Stepping Up

The past few days have certainly been enlightening ones, for having a disability, even one as minor as a broken foot, illuminates all those areas of life we take for granted - like running up and down stairs, meandering through the mall, even treking out to the mailbox - things I'm acccustomed to doing quickly and thoughtlessly, now require a great deal of effort and planning.  Even though I'm off the crutches  (and wearing this monstrous moon boot contraption) steps are slow, awkward, and painful. And boy, I've come to appreciate the drive-through window more than ever.  This morning I was able to drop off a prescription (I've succumbed  - I'm filling the prescription for Darvocet they gave me in the ER), go to the bank, and get coffee, all without getting out of the car.

Yes!

So I've been thinking a lot about the people I know who deal with chronic, long standing disabilities, and how life is so much more difficult for them than us able bodied souls.  Most of them are unfailingly cheerful, positive, and life affirming, which inspires me more than I can say.  Of course, I'm thinking in particular of one of my blogging friends, whom many of you also know and love.  Whenever I'm tempted to feel a bit sorry for myself  (and my boot!) I just think about Tammy and I'm suddenly infused with the warrior spirit!

I'm also thinking about the ways in which this injury might be a little payback for me, for the irritation with my husband (who has chronic foot pain due to peripheral neuropathy) for walking so slowly last week when we were in Disney World.   And  sometimes I get impatient with my mother, too, whose age has slowed her footsteps to a (for me) painfully slow pace.

Now, I myself am moving painfully slow, in every sense of those words. 

Life is all about perspective, isn't it?  About learning by walking in another woman's shoes (pardon the pun).  Along with my new boot, I've received a lesson in humility this week, one I'm going to be learning for the next six weeks if my orthopedic surgeon is to be believed.  

But for now, I'll just happily hobble into the kitchen and start dinner.

How about you? Has life ever taught you a lesson in humility?

Three Word Wednesday

Today's Words on Three Word Wednesday: Glass ~ Question ~ Token  Shelly lifted her glass, placing it directly into the beam of sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window.  Pure gold, she thought, admiring the clarity of wine pooled at the goblet's base.  A practiced flick of her wrist sent the liquid into a gentle pirouette, releasing the grassy scent she especially favored.  Dipping her nose just slightly over the rim, she inhaled, letting the complex aroma permeate her nasal membranes.

Only the closest of Shelly's friends dared ask her out for a drink, knowing full well there was no such thing as just a token glass of wine where she was concerned.  Wine was serious business for her - after all, it was her livelihood.  Running the vineyard her family had owned and operate for the past 75 years was a legacy she took very seriously.

Wine was more than just a business - it was a labor of love, wrapped in her warmest memories of times spent with her mother and grandfather, traipsing through the arbors in early fall, asking question after question.  Her mother would sometimes become annoyed with her, impatient with the constant interruptions of a small girl who wanted to know why certain vines bloomed in the fall, and what the bad worms looked like, and how could they make white wine out of green grapes. 

But her grandfather was always the soul of patience, kneeling beside her on the grassy hills, cupping his hands full of tiny grapes, showing her which ones were progressing as they should, teaching her how to determine which were not getting enough sun, or were becoming too moist.

For nearly 20 years, the vineyard had been the focus her days and nights, the recipient of all her affection and dedication.  "So here I am," Shelly thought, "just me and the vines."  She turned from the window and set the glass down on the black granite counter-top.  "How insane of me to think that gestating the perfect bottle of pinot noir would be as satisfying as having a family."

She felt the soft brush of Samson's fur, his lithe feline body winding round her ankles.  Reaching down to run her palm over his smooth back, she felt his spine arch appreciatively under her touch. 

"I know, I know," she reassured him.  "I appreciate how much you love me."  The cat protested slightly as she scooped him up under her arm, retrieving her wine glass and stepping out onto the deck overlooking the sloping green hills of the vineyard.  "But no matter how smart you are," she continued affectionately, "you can't run the vineyard when I'm gone."

For that was the big question on Shelly's mind these days, the question of legacy, of who would inherit her love for the vines, of who would continue creating the wines of which her grandfather had been so proud.

Dark eyes roaming the vista spread before her, she felt a familiar sensation of peace flooding her body.  Though Shelly usually eschewed the California "feel good" philosophy, she had to admit this land had healing powers.  The pride of ownership that flowed through her veins was as intoxicating as the finest vintage in her cellars.

"And that will have to be enough for me," she thought, taking a delicate sip of the Chardonnay she had poured a few minutes ago, before her thoughts had turned melancholy.  The rich buttery flavor set her taste buds alight, and as she gently chewed the rich liquid it released its aftertaste onto her tongue.  Sighing deeply with pleasure, she turned her back to the sunset, and went inside to refill her glass.

"That - and this," she said, lifting her glass into the waning beam of sunlight.

Easter Surprise

I'm usurping titles again (this time it's our minister's, who entitled his sermon Sunrise Suprise). But it seemed appropriate.   Because my Easter took a surprising turn (forgive the pun, which you'll understand in a moment) this morning as I was walking down the hallway at church, deep in conversation with one of my friends, when I felt my (pink high heel clad) foot slip (on the over zealously buffed tile floor).  In order to prevent a total fall to the ground, I managed a quick contorted manuever, grabbing onto the bookshelf, and landed solidly on the side of my left foot.

