Tuesday, February 23, 2021

I wanted to drive the Karma bus, not be a passenger.

I am happy to report that my progress is ongoing and rather seamless.  There seems to be only one snag - all the abuse that was heaped on the other hip/knee/leg has made itself known.  As one side strengthens, the other side goes south.  At least I will know what to expect on the next bionic implant.  Pfft.

Slimmie is aces at ignoring winter.

My attendance at PT sessions has been steady and, according to Ashlee, my 12 year old therapist, I am making great progress.  Her preternatural perkiness and sweetness hides a will of steel.  If I start to whine, she grips her clipboard, dimples and says, "let's just do eight more."

I have taken over all my outdoor chores - and I am certain I heard shouts of joy coming from the direction of my neighbor's house.  The sheep looked at me suspiciously, the llama was happy to hear my voice (graham crackers) and I am starting to feel like normalcy is within reach.   Whatever normal will be.  Now, if the snow would just stop falling.  Yesterday was my first full day - sheep feeding, chicken tending, post office visiting, and trash hauling.  I was exhausted but happy.

Lovey wouldn't mind an early spring.

In a conversation with a friend about our retirements - she and I both retired last year - she, willingly, with lots of foresight and planning, while mine was foisted upon me, with lots of whining and fussing and little planning - we both agreed that, thanks to Covid, it was hard to distinguish between retirement and quarantine.  Or, at least, it was hard to grasp that we are retired.  I still have dreams about forgetting to clock out or in at work.  I'm placing all my hope apples in the spring basket, so to say.  I've gone through all my seeds and have started making lists.  Lists always make me feel so organized and in charge.  Ha.

Peanut just wants to know 
if it's time for dinner.  It's not.

Monday, February 15, 2021

Home. Alone. With my mystical toothpaste and magical pillow.

My apologies for taking so long to resurface. Again.  I have been adjusting to being on my own and sorting out the on-taking of my day-to-day chores.  After bidding a tearful goodbye to my middle sis (Peanut and Lovey stared out the window for hours, not believing that she had really gone), I muddled about for a few days.  Most of the activity centered around finding where the girls had relocated kitchen items.  Apparently, I have morphed into an OCD person, having to have my little red handled knives in their place, the water pitcher just so.  While I still have the QE3 (aka walker) and cane at hand, I am slowly and surely starting to get about without accouterments.  I only stagger a little.

I have taken on the chicken tending activities and hope to be fully functional by the end of this week, dammit.  I am sure my neighbor will be popping open the bubbly when that happy event occurs.  What a gem.  The only downside is that each appearance of my neighbor (the same neighbor, wearing the same outer clothing, driving the same car) drives the dogs into maniacal throes of barking.  This is especially hard on the nerves when he makes four trips over.  He makes four trips over because he is 85 and does things in steps.  We are now to the point where he only comes once in the morning and as needed for snow removal (it's snowing as I type).  The chickens were happy to see me and I, them.  There's no one like mom.

My PT has started and I have a list of exercises to perform at home.  This is a good thing, as we have had ice, snow, sleet, wind and more snow, every other day.  Interspersed with frigid temps.  Our next storm is starting now and building up overnight into tomorrow.  The chances of my making it to PT tomorrow are slim.  I have plenty of food (but no one but me to cook it, boohoo) and, other than PT and a few doctor appointments, there is no reason to leave.

As we segue off in a totally different direction....

I have been on an off-and-on search for toothpaste that does not involve mint flavoring.  That's led me to children's toothpaste - mango and strawberry; yummo, but a whole lotta sugar.  What's up with that? - to tea tree oil, which was reminiscent of brushing one's teeth in the woods, using a pine branch - to baking soda.  Blech, just blech.  Then, quite by chance, I stumbled on Tom's of Maine's Propolis and Myrrh toothpaste.  I could have turned to their cinnamon flavor, but the sheer oddity of the ingredients attracted my wacky side.  And, let's face it, both of my sides are wacky.  I now enjoy a mystical experience every time I brush my teeth.  Who can ask for more?  

As you can surmise, two weeks under constant surveillance and care did not put even the tiniest dent into my own particular (or peculiar) life bubble.  Having solved the toothpaste dilemma, I immediately turned to the pursuit of the perfect pillow.  I have been through buckwheat, foam, foam with gel, bamboo, fiberfil, fiberfil plus.  I feel like the proverbial princess with her pea problem, if you will forgive the reference.  Nothing produced the quality of slumber that I daydreamed about.  One night, a few days before surgery, I grabbed one of the shammed pillows (used just for frou-frou-ness) and shoved it under my head.  Out like a light.  In the morning, waking from a deep and painless sleep, I beheld the feather pillow behind the sham.  I was on my Amazon account before my first cup of coffee and am the happy owner of two pristine goose down pillows.  Let's hope my luck holds but, deep in my heart, I think that pillows are fickle.

I am celebrating every day that the minimal pain I enjoy is based on whipping my muscles into shape and not the soul-crushing pain of collapsing hip joints.  I have lots of projects to tackle inside, while I wait for winter to disappear.  I have a garden to plan.  I have retirement to wrap my head around.  I have mountains to climb, ships to sail and lots of knitting projects.  I also have a LOT of catching up to do with friends who keep checking on me, bless 'em.