The Burrow

There's a new Pilates teacher at the studio .  She just graduated from the UofA.  She didn't grow up in Arizona.  She's absolutely lovely; watching her come into her own as an instructor is an added attraction to the workouts themselves.   Before I became the bionic woman , much of my practice was limited by my destroyed joint.  A lack of strength coupled with a lack of confidence made standing pieces challenging, if not altogether impossible.  But now, full of courage and lacking any physical reason not to try, I asked for a session that would end with us standing atop the reformer, one foot on the wood, one foot on the mat, 2 heavy springs keeping us tethered.   No, that's an unattributed photo from the interwebs, not anyone resembling me or anyone I know.  But that gives you the general idea.  We were doing the splits. Before my surgery, I needed help getting up and settled on the two surfaces.  I couldn't move the carriage ...

It took me 11 years and 4 months to arrive at the out patient surgery center for a hip replacement. Pandemica stalled any progress I might have made.  Age and the general deterioration that accompanied the trip from 58 to 70 left me lurching and aching and a gentle emotional nudge from Big Cuter made the decision easy.   As the physiatrist told me early on,  you'll know when you know. I knew.  And now, 365 days later,  I'm back doing the things I used to do before bullets upended my life.  I'm not doing them the same way; 71 is very different from 58 and there's only so much I can do about that.   But I don't hurt any more than anyone else I know.  That's something I haven't been able to say in a long,  long time. Yay Science!

It's a snippet because I'm exhausted.   I sat in traffic on the way to Pilates at 8.  I misunderstood the teacher's instructions and ended up doing something a lot more difficult than what she had in mind.  I did it well and I was proud. I zipped home, retrieved my mat, and was at Yoga in Tohono Chul  for the 9:30 class.  It was ccccold when we started and warm and sunny when we finished, full of radiant health and wonder at the world surrounding us. The day was so beautiful I walked through the gardens, following the new signage to the new location of the old Children's Museum of Oro Valley.  It's more of an activity space than an actual museum, but I think the grandkids will have fun following the signs to get there. That wasn't enough out doors for me.  I headed to Christina-Taylor's path and walked for 2.5 miles at a brisk pace, listening to the History Chicks  and reveling in the weather. I picked up a few things at the grocery store an...

My car needed gas.  I had a mysterious warning light on the dashboard.  I was down to 15% oil left in the tank.  Driving downtown to the Jan 8 Memorial was putting The UV at risk....not really, but I tried to make the case. Then I laughed at myself.   Being sad wasn't going to accomplish anything.  Wandering around a sleepy downtown Tucson wasn't going to make my walk very pleasant.  Why was I looking for reasons not to go?  I didn't want to. I put on my best sock-and-shoe combination and headed for Christina's path.  That seemed to be the best way to honor the day.

Queen T is napping.  Big Cuter and TBG are watching football.  It's sunny and still outside, a little bit warmer than it was 12 years ago when the bullets began to fly. Friends reached out via text; they know I avoid the phone and, really, there's nothing left to be said.  I am here.  They are glad.  So am I. Little Cuter texted that we should video call whenever, so we did.  It took me a few minutes to realize that her how are you doing today  meant more than it would have on any other Sunday.   TBG hugged me tightly at 10:10am; I enjoyed the closeness but couldn't share his tears.  It's odd, but I'm not sad anymore. I ache for the friendship CTG and I would have had; I would like a 20-something in my life right now.  But that's what it is, an ache. I've run out of tears, of that deep, penetrating, unrelenting sorrow that I took to bed every night.   I wonder how much of this is the passage of time and how much of it is m...

Yes, it rains in the desert.  Not often, but enough so that plants actually green up and flowers bloom.  We're usually very happy to see the rain.  The smell of creosote, the happy plants, the water reflecting off the leaves as the sun sets..... I'm usually smiling pretty hard. But it's been non-stop raining for the past two days, and I've had enough.   Every joint in my body hurts, except my mechanical hip.  My bent finger is screeching at me every time I hit the h or the y or the b.  TBG's dropping barometer migraine sidelined him for the day; it was just too much on top of a major reaction to the shingles vaccine.* I had plans to blow dry my hair, finish my holiday shopping, and attend the Cornell Club's Holiday Luncheon.  The rain put the kibosh to the first two parts of my day, but did nothing to diminish the beauty of the venue.  Tucson has some very nice public meeting spaces, most of them with delicious food.  This fell right in ...

