January has been a month of adapting to changes. Of course, there’s the ongoing recovery of my foot, as I strive to regain some of the fitness I used to have. And I’m making some progress – today I wore cycling shoes on both feet, clipped in and out on my trainer, and pedaled while briefly standing. I’ve returned to the Master’s swimming class at UR, and I’m wearing dressier shoes than sneakers to work.
Other changes have been bittersweet. With the swearing in of the new Governor and Attorney General last week, I said farewell to several co-workers who have taken new jobs and greeted a new boss and his staff. So far the transition has gone smoothly, but I do miss the tasty treats the mother of a former co-worker sent to the office on Monday mornings. Mrs. G. made delectable cinnamon coffeecake, brownies laced with extra chocolate, and the best-ever pumpkin bread.
One change was totally unexpected, however. Two weeks ago I came home to find my oldest cat, a purebred Himalayan who was nearly 15, dead under my bed. O. was sweet-natured and quite loveable, and I’d had her for nine years. I adopted her from a friend of a friend of my sister’s when her original owner married a man allergic to cats. Even though I miss O. snuggling next to me on the sofa, I have to admit there’s less cat hair on the furniture now that this is only a two-cat household.