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“Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough.”
- Emily Dickinson (1830–1886), American poet
It is winter.
Even in Southern CA, where we are fortunate to have better weather than that of the majority of the country, the air is comparatively cold.
When I play tennis, I often wear gloves. They do not appear to hamper my game. That may say more about my game than anything else.
I observe my breath as I exhale.
I can’t see it, so, although it is cold, it is not that cold.
I wear a wrist brace. Several decades ago, I injured my dominant wrist with a combination of foolhardy maneuvers that, each alone, might not have led to injury. Together, they conspired to result in eventual surgery. Since then I have favored that wrist, hoping to do most of what used to bring satisfaction, if not pleasure. Thus far I have been fortunate.
I wear the brace over a glove. It is a soft Neoprene, black, flexible, and simple in design, secured by Velcro. The hole through which I insert my thumb is no longer perfectly round due to abundant use. It has been stretched.
I will probably look for another one soon. It permits some movement, but restricts sufficiently to avoid further injury.
