It's the little things

Each morning when I wake up, I get out of bed, put my feet on the floor and I flinch as I physically remember that my right ankle is healing from a break three weeks ago.  Left on its own, my ankle does not hurt anymore so it's easy to forget.  When I put weight on it, however, it does hurt, and I limp on the ball of my foot to the chair where I sit and put on a contraption called an AirCast.  Although robotic looking and not at all attractive footwear, its interior air chambers have been tremendously helpful, allowing me to walk without crutches but with support to my broken bone, and giving me confidence that my ankle won't roll.

Yesterday when I got out of bed, for the first time in three weeks, I could stand on both feet, my right foot flat on the ground, without pain.  I was elated.  Painlessly, I walked to the chair and strapped on the boot.

This morning, when I got out of bed, I walked across the room without pain and in my normal gate.  Then I stopped and realized how wonderful it felt to be walking, to be able to walk.

It's a simple thing, isn't it?  Walking is something I take for granted every single day.  I have legs that work and I am able to get myself from here to there on my own two feet. I can take a stroll in the morning with my dog, I can walk through the grocery store, I can climb stairs or walk from the couch to the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee. Such freedom I have. Not everyone can say that, and this morning I realized how much it means to me that I can walk, how very much I appreciate that I have that ability. When I look around this life of mine, I realize this morning that there is so much, so very much that I am thankful for.  It took an accident for me to have this realization, proving to me once again that many gifts are not initially obvious.

While the candle flickers

It's time for me to go upstairs to bed. The lights are turned off, a candle burns, the clock in the kitchen ticks through the silence.  And I sit here at the dining table, look at the fan blades turning above, and I feel the solitude and the quiet seep into me, feel them like soothing words.  It's been different lately, this life of mine.  There are changes and peaks and valleys and it seems that so much is happening so fast. Life and death, healing and swelling.  I was at my best this weekend, and also was at my worst.  In such a short span of time, the two extremes.  How is that?  My tongue was sharp and burning this weekend, harsh words, ill-timed and poorly spoken.  And yet the same mouth spoke kindly and gently to a broken woman only hours later.  My heart was heavy this weekend, and yet flowers and a card delivered by hand gave me light and hope, and most importantly, love.  I laughed this weekend. And I cried, oh Lord how I cried.  I cried for others and I cried for myself.  I cried for pain and loss and fear, and I shouted out and lashed out for the very same.  And tonight, I take this person, this me, and I take her gently upstairs to rest beneath a God I know is there and prayers I know are heard.  And I ask of myself to slow down, and I ask of life to slow down, just slow down enough for me to adjust, enough for all of us to catch our breath.  And I pray for the weary to have rest, the broken to have healing, the hungry to be nourished, and the fearful to be soothed.  I pray for what we all need, for all of us to have and to give.  Love.

Found - Missing week stuffed into a single day

It ended nicely, my day yesterday did.  It started nicely as well.  It started with a yawn and a stretch and rubbing Cheyenne's belly while her tail thump thump thumped with glee. It wrapped up with an outdoor fireplace and champagne, watching my nephew pop his first Champagne cork under the guidance of a friend who's been a friend to me, to him, to my family for a long, long time.  I told her earlier in the evening that she is the bravest person that I know.  She said back to me, We both are.

The space between the beginning and end of Thursday, however, was filled with enough activity and emotion to swell the single day into appearing to be a full week.

I attended the memorial service of a woman I'd known my entire life, a graceful and kind woman who was one of my mother's dearest lifelong friends and whom I always knew as Aunt Suzie. I sat in the same church my family attended, the same church where my parents' memorial services took place, and I watched her three sons shoulder an incredible grief for the matriarch of their family. Each son wore one of her brooches on his suit lapel, a little something that I found delightful and tender.  I remembered those brooches.  The eldest son wore a silver dragonfly.  My mother had the same one, and it sits in my jewelry box. After the service we marveled at that. Did they give them to each other?  Did one of our mothers buy it for herself and gift the other with one?  Did they buy them together during one of their trips?  We sighed.  We will never know.

Later in the afternoon, I got my splint removed from my right ankle and in its place an aircast that makes walking a possibility for me now.  I thought I'd skip right out of the appointment, only to find that it doesn't quite work that quickly, and I still need at least one crutch.

Still later, I went to friends' house for dinner and a visit.  While she cooked, I sat with her sick partner and felt completely helpless when she took a deep breath and told me that she hurts all over, even her skin. Among other things, Cancer is a ruthless stalker.

Dinner was interrupted by a desperate phone call from my nephew.  His dog got out of his yard and was hit by a truck. The driver kept going, he said, and Chico was limping and confused, blood was coming from his nose.  My heart sank.  I gave him directions to the nearest emergency vet and told him I'd meet him there. 

When we left the vet, assured that Chico would be fine but they were keeping him for the night to watch him, my nephew and I returned to my friends' house.  He hungrily finished the leftovers from our earlier dinner and then the three of us sat outside by the fire, each of us together at the end of three very different days, each of us talking, remembering, loving. 

When I got home this morning, this silliness was waiting for me:

Missing - One week

It's funny how a single misstep can change your path, can take what you thought you were going to be doing or were planning to do and wad those particular pages in your daily planner into a big fat paper ball and chunk it out the window of your life. 

