Learning to be Active Again

If you have never, even temporarily, lost the ability to do something physical that almost everyone can do, this anecdote may mean very little. If you have---

Yesterday, I started outpatient physical therapy at a place I had been before. Therapists work their clients hard, and if we are willing to stay an extra half hour or more and work extra, they let us. No extra charge.

The doctor and therapists have all been telling me how fast I am healing after a second knee replacement, and I was eager to get to the stationary bicycle.

The time came. I put my feet on the pedals. To my astonishment, both feet pedaled smoothly. No pain. I could pedal in complete circles with both feet.

And I surprised myself, because I teared up for a few seconds, then finished the 10 minutes with a great, goofy grin. Inside, I was trying to figure it out. No, it probably hasn't been 30 years since I could do this, but it has certainly been more than a decade. Maybe 15-20 years since I could pedal without major pain.

Not that I had a pressing need to bicycle during that time. But something I thought was absolutely lost is found again, and I can do it. Being able to pedal will lead to other things I can do again.

Shortly before this discovery, a theapist showed me a lunge move to build up the calf and thigh muscles. It involves leaning far forward with one knee bent, the other straight. I started to say,"I can't do that because of my knees." Bingo! Light went off! These are new knees. I can do these lunge exercises without harm.

I have flared up a bit for years at anyone who called me handicapped, but I have been. I still will be--other arthritic joints have not gone away. With the healing of my knees, however, I can do so much more. I am going to be able to bicycle and get on a treadmill regularly. The aerobic activity is one of the best medicines for rheumatoid arthritis, osteo arthritis, and indeed, countering the effects of aging.

Gracie and I really will take those long walks. I may go down to the senior center and take up line dancing, if it so pleases me--and I definitely will be working in my garden this spring. All of these things give me joy.

I know this because a bicycle pedal has promised it.

Tomorrow, I will do it again.

Spring in Texas gets a mediocre review this year

I have always adored spring in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, especially compared to New Mexico. This year, however, the two are pretty similar.

True, I have many a picture of my young sons in their polyester Easter jackets, shivering as they sort of smile while holding their Easter baskets full of eggs.
But this year, we are expecting a hard freeze tonight, six days before Easter, a highly unusual occurrence. I worry with proprietary interest for my daughter-in-law's tomato plants, already in the ground. With a good harvest, some of those sun-warmed, ripe off the vine babies are headed straight for my mouth. MMMM.

This year, the mesquite are wrong. Southwestern wisdom is that gardeners can relax when the mesquite bushes begin to leaf out--no more freezes. But this year, the mesquite are leafing. And here comes the freeze. Pecans are supposed to be predicters too, but I think they also have been fooled.

In the Tularosa Basin of New Mexico, fruit trees bloomed by Feb. 28, at least in the 1950s and 1960s. The pansies kept blooming, of course, and the forsythia bloomed, the daffodils eventually straggled out. Mom, who had lived in Colorado, loved columbine, so Dad planted several under the middle cottonwood tree. The duststorms came and went, ocvcasionally accompanied with rain that turned the air into mud.
Nights and early mornings were chilly. Iris waited till late April to bloom, maybe May. THEN the roses bloomd, and it was almost summer, and skies were blue, the days pleasantly warm.

In Texas,usually you have the redbud trees leading the parade, heralding the banks of azaleas exploding into bloom along Turtle Creek in Dallas and the Trinity River in Fort Worth. Pansies bloom in every color. Forsythia and japonica come out. Iris blooms. And then the wildflowers, sometimes covering whole fields with an abundance of color. Enough happens simultaneously to make it a spectacular show. But spring in Texas this year is just sort of showing up like flowers sneaking in late to work.

The redbuds bloomed, and the trees were glorious as usual, but kinda by themselves. The pear trees finally bloomed and faded. A glorious bed of purple iris outside my back door bloomed fulsomely for about two weeks, then died. The azaleas are just getting started. The white iris are just starting.

Last year, the crabapple trees, pear trees, and iris all bloomed at the same time, with roses chiming in at the end. This year, the crabapple tree out front leafed first and is only now blooming. Pretty up close. Kind of dusty looking from a distance. And the roses are thinking about it. The bluebonnets are out, but not spectacular. Other wildflowers are not up yet. Spring wildflowers are my delighted indulgence, an eye-gorge of abundance in good years. A little more rain, and we may still have plentiful color. But not yet.

And for the second year, it looks like the dress I bought for Easter last year won't be warm enough to wear. Oh, well. It is the only dress I own, and I'll wear it later. A friend's wedding in May comes to mind.

As I reflect on my love of the free show constantly around me, I wonder if that is at least partially why I can seldom indulge in a manmade luxury. I just wasn't driven enough. Oh, I like luxuries, just fine. But I guess I'm lazy. Give me nodding fields of flowers, cheap fresh asparagas in the spring, laughing grandchildren and a morning cup of strong tea with a splash of milk, and life seems rich indeed.

Maseltov.

Anticipation-I think there's a song about that

Anticipation.
You can't buy it, but sometimes you pay for it.
Anticipation is an integral component of Christmas spirit, and mine has been in short supply for a number of years. In part to protect myself, I think, from that possible payment if disapointment set in.
Anticipation has ingredients of hope and faith in the future. I haven't always been good at that. Maybe that's why I've always had a short Christmas season--two weeks or so. I couldn't sustain anticipation for much more than that.
This year, I wake up with anticipation for almost every day. It makes a difference.
A friend commented to me once that of course not all Christmases are equal. Not every Christmas can be great, or you wouldn't have any baseline to compare to the great ones. I'm already anticipating this one. I will be with my family. We'll have a good time. And I have my novel stashed to begin reading on Christmas night when everything calms down. Been doing THAT for 40 years or so.
I bought a tree. It's a little one about 31/2 feet, very full "real" fir. It looks like it belongs out in a magic glade with lit candles on it and all the animals slipping in to look in wonder. Call me just a wide-eyed woodland creature. I've put tiny gold lights on it, and my grandmother's clear glass ornaments that this year are 105 years old. I haven't bothered with much else. It just doesn't need it. WRR is playing classical and Christmas music. I am baking, and the smell of warming evergreen and melting chocolate fills the air. (I really think smell is my most enjoyable sense for both Thanksgiving and Christmas.) I've talked to many friends, seen a bunch more, and actually attended parties this year which I couldn't do in my last career because of work pressure. The first year or two I retired, I maintained my basic love/hate don't go out at Christmas stance. I've mentioned a tree and family, but you know, anticipation doesn't rely on that. We manufacture our own ingredients for anticipation.
And I anticipate my Christmas spirit will continue to change. Yep, I anticipate. I can't buy it. It isn't one of the five senses. I can't touch it.
And it makes a huge difference in the quality of life.