It started early with my (mostly) regular blood donation to the American Red Cross. As I've noted here previously, I was terrified of giving blood, to the point of not doing it, until I was 35 years old. When I finally 'manned up' lo those many years ago, donating blood has been a regular part of my life. Because sleep has become a mere suggestion in my life, I was up at 4AM yesterday and was first in line to donate when they opened. I was raring to go. Sadly, the bloodletting lady who interviewed me was not. Here's how our exchange went down, which I shared on Facebook (BTW - I was informed last night by The Boy that FB is 'completely stupid' - duly noted):
Bloodletting Lady: "Are you still a male?"
Me: (I should note I had not shaved and you can etch glass with my morning shadow and B) I'm wearing shorts - it looks like I'm wearing mohair pants) "Um, when I stood up to go to the bathroom this morning, yes, I still appeared to be male."
Bloodletting Lady: "I'm not a morning person. Yes or no, please."
Me: "Yes. And are you the person doing my draw?"
She was not the lady who did my draw. I was relieved but knowing it was going to be a good day, I was not deterred. With my pint given, it was on to the next part of the day. We spent the bulk of the day here with The Boy:
We were reminded while there of, and it pains me more than you know to invoke the following horror, the 'It's A Small World' nature of this world. When we lived in Arizona, we had a group of friends with whom we shared much in common. We were all young marrieds, in our first homes, with babies, and a shared love of Mexican food. Fast forward to today and we are scattered and our children are older and spread all over as well. One of those friends had a son serving as a missionary in Liberia. Due to the horrific outbreak of Ebola, those missionaries were reassigned to other missions. This young man has been assigned to the Massachusetts Boston mission and we've been exchanging notes with his mom about running into him. Yesterday, we ran into him at the aforementioned Boston Temple. Given that we'd not seen him since he was two, recent pictures on the now 'completely stupid' Facebook, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML recognized him immediately. It was a lot of fun to talk to him. It was even more fun to get some pictures with him and text his family right then and there. Suffice to say, there was 'a lot of joy in Mudville' between a mom with a missionary serving and a mom with one who is about to leave.
Like I said, it was a good day. I'm more blessed than I deserve.