of the day. Most picnics are cancelled or rearranged to indoor events.

My swim restores me, gives me time to collect my thoughts, feel the water on my body, caressing it, if you will. Eros, to me, claims movement as his vassal.

I learn my nephew and his family are in town from Florida. J wraps the Christmas gifts we had been unable to give our two great nephews, aged 8 and 6, due to my recovery from back surgery.  The presents are books and card games, perfect for boring hot summer afternoons in sweltering Florida.The books are Sailor Dog by Margaret Wise Brown, and Robert McCloskey’s One Morning in Maine.  Authors was a card game my siblings and I played as children. I’m hoping these lads enjoy the diversions of our childhood as much as we did.

An early supper and cat-tending set the stage for a nap. Independence Day was filled with a restorative leisure.

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