Another Morning Of Hope and Promise

It's one of those Sunday mornings.  As I was reading the New York Times from my comfy chair in my bedroom, I picked up the coffee cup from off its wooden coaster on the nearby table, and the coaster adhered as I brought the cup to my lips, then fell down, rolled somewhere onto the floor, no longer visible from where I was sitting.  I set the cup down on the outer covering of my Ipad which happened to be nearby, happy with the thought that its surface probably would not absorb coffee stains and thus could become a permanent, convenient coaster.  But I would have to kneel down and find the coaster, deal with the clutter, deal with my clumsy effort to make it down to the floor and up again.  And that led me to notice that there was a metal gum stimulator sitting on the side table, left over from last evening's use and that ought to be put away in the drawer in the bathroom. With that my eye swept the rest of the surface of the table and caught the Boze speakers sitting out on top of their case and attached to an Ipod which I listened to whilst on the treadmill downstairs yesterday in the clubhouse.  Messy, it needed to be rolled up and packed away.  I don't use it every minute and it is clutter.  Clutter, there is was, and now I am looking at the top of the midsize book case next to my desk on top of which are three sets of glasses cases, various glasses that belong in those cases, special cloths that clean eyeglasses scattered across the surface, some under and some on top of the cases, two belts, a protective device for my weak wrist, some other Ipods which are dead, at least i can never get anything out of them, two small blue two pound barbells that the hospital staff gave me right after my heart surgery to begin my home chest exercises, and that reminded me I should get out the exercise instructions and run through them which meant a little bit of rustling through some manila folders in a pile of folders on my desk to find the one with the exercises together with instructions from the balance clinic of things I could do while I was out for the heart surgery. And that reminded me how my balance had declined over the past month or so, and prompted me to look for my cane which was indeed leaning against my desk, but perhaps not at the best angle in case I might knock it to the ground. I guess I shall stop all this and go eat a piece of toast smeared with peanut butter, take all my vitamins washed down with kefer, eat a mango, and forget about the  bedroom.  Then I have a date with a friend to walk or hobble, take your pick, through the butterfly garden at a local public park.  My friend is a photographer who takes brilliant shots of butterflies of very sort of hue and design as they alight to feed on all the flowers imaginable.  That seems a lot better than dealing with clutter