I'm checking in with myself, six months after my hip replacement, nearly thirteen years after a young man with an untreated mental illness, who didn't know to use his words, thought a gun would solve his problems. That's how I describe my trauma to the Prince scholar gardeners.  Saying the words used to bring me right back to lying on the sidewalk outside the Safeway, holding Christina-Taylor's hand.  These days, they don't touch my heart at all.  That's progress. I am able to look at the faces and judge the lesson learned without feeling the bullet wounds.  I can have conversations like  why did they let someone like that have a gun, anyway ? and steer them to voting and using your voice and talking to your grown ups about how you feel... and, by the way, I think you are absolutely right. Not hurting has a lot to do with it, I'm sure.  I'm up and down, sitting on the edge of the raised beds, leaning over, standing up without pushing myself off the groun...

Today was a balmy, ninety-something cloudless Tucson morning, with a high breeze that didn't do much to cool things off, but which moved the air just enough.  TBG was able to drive himself to PT.  For the first time in weeks I was alone in my house.   No one would notice what I was doing.  I could read.  I could turn the volume on the music up way too loud.  I could play Candy Crush Soda. I chose to garden. Yesterday, my clippers and I went to work on the dead edges of the hanging basket and the big containers.  I was ruthless.  I ripped out and cut back and removed.  I reorganized and replanted.   The garden center 's newsletter told me to give my roses a haircut, so I did.  LiLou , our grand-pig, did a fine job of trimming their branches on her last visit; there wasn't much left for me to do.   I watered in the changes before going inside to be sure TBG wasn't writhing in agony.    But today I had no ...

It's not really a good deed, but I am being punished. Swimming is great exercise, but it doesn't do much to strengthen my stair climbing musculature.  So, after 35 minutes of laps, I decided to use the pool steps to work on that.  Silver Sneakers suggested using the pool steps after hip replacement ("be sure to stay out of the way of others using those steps") because if you fall you just land in the water.  That made sense to me, especially since we don't have a handrail. Up I went, surgerized leg first, supporting all my weight until my left leg met it on the same step.  Repeat twice more, each time getting more difficult as less of my body was buoyed by the water.  I used my hand on my quadricep for balance, but my legs powered me up. It was a major accomplishment, another first time since 2011 experience.  It felt great.  I smiled.  I bragged about it.  I did it again the next day, this time skipping the matching foot on the step.  T...

That's what TBG told me to do this afternoon. I was walking past him, going no where in particular, when he bade me stop and assess my stance.  His grin was larger than usual.  I've gotten used to that oversized reaction to the fact that I ambulate without lurching, but this was different.   Those who haven't seen me since my surgery are awestruck and silent before they begin to beam.  Look at YOU!  could be my new name.  Walking has become a non-event for me, something mundane, something pedestrian (sorry about that).  But it still impresses the outside world and, apparently, my inside world, too. He's watched me every day since the operation.  He's seen the drama unfold.  But something about my posture struck him today - and he wanted to share. You are taller, slimmer, happier.  Go, look, enjoy. And so I did.  I walked up to the full length mirror in our bathroom and I stood on one leg and I walked backward and sashayed a bit...

Not for very long, and not that intensely, but it definitely rained yesterday. I deep watered Tree and the lemon tree the day before; as newbies, they need help when it's dry and windy and very hot.  Just like Daddooooo putting away the sleds could make it snow (once, in May), there was another few gallons, free of charge.  I laughed and wondered how often this rain dance would work, and remembered that the paper told me to expect a wet monsoon. That got me thinking about collecting rainwater and using it for irrigation, at home and at the school garden, and then I just had to stop and smile.   Such big projects were not even at the edge of my consciousness before I had my hip replaced (with titanium and a stem down my femur......that's still kinda creepy to think about, let alone type right out there in the open.... my bionic self, revealed). It's my third try at life, this one starting not from loss but from gain.   The loss is there, of course, now and a...

