I am awake, but I have not yet opened my eyes. I must have slept in. I feel the morning light through my eyelids. I feel my head resting in the crook of my left arm. I am so delighted my wrist is not paining me. I try hard not to sleep on it. And my left shoulder, too. It only likes certain positions ever since I fell on it in February 2019. Before the lockdown. My left hip rests across my right one as if I was planning to get out of bed before I was even awake. I remove my arm from under my head and I sink further into my old comfy feather pillow. This pillow has cradled me since childhood. I took it from my bed when I went off to Vassar in 1955 and it has cushioned me forever. I smell its comfort, slightly reminiscent of my shampoo. I do not like detergent that has its own scent. My all cotton sheets are soft and scentless. Those commercials advertising sun=dred sheets that smell like flowers only make me sneeze. My right hand cups my left breast, hugging me.
I caress my body in amazement . Nothing hurts, no stiff muscles, no charley horse in my calves. I begin to stretch , slowly, examining fingers and ankles and reveling in this wonderful feeling.
I straighten myself beneath the covers, inhaling the absolute quiet around me. It is still early, but I hear less than others, which in early morning is another blessing.
Let's see, I think. What day is this? I'll have to check the weather to see when it will be a good time to take my walk. Ah, it's Friday. What shall I prepare for Shabbat dinner tonight? Eva, Steve and I have so few of these Shabbat evenings together left. She will go East for her brother's unveiling next week, and the following week I will go west to my great nephew's bar-mitzvah. Then Grant's high school graduation and it will be time to pack up, store my furniture and move back to New York.
