Dorrier Underwood

My first week with a "bad back" is over, and looking back, things will never be the same. I will never (probably) reach down quickly to pick something off the floor without bending my knees. Used to be easy before Wednesday, September 5th at about two in the afternoon. On the floor, staring up at the rough hewn beams of the floor above that makes the ceiling at Atherton Lofts, hearing Ginny typing, catching my breath that won't come normally because of this sudden catch in my back, I wondered what had happened to me. But I have to go to the bathroom! Worse, I have to go see the President! Both Presidents came to town the day I threw my back out.  I had been eagerly expecting to see Obama in person at his acceptance speech, but found out that same afternoon that I wouldn't be able to go after all. When they moved the speech inside about 60,000 of us had our dreams crushed. But I wouldn't have been able to go anyway! Not with my "bad back....

I love Paris, all about it – cafes everywhere, beautiful old buildings that have stood the test of time, glamorous people, how French makes whoever speaks it lips pucker, small streets, the Seine, the Eiffel Tower, people kissing everywhere, Notre Dame and being moved when Nancy lit a candle, writing here in a chair in front of a sidewalk café while Nancy and Doug go “one more place,” the sweet air, it never seeming to get dark, street noises outside the window, our tiny hotel room, the size of the Louvre, the Musee D’Orsay, art books, the way people look and dress, that it is possible at my age to go to Europe for the first time, that I can work and travel with my work colleagues, that I can have a job that I love that makes this possible, that I am fortunate beyond words. Diet Coke is Coke Light sans calories, my surprise that Nancy wants to shop, that I can stop when I need to, even if I don’t want to stop, and Nancy and Doug can get that. The world seems bigger here, yet the car...