It happened again this afternoon.   Taos Bubbe saw me bounce out of the booth and walk across the restaurant and her eyes grew wider... almost as wide as her smile.  I'm so happy for you!, she said.  And I was reminded once again that those who loved me hated to see me limping around. I'd gotten used to the grunting and the crunching and the serious sensations (okay, the pain).  For the most part,  I'd managed to divorce my gait from the event that wrecked it.  It didn't always remind me of CTG and lying on the sidewalk; mostly it annoyed me without pushing open the lid of that box. Early on in this adventure, TBG asked me what it would feel like when no one knew who I was.  How much of my identity was wrapped up in getting shot, he wondered.  Would I miss it when it was gone. Nope.  I can tell you (and him) that it's nice to blend into the crowd.  It's wonderful to experience the world without my aching hip defining the moment....

Along with more pain meds than anyone could ever need,  I was sent home from the hospital with a Healthy Shopping List.  The goal was to be certain I ate enough protein, since protein builds bones. Now, I thought Wonder Bread helped build strong bodies 12 ways, and it turns out I was right.  Who knew that there were 4 grams of protein in the slice of brioche bread I ate this morning.  Add two hard boiled eggs, a glass of milk, the can of tuna fish for lunch and the apples and pears and cheese and nuts for snack last night and it seems that I'm doing quite well on the Protein Calculator 's scale. And that's without eating trout or kale, two items on the hospital's list that made TBG's face turn just a little green.  He's allergic to fish.  He and kale had an unpleasant, roto-rooter type experience several years ago that left him reluctant to try it again.  I can safely avoid these two triggers and still meet my daily needs. As the swelling goes down I f...

Little Cuter liked the Getting Better label on yesterday's post, and, as usual, she goes right to the point - my work isn't over, it's just taking a more positive trajectory.   TBG and I laugh about the fact that,  at this stage of life, there aren't a lot of body parts that are getting better.  Maintaining the status quo feels pretty damn good most of the time.  But today the surgeon took out my stitches and sent me on my way - without the walker, without any medication except one big aspirin twice a day, and instructions to swim, but not cannonball off the side of the pool. This most conservative of physicians thinks I'm getting better.  Who am I to say him nay? He brought me a titanium ball and socket and the anchoring shaft that went into my femur when I wondered what was put where.  They were (and, I suppose, are) surprisingly heavy; perhaps I can chalk up my weight gain to implanted parts and continue to self-medicate with Baskin Robbins ice...

This will be brief, because the joy is too much to contain in words. I left the walker in the bedroom today.  I have been gliding around the house with greater assurance as the day goes on.  Except for the annoyance of the mega-waterproof-help-me-heal bandage whose adhesive is beginning to chafe, I have no discomfort.  I certainly have no pain. Just typing that makes me smile.   Little Cuter and FlapJilly were quite impressed on our video call this afternoon.  TBG has been ogling me all day.  I keep finding mirrors to walk towards.  And nothing hurts. It's been 4, 152 days since I had a fluid gait.  Here's to the next 4, 152 days of carefree ambulation. Thank you, Science.

Friends since our oldests were still in utero,  Mary Catherine and I pick up right where we left off,  no matter how many years have passed.  She said that out loud on Saturday night, and we hugged as our yes-we're-still-married-to-the-same-husbands nodded and smiled.  Our babies were babies who lived down the street from one another, and their mothers were, for the first time in their lives, neither working nor going to school.  We tried to figure out this new role while pushing our strollers, while marveling that our husbands seemed to enjoy one another, while being surprised at how unusual that was, then, in the early 1980's.  I like to think that she needed me as much as I needed her.  I do know that she's as happy for me about this as I am for her about that.  We revel in the successes of the kids we've watched grow up, albeit from afar.  We suffer when they suffer, and offer advice, solicited or not, which is accepted in the spirit ...