my mailman, my matchmaker?

The night outside is steamy and clingy so it is even more delicious to be writing in the cool cocoon of my blue room. Patsy Cline drifts in and out. The fan beside me is blowing so hard that I feel like I should be talking to Dana Andrews as he is flying one of those old WWII bombers on his way home in "The Best Years of Our Lives." What would I say? That I wish I treated every year like the best year. There has been so much to be grateful for these past few weeks:

-My tests came back saying that I'm in remission for the first year! What a relief after dreaming for days that I was inside my body and cells everywhere were floating like clouds but totally out of reach.

-My mailman who I got to know after staying home from surgery came to say hello as he delivered my mail and told me how he introduced a couple of the people on his route. They eventually split up he says sadly because she was crazy. I couldn't tell if he was offering his services, but I was happy nonetheless as I looked at his beard which grew longer on side than the other, that he was kind and he was my mailman. Such a dear man!

-Getting a bear hug from my niece Sara and even having her do my hair so I ended looking like David bowie only with a thousand pink bows and clips