It is the middle of the fourth week of my bathroom's tear-down rebuild after water leakages over months. I have changed substitute quarters three times. Today at 5:55am EDT, on the 10th day in the third temporary dwelling, my morning began as I landed on the floor on my back alongside the unaccustomed, smaller, twin bed where I had been in deep sleep. Had I really rolled out of bed?! I was a kid the last time that happened. I lay there on my back. A forearm scrape bled much like childhood skinned knees. I couldn't get up. My knee replacements don't let me kneel to get up off the floor. I pressed my senior housing's alert button, which I wear on a lanyard to summon help. Time passed. The helpers first went to my apartment before determining I was in temporary quarters. The personnel helped me up and treated my scrape.
It was disconcerting. I felt frazzled.
The sky lightened. Soon the sun shone over the treetops in a clear blue sky.
Many, many people suffer from war. I had a frazzle.
I am well. I am grateful. I will carry on.
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Obama said, "[Rev Jesse] Jackson’s life inspires us to take a harder path. His voice calls on each of us to be heralds of change, to be messengers of hope…. Wherever we have a chance to make an impact, whether it’s in our school or our workplaces or our neighborhoods or our cities, not for fame, not for glory, or because success is guaranteed, but because it gives our life purpose, because it aligns with what our faith tells us God demands, and because if we don’t step up, no one else will.” --from Heather Cox Richardson's Substack, March 7, 2026.
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