Choices

It’s still morning – 9:18 as I type this. A gorgeous Saturday, full of possibility.

Mary is off on a hike with her sister, Daughters One and also Two are far away following the pursuits of their day. Odin the Large and Lazy is stretched out in the sun on the back lawn, living up in all respects to his moniker. Zoey the Small and Annoying can’t decide exactly where her presence is required and so has just come back in to stare questioningly at me for a moment before she goes back to her primary job description, laying half in and half out the sliding door, peering.

I fed them when I got up and have since spent an hour reading. Time to eat some cereal and then get out in the yard for a couple or three hours of grunt labor before the sun angle makes outside work too unpleasant. And then, a trip to the gym and perhaps an hour of housework before showering and settling into the unplanned part of the afternoon and evening.

I may do some writing or perhaps, put in a CD and spend the early evening  sorting give-aways in the continuing quest for a clutter-free house. I will probably spend some time prepping for next Saturday’s paddling session on the safety crew for the Fat Salmon swim race. I love working that race each year.

Paddling solely for recreation is great fun, especially when my brother or Two are part of the outing. And my recent session with the paddling meetup group was cool.  But working Fat Salmon is special. It’s not boring, like working the triathlons for which the kayak volunteers are essentially human marker bouys. In Fat Salmon, you actually provide a service as part of the team. Hence, the need to make sure my safety gear is all in place and serviceable.

My favorite is to be assigned to the tail end. The swimmers who will never win and may not finish before they time out and we have to cut them short but who nevertheless give it their all are awe-inspiring. I hated the couple of times I’ve had to pull swimmers. But in both cases, they were thankful that I did, once they got over the initial disappointment.

Anyway, that’s next Saturday’s choice. Today’s choices await me more immediately.

Choices are precious. My friend’s son’s choices are fast dwindling. He lies in a hospital bed and he’s just started the conversation with his parents about what he wants done after he’s gone. Which, he’s told, may be a year or three but most likely not much longer.

His mother, my friend, has basically run out of choices. She can only love him and that choice was made long ago. None of the rest is up to her.

I hope I make good use of my choices today and tomorrow. I’m certainly going to try.