So today I took the car in for its scheduled maintenance.  I didn’t want to sit in the dealership waiting room for 3  hours, so I headed over to a local restaurant for some breakfast and leisurely knitting.  (The kids were at the neighbors.  3 hours at the dealership with children is its own special kind of purgatory.)

After breakfast, I decided to take a walk.  38th Ave is hardly the prettiest walk but it’s where the dealership is.  At first, I just enjoyed the exercise.  Which is crazy.  I hate to exercise.  But for some reason it just felt good to be out.  So I walked.  And walked.  Then, I realized the temperature was dropping.  And that I was much further away than I thought.  A young man offered me a ride.  (It was more a “help the old lady” kind of ride, rather than a creepy stalkery one.  Though the cashier at the dealership scolded me when I told her the story.)  I told the guy “Thanks, but I’m good.”  And I realized I was.  I was walking.  Far. (From Wadsworth to almost Sheridan and back for the local readers.)  Last year at this time I could barely walk to the bathroom.  And suddenly I was giddy, my sunglasses fogged up from the exercise.  I’m sure the people driving down 38th wondered at the lady with the goofy smile and the knitting bag.  I was so happy not to be dead.  Last year I thought I was going to die.  And I didn’t.