Still recovering

How come no one warned me about how exhausted we would be AFTER the wedding? We conserved our energy in the weeks leading up to, but must have used it all up that night!
Sunday morning, the phone rang at 7:55 a.m. — my big bros were in the backyard, waiting to help Fred return the tables to the church. Two and one-half hours later, it was 10:30 a.m., and my phone was ringing again. I dragged my brain from its sleepy depths to answer; this time it was my brand-new son-in-law, Nick, asking if they could come over to open their gifts. Sure, just give me a few minutes…poor Nick couldn’t believe he’d woken me up. In the background, Anne was hooting — “I’m writing this down — the first time I got up before my mom.”
That was the first of three nights of 11 hours of conked-out, flat-out snoozing. Just couldn’t wake up. All week. Good thing I was on vacation. F and I slowly dragged from bed each day, and tried to wake up on our walk. Somehow, he made it to the fair nearly every day for BBBS. I, on the other hand, walked around in a stupor trying to figure out why the cobwebs in my head wouldn’t clear. Eventually, I figured that I could at least try some writing, and blessedly, that helped. Somehow, I was able to string together some fairly readable stuff. Maybe it’s like journaling — helps one clear the mind by self-expression.
Still, I found myself reading a lot of fluff — nothing too challenging — and each afternoon drifted into oblivion for 20-30 minutes. Naps — nonexistent in my previous life — became necessities if I was to be coherent when Fred returned from his booth at the fair. I felt guilty about my laziness until he admitted he’d done nothing but sit around all day.
After about five days of hitting the sack by 9 p.m., I began to feel more like myself again although my shoulder continued to feel horrid. Blame that on tense muscles — those, too, are slowly beginning to relax…or so I like to think.
Simple tasks are amazingly welcome when the mind is muddled — things like tying a string around a bunch of wedding flowers and then hanging them to dry, transferring a set of photos from a CD to Facebook, cleaning up my sewing room — something I usually hate to do but my mind was so blurry it didn’t remember that.
By the weekend, we were ready to face the remaining tables that needed to be returned, washed and sorted through the tablecloths and sarongs. Sorting, by the way, is a remarkably soothing task. Fools you into thinking you’ve accomplished something. Today I get to return the last of the textile pieces.
Now that we’ve semi-recovered, we can move on to new projects…like celebrating our own anniversary and remembering that day SO long ago when 33 family members witnessed our own backyard ceremony.

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