Last Sunday was daylight savings and we "sprung" -- or some of us were more unceremoniously flung -- forward one hour. Naturally, a friend and a bottle of rum appeared on my doorstep Monday evening to help ease the sting from the fling.
Incidentally, I have a little old lady client first thing every Tuesday morning.
I schedule a half hour to walk her dogs and an hour to talk to her. I have mad respect for Mrs. C. She nursed her husband at home through Alzheimer's until his untimely end. She is my go-to for grandmotherly advice, whether it was solicited or not. All my grandparents have passed on, so I gratefully borrow someone else's.
I walk her dogs because she is afraid to. She prolly could but there are no sidewalks in her neighborhood, and the community college students cut through, late to class. On top of that, she once had a dog who got of his leash and was hit by a car. The fact that she could recover from that enough to adopt two dogs speaks volumes about how friggin cool this lady is.
So it's Tuesday morning. Head pounding, eyes squinting, and throat like a desert, I dragged my sorry butt out of bed to go walk Mrs. C's dogs. In my hungover stupor, I decided the smartest thing to do was to skip the coffee and drink as much water as I could. Any other day of the week, this would have been a great rehydration plan.
I walked Mrs. C's dogs and the chilly almost-spring air did wonders for my head. Or maybe it was the ibuprofen. We came back to her house, toasty warm and a little dark as she hadn't opened the blinds yet. We took our seats and she began our usual chit chat about her grandson's death metal band, her views on immigration, and the high school play her daughter is directing.
I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. My eyelids got heavy.
I did everything I could to keep from shutting my eyes. I got up, pet the cat, fiddled with the leashes, but it got worse. And then she started talking -- I'm not making this up -- about a biography of Woodrow Wilson. I tried my little heart out to keep my eyes open, so much so that they started to go crossed. But I think President Wilson's biography is where most of us draw the line between wakefulness and sleep.
"Do you drink coffee?" she said. Huh? Me, what? Coffee. Yes! "Would you like a cup?" Oh my gosh angel from heaven yes.
She kindly continued her banter while preparing the Elixir of Life for me. I felt awful. I must have blinked way too long. I made up some stupid story about being dehydrated due to a salty lunch the day prior -- darn those restaurants and their sodium! -- and having skipped my coffee. Mrs. C isn't stupid. She saw straight through me, but politely let it slide.
Tail between my legs, I left to do the rest of my walks completely certain that I will learn many more valuable lessons on my Tuesday morning chit chats with Mrs. C.