Having just turned the corner on another year, I feel that it is time to ponder a bit more on this oft neglected website. My thoughts recently have been about aging, and why it is such a problem in our culture.  We celebrate every wonderful change and progression with our children, the first smile, the first step, with such joy, and THEN, somewhere after the first wrinkle, grey hair or need for readers, these changes do not receive applause, quite the opposite.
However, there are things happening all around me, within me and my community that are aging related and freaking amazing.  I would like to start with the sharp decrease in the interest in being judgemental, and I will go further with this. Do I care anymore if my clothes are in style?  Not so much.  In the morning, I am mindful of waking up, and being grateful that I did, and when my body parts work, generally, as nature intended, even more gratitude.  Yes, I have my morning routines, I love my morning routines, and don't need to justify, explain them, I feed my chickens, sip my tea and from 1500 miles away, do Soduku with my sister, Wordle with my son in San Francisco, and Spelling Bee with my daughter! All whilst sitting in my ancient Mother's Day bathrobe, in my own time. And getting to the point where I could just settle in and enjoy these boring detail of life took most of my life.  The rush to do one more thing seems to be over, and I do not miss it (much)

Coming back from wherever I went after falling on my head, I have splinter like memories. What matters most is seeing my daughter, then going back to the dark, hearing my daughter, son, sister, and back to darkness.  
When I was sort of present in the world of the Neuro ICU, I decided it was time to eat, and with some misgivings, Margot helped me order a quesadilla. Guess what?  When I write my novel about post head trauma snacks, it will not include a somewhat smelly cheesy snack.  
Next, Margot and I agreed that a bland, old school bowl of Cheerios would be a strong choice for breakfast? lunch? dinner?  As much as COVID protocols allowed, my sweet girl was at my side, making decisions from the mundane, to the most complex. It turns out that all of these mattered now, then and at all points in between.
Cheerios turned out to be the the food of my recovery. Safe, reliable, dry, wet, covered in peanut butter, these little oat circles returned to my life with pretty much the same level of importance as when I introduced them to the diets of  my babies in a another century, not so long ago.  

Where I more or less left off my RWY blog was in the midst of pandemic life, completing my Stay At Home Camino, and doing whatever it took to work as safely as possible in the frontlines as a health care provider in a very active clinic.
So, one day, to walk off a bit of the stress of all of this, I took my rather lively August for a walk around the neighborhood.  Next thing I remember is waking up in an ICU at Stanford Hospital,  and I will commence to fill in some of the blanks, knowing full well some blanks will remain just that.

Before/during?