Sunny Day, Sunny Thoughts

 I want to write about something(s) a little more sunny today—it’s clear and bright (though a little cool) in northeastern Ohio today.

 

We are sitting in the cafeteria in University Hospitals (Main Campus on University Circle), waiting for my 1:00 p.m. appointment for what I’ll call a “spinal tap”—though I think they have a more exact term for it now, something like “spinal puncture.” Sounds appealing, eh?

 

Anyway, I was just lying down for a mid-morning nap (about 10) when I got a voice-mail from UH: They wanted me to come down “a couple of hours earlier” than we’d planned—they needed to take some blood from me.

 

That meant we had to leave right away, not what I was counting on. Joyce had been just ready to leave the house to run a couple of errands; fortunately, I yelped, and she heard me before driving off.

 

Well, here’s the “sunny” parts I mentioned earlier:

 

·       The drive down to University Circle was glorious. The earth is showing sure signs of awakening; the traffic was slight; we drove a route I’d learned from our dear (late) friend Bill Appling, who taught music at Western Reserve Academy and was a tremendous influence on Joyce and me—and on our son, who adored him—and still does—always will.

·       When we arrived, the valets were prompt and attentive and kind. They got me into a wheelchair, and several people helped us to find the lab for the blood draw. I got into a fine conversation with a gentleman six feet away from me as we were waiting; he went in first, but when I finally came out, he was waiting to wish me good luck. I returned the wish.

·       The phlebotomist, who had awesome hair (curled and colored), was swift and friendly, and I barely felt a thing. I told her she was great.

·       Joyce, who is wheeling me around this vast facility, got us down to the cafeteria, with the help of numerous people who showed us the way to where we wanted to be and who did so kindly and accurately.

·       When I had to use the men’s room, I wheeled over there (not far away), but it was a small place, and I could not get the door open. A woman saw me struggling, came over, held the door, joking that she really didn’t want to “look in there.” I said, “Sure, you do,” and we both laughed.

·       Another kind woman pushed me back toward the cafeteria until Joyce saw me and came to relieve her.

Now here I sit, the sun streaming through the glass ceiling, and I am grateful for all today’s evidence of the best of humanity, somewhat saddened by the worst, which rages out in the “real world.”