Second Wind

Getting ready for a wedding, get ready to do a lot of …getting ready.  At about one o’clock today, I felt sleepy. Pondering a cat nap, I decided to knock out the fifth of today’s eight errands.  Sure enough, by the time I got through, I was good for the duration.

There have been many times I’ve been given a second wind on a more serious level: the wherewithal to persevere, at least in my case, is not innate.  I have needed the helping hand of a friend to cheer me on.

Want to know my Hubby’s idea of a second wind? (Hey, none of that, now; this is a clean blog!) It’s finishing a day’s work, and not landing in the recliner. ‘Funny:  for decades he was inclined to recline; now, at the age many start doing just that, Hubby’s discovered he really can function after five.  And Hubby, too, has been given instances to see a new lease on life.  Sure, life ebbs and flows, but it’s nice to we’re blessed with what it takes to keep climbing.

For my mother, a second wind is proving everybody wrong.  “I’m not ready to sit in a rocking chair.”  She’s reinvented her career multiple times.  Her doctor attributes her ability to do this, unlike many of his other patients, to “working through the pain.”

I have daughters approaching adulthood.  With such youth and vigor, they epitomize a second wind.  My oldest can work all day, and stay up late—all on about five hours’ sleep.  My second daughter, too, understands this concept: her idea of a second wind is to mow the entire half-acre, and then notice the yard furnishings need to be stashed for the winter—and do it.  And yes, even these young ladies can testify of times when they’ve started fresh.

I guess everybody can rally.  Even my feeble and frail mother-in-law is watching the entire series of “Little House on the Prairie”—again.

Hm. I guess even old f-rts have a second wind.  (Pardon the pun.)

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