I caught bronchitis within two hours of the beginning of my Christmas vacation. I'd thought my body was past being able to do anything with any level of excellence, but it showed me that when push comes to shove, it can put my nose to the grindstone and produce something really spectacular.
I was given a hair clip for Christmas, and the giver pointed out that it could be used to hold chunks of hair out of the way while blow drying other chunks with a round brush. I'd lost my enthusiasm for that subject. Then I felt badly because she'd gone out of her way to purchase this very useful gift for me, and it's not her fault that the Death of Flannery comes for me with a blow dryer, so I ought to just use it. I devoted 30 to 40 minutes of my morning to the subject yesterday, and it did look great for about five minutes, which really worried me. Like Mendel's pea plants, too much change causes me to revert to type, i.e. my 10-year-old belief that bathing is a waste of time since one just gets dirty again anyhow. Luckily my hair looked just the same as ever within an hour, so I have an excuse for not pushing my luck.
I found myself in the kitchen today thinking of Solzhenitsyn and humming, "I've got your love to keep me warm."
I produced 21 thank you notes in an hour and a half this morning, and not all of them used the formula "Thank you for X I love it and you."
