Good morning; Spring is fighting its way back after two chilly nights. The bushes and trees are sprouting rich green buds for the first time. It’s nice to see it.

We took the tarpaulin off the raised garden bets; the pansie, Nasturtium, and primrose seeds and buds all look strong.

It’s going to be near 80 in the next couple of days; I’m hoping to catch a jump on the summer. I will wait a few weeks for heavy planting, but I’m getting restless. It’s supposed to be 80 here tomorrow.

(The tarp is off.)

The next few weeks are supposed to be warmer than usual, says the National Weather Service; I will get a few more plants to put in the beds tomorrow. I have the afternoon off, no appointments, and no doctors. And I love taking small rests and meditating and reading until I sleep.

In the late afternoon, my energy returns, and I hope to write more.

My wound is healing well, but I’m still exhausted in the afternoon and have to rest. I will. I understand that I don’t heal as quickly as I once did, but I do heal. I respect that I need to rest; tomorrow, I go to another doctor, my pulmonologist, checking on my sleep apnea progress.

I think he’ll be pleased; with my sleep apnea mask, my hourly heart events have dropped from 80 to one or two. That, I am told, will extend my life by five or six years.

For much of my life, I avoided doctors. Now I have a whole bunch. My subsequent surgery is on May 12; sound waves are used to break up a single kidney stone. No intrusions. After that, I hope to have space between my doctors and medical procedures.

We both need to take it easy this weekend. Maria is just as worn out as I am. Caretaking is exhausting.

I respect my need to rest. Even it goes well; surgery can shake up the body pretty thoroughly. After a few hours of writing, I sometimes start to nod. A short nap brings me back to life. I get stronger each day.