Ouch! A sharp, ice pick type pain in my foot, followed by a wave of nausea -whoa! 

All kinds of people streaming past, smiling, greeting one another - wait!  My friend is still talking - she hasn't noticed yet - oh! - I think I need to sit down.

Okay...maybe it's not so bad.  A few minutes in a chair - yes, I think I can stand.  It's alright (I think).

So, the show service goes on.  I stand up through all the usual Easter musical hoopla - four or five hymns, the Hallelujah Chorus, two handbell pieces.  I stand around talking to another friend (who is on crutches because she broke her foot four weeks ago!!) and finally limp my way out to the car.

We come home, have a nice breakfast (courtesy of my mother, who is of course extremely concerned) because by now I'm limping quite noticeably, and there is a rather Easter eggish sized lump forming on the top of my foot.

"You need to have that X-rayed," she tells me.

I know she's right.  She's always right when it comes to things like this.

But I procrastinate.  Because I'm making dinner today - it's already made, as a matter of fact, just ready to go into the oven.  So we go home, and I set the table, and enlist Jim's help (for a change!)  and everything turns out fine, except that by the end of the meal, the Easter eggish lump on my foot is now a baseball sized lump on my foot, and it hurts like hell!

Well, s&*#, f^%*, and d"*#.

Rest of the story in  a nutshell.

Emergency room.

Fracture.

Splint.

Crutches.

Six weeks.

Easter Surprise.

Spring Has...?

Sprung, is how the sentence should end.  Flown the coop is more apt.

Yes dear friends and readers, once again I've left behind balmy tropical breezes and sunny blue skies only to be greeted with another snow dump.

Five inches last night.

But~ the sun is shining and the sky is blue - at least I'll say that.  If I spend the day only gazing upward, I might fool myself into believing I'm still in Neverland. 

However, you all know I'm not one to remain in Neverland too long, for the fascinating lure of responsibility calls me...work, most notably, an 800 page stack of medical records that must be read, digested, and summarized all nice and neat for the attorney's and the insurance company. 

I've been through my entire repetroire of delaying tactics...I've exercised, gone walking, made a fresh pot of coffee, picked up the house...let's see, maybe I should quick put on boots and shovel a path in the backyard for the doggies to wade through...

Wait...

I believe it's lunchtime.  Or almost at any rate.

So you see how easily I am dissuaded from working.  

Working at home is definitely a mixed blessing, I think, for while it gives me the kind of freedom to take days off in the middle of the week (and go play in the sunshine), it means I must shove aside all the other lures of home and buckle down to task when a deadline looms ahead of me.  

So perhaps its just as well that the weather has turned frightful, as it gives me less excuses to procrastinate that moment when I must glue myself to the desk chair and set to work.

And maybe by the time I've finished, the snow will be all melted...

Sigh.

Dream on.  

Neverland

It's late in the evening, here on our last day in Walt Disney World, a place that (depending on your point of view) is a magical place of wonder and adventure, or an overpriced piece of capitalist consumerism.   In fact, there is truth in both perspectives. 

And while I rarely write politically here at the Byline, my thoughts tonight are straying into that realm, because as I sit here in my lovely hotel room, having spent the past three days wandering through amusement parks in this artifical neverland, I find myself wondering if we're all burying our heads in the sand.

America has spent the past five years at war.  I hate war.  I've always hated war.  When my son was born 28 years ago, I remember thinking (as they wheeled me out of the delivery room) that I could never let him go to war.  And yet, thousands of mothers of sons and daughters are doing just that - and sometimes their children are not coming home. 

Our economy is in the worst crisis I can remember in my lifetime.  Homes all over my neighborhood have been lost to foreclosure.  Businesses are failing left and right.  People in my state are surviving only because they have credit cards to pay for groceries, gas, and medications.

Medical care is in crisis, as people continue to live longer and longer, and do not have the means to pay for the health care they need. 

Since the time of the Great Depression, has America ever been in such dire straits? 

And yet, my family (and quite a few other families, to judge by the crowds in the park today) are able to take lovely vacations in places where we're encourgaed to forget all our troubles, put our cares behind us, and "dream a million dreams."

I'm all for dreaming - I think dreams are necessary and vital.  But are we dreaming too much?  Are we living in our own little "neverland," so accustomed to America always coming out on top that we're turning a blind eye to the serious dilemmas we face? Shouldn't we be applying some old fashioned elbow grease to the difficulties that plague this nation, and finding a way to fix the disasters that have developed in this country over the past eight years? 

After a few days in the magical world of Disney, I always find myself more than ready to return home to the nitty gritty of my every day life.  While I can marvel at those "imagineers" who created this place, and as nice as it is to escape from the "real world" of work and domestic responsibility,  I feel a craving to return to those normal routines, the day to day reality of life.

Whomever we elect in November has to bear the awesome responsibility of taking on a country in crisis.  The next leader of this nation must be someone with dreams and with imagination, but also someone highly intelligent and firmly grounded in common sense.

We just can't live in Neverland any longer.