So, yeah, I was less than 12 hours away from boarding a plane to St. Thomas, where I was going to spend a week's vacation, a week of much needed time off.  And then I tripped.  And the next thing I knew, I was in the emergency room looking at a doctor holding up my x-rays and saying the words, broken ankle. And on my discharge papers were the words, See orthopedic surgeon within 24 hours, and, sadly, No travel by air. And I was in pain, a lot of pain. But the pain pills did nothing except make me scratch at mysterious itches all over my body. The next day I was at an orthopedic surgeon's office. He confirmed what the docors in ER said, and then he said three words that thrilled me:  No surgery necessary.  He gave me new pain pills, which also did nothing except make me scratch at new mysterious itches. And then it became obvious that I had to move out of my house since stairs and crutches don't go together like a horse and carriage. And then I was at another orthopedic surgeon's office because my ankle would not cease hurting and the first orthopedic surgeon's office said they could not prescribe anything stronger. The new pain pills worked, and so did the anti-inflammatories and the muscle relaxers. And then I spent the weekend resting and medicated, with my leg elevated and my ankle iced.  Yesterday I moved home and...

Hello?  Can anyone tell me where the last week went?  I swear it was just a minute ago that I was heading downstairs on the eve before my flight to St. Thomas and suddenly it's a week later. I have a lot of catching up to do.

What happens when I'm not paying attention

Right about now, I should be strolling along the beach in St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands.  Or perhaps reading a book poolside, or maybe walking through the historic area and learning about the Danish culture from the 1800's.

My flight out was at 6:00 in the morning Tuesday, but the plane left without me.  Why?  Because a funny thing happened on my way downstairs Monday evening. 

My mother always used to tell me not to wear flip flops in the house.  They are dangerous, she'd tell me.  I never understood why until Monday night when I was racing down the stairs, excited to be picking up my friend who'd I'd be happily spending the next week with, when my foot slipped from my flip flop at the landing and my ankle went hard to the right off the stair and my body followed.  Before I could feel it, I heard the bone break.  That?  That's not a pleasant sound.

Sunday morning beggar (there's bacon on my plate)

Confession

Guess what I just realized about myself? I opened the refrigerator door to get a bottle of water this morning and when I closed the door, I stepped back and realized I am one of those people, those people who put everything on the doors of the appliance designed to keep my food and drinks cold.  Yep, that's me.

Today is her birthday!

It goes like this. I reached a point in my life nine years ago where I decided it was the right time to get a dog. Although my family always had dogs, dogs that I grew up with and loved, none was my very own, and that's what I wanted, my very own dog. I wanted a female Chocolate Lab puppy. Little did I know that the pup that would be my Christmas present that year had already been born at the time I reached that decision. Nine years ago today, in fact.

Our years together have cost me in many ways. In books and frames, window ledges and shoes, in trips to the emergency vet and two surgeries to replace her knees, and many many food items swiped from the counter tops in my house and the houses of others.



Still, the rewards have been much greater. I got the dog I wanted, and that is to say that what I have is a friend. Cheyenne and I have walked many miles together and seen countless sun rises along the way. Over the past nine years, we swam in rivers and surf, in lakes and ponds. We've climbed mountains and trekked through the snow together. I've watched her baby blue eyes turn an autumn gold. We've run in the rain and played fetch in many parks and yards and even in a couple houses. We've spent days and weeks at the cabin together, free to explore where my eye or her nose led us. I've tripped over her more than once, and she's tipped more than one canoe. She keeps me shaking my head in constant amusement at her antics, whether it's freaking out that her feet are being touched, eating the Easter candy, or backing up to me and growling when she wants me to scratch her back.

And she's been a tremendous source of warmth and comfort to me in times of terrible grief.



She's a quirky one, this girl of mine. She's eager, and happy. She's both serious and silly, dramatic and goofy, and she has a whole bag of odd behavior that never ceases to make me smile. She has her moments of pause and her moments of explosive, butt-tucking enthusiasm, and every day when I get home, she's right at the top of the stairs, tail in full wag with a smile that's all her own spread across her face and crinkling her nose.



She's a little bit crazy and a lot of dork. If you know her, then right now you are shaking your head in agreement.



She has a boyfriend, the strappingly handsome yellow Lab, Isaac. He plays Forest to her Jenny, which is to say that he is completely smitten with her. And tolerant. And that they go together like peas and carrote. They have fun together. Oh what fun they have!



She's my friend is what she is, and she's a great one, bless her little brown self. She and I, we're two in a row. I can't really imagine what the past nine years would have been like without her by my side to show me the way and remind me that life? It's good stuff.

One day and... well, yeah, that means my test is tomorrow

I humbly request your prayers, crossed fingers*, rabbit's feet, horseshoes, four-leaf clovers, lady bugs, oils, coins, jade, crickets, dragonflies, rainbows, dolphins, dreamcatchers, elephants and acorns, and even your voodoo or booyah.

*Crossed toes also accepted.

Two days and counting

In the last eight weeks, I've filled two notebooks, using the front, back and margins of every single page. I am now mid-way through my third.