Hares & Trains

Raising Hare by Chloe Dalton (Memoir)

After finishing this remarkable book I've been in a slump for several days.  I think I'm experiencing some kind of book grief.  I was so fully immersed in this book, coming out of it was like closing a world I had gotten so comfortable living in.

What I appreciated most about Chloe Dalton's unique journey is that she did something I haven't really seen before in the animal memoirs I've read.  She didn't forever keep the animal.  The hare wasn't injured, so there was no need to keep it.  But Chloe also didn't just shut the door on the hare once the hare started to leave for extended periods of time.  Chloe did the opposite.  She put in a hare door so that the hare could always come inside whenever it wanted to.  

Because Chloe didn't turn the hare into a pet but also didn't put up a clear division between the wild beyond her garden and the safety of her house, it created this strange world that gave the reader an opportunity to truly experience the magic of living alongside a wild animal.

Aiding this experience are Chloe's observations, all the sacrifices she made for the hare, and the strength of their bond.

I took many notes but will share a few:

* I loved that Chloe discovered what to feed the hare through a poem written in the 1700's.

* Each time Chloe talks about the care she takes to live alongside the hare is incredible:

"As time went by, I went to increasing lengths not to disturb it as it slept in the house. It would not have been the end of the world to startle it, but the sight of a hare asleep at the foot of the stairs was so captivating and improbable that it seemed no trouble to accommodate it."

The first moment the hare takes off on its own:

"All the features I'd admired up close - the blunt tips of its ears, and its rough, crosshatched pelt of many colours - served to conceal it.  The field developed and reclaimed it."

And after going through all the emotions of watching the hare leave, <i>so  many emotions</i>, Chloe describes the hare coming back:

"But just before dusk, the leveret appeared in the open gateway, a slender silhouette against the tall wooden posts, its ears raised to the fullest extent as it listened intently, so that it seemed more ear than hare. For what felt like an age, it waited at the very edge of the divide between the two worlds, and then slipped into the house."

I won't give away much more than that or how the ending also makes this book a gem.  But I will share one more thing.  Chloe raises several important questions towards the end, questions that have the potential to change the world.  The reader weaves in and out of these questions with Chloe, feeling  all the pangs from the silence on the other side of these questions.

"If it is possible to create robots and drones to reap our fields for us, could we not use technology to detect the presence of leverets, and fawns, and nesting birds, and could reasonable efforts not be made to relocate them, rather than simply leaving them to be crushed beneath our machines?"

Big Boy 4014 and the Steam Team by Marsha Diane Arnold & Adam Gustavson (Nonfiction Picture Book)

This special book manages to provide interesting details and not be too wordy at the same time. The best spread for me is where the steam team has Big Boy 4014 on a turntable to take a look and a splendid paragraph about taking the train apart - "Test those bolts. Check those rivets. Grab the torches. Grab the welders. All new valves. All new pistons." It's such a delight to read.

I'm not sure if anyone else does this, but when I read important dates I think about family members who were alive or would have witnessed these big moments in history. For example, the author's note tells readers that Big Boys were built between 1941-1944. My maternal grandparents were teens and my dad was a toddler during this time. The Big Boy featured in this book was taken out of service in 1959, which is the year my mom was born. It really adds perspective when I think about historical events this way.

I enjoyed learning more about the Big Boys and the steam team's journey to not only get one up and running again, but the months of research that went into preparing Big Boy 4014 to go on tours and be enjoyed by many people. The illustrations are completely harmonious with the story. The majesty of Big Boy 4014 is brought to life from several different angles with so much depth and rich colors. The crowds enjoying Big Boy 4014 are so well done too! I read through this book several times - the first time to enjoy both the story and the Author's Note, the second time with my husband, who is a train nerd, and a handful of times to enjoy the illustrations. It's a tough book to give back to the library!

Balancing

My first week of crutches has been challenging, but I haven't had any spills so far.  I started out putting weight only on the tip of my foot, which my physical therapist said was ok for the time being, but that I needed to be able to plant my entire foot with each swing (25% weight-bearing of course).  I tried for three days and the heel pain felt similar to being socked really hard with a blast of stars and electricity spreading.  I was so disappointed and wondered if I needed to fight through it but decided to keep trying each day and wait until Friday to talk to the physical therapist.

Today when I swung and lightly planted my heel I felt absolutely nothing.  Only toward the end of the day did I have some of that pain.  I'm hoping I'll be ready to take a wedge out soon.  I've also started up my workouts again with an emphasis on the exercises from my physical therapy.  I feel a little more connected to myself, which is even more important during this big change at work.

I've been setting up interviews left and right, learning as much as I can at work (I officially know how to measure fonts, make trapezoids, and have been learning to use the Bézier tool like a ninja, a slow slow ninja), and still tackling my classes (though much of my enthusiasm, life force, and effort have been consumed elsewhere).  

All is well for the moment.  It helps so much that my healing is evident, we have interviews lined up, I've got Robert's support, my school assignments have been manageable, and I'm getting some of the graphic design basics down.

If there wasn't enough proof that I'm healing, Josie has gone back to mostly snuggling with Robert at night.  He is, after all, her favorite, so I expected this to happen.

Thankfully, she still occasionally picks me.  

Look at that smile!

all the emotions including trench foot

This past week has been a rollercoaster, one I'm stuck on for better or worse (unless the ride catches on fire or another of those catastrophes social media likes to show me sometimes).  I'm choosing to put my faith in the journey of the ride.

I've been scooting around this week like my ass is on fire (when really the fire is just my healing wound).  I started PT on Monday and have been informed warned that when I graduate from scooter to crutches I need to do everything in my power to be faithful to the crutches and not cheat with the scooter.  I've also been told that wearing any kind of bag will affect my gait and ability to learn how to walk again.  As soon as I heard this news I made a list of things I needed to get done before I become more dependent on others than I've been at any point of this journey thus far.  It will only be a few weeks they said (a few weeks?!?!?), but this means no more book journeys where I try to squeeze 20 books into my scooter basket.  No more carrying even a clipboard around when I help customers.  Hell, I could even vacuum on the scooter (but don't tell Robert). 

I also found out Monday I am losing my beloved graphic designer at my business due to her own health issues.  Not sure if you remember my recent post about my gut issues and how anxiety will find ways to kill us if we don't watch it?  Well, this is a similar story, and hopefully she finds a way to slay her anxiety beasts as well.  I've learned about two million things from her over this past year, but I have about four million more to learn.  I am now scrambling to write job descriptions, put out the word that I'm hiring, and setting up interviews, all while trying to learn all the ins and outs of the two lasers, Corel (which is the software we use at the shop), and so many other things in addition to staying on top of my other shop duties.  

During my injury Robert has stepped in too, helping me every chance he gets.  He's already been working two and a half jobs.  He's been the best thing.  Twenty years with this nerd, and I'm still thankful for him every day (when I'm not bitching about socks).

So yes, I've also had strong whiny brat feelings about the socks that were recommended when I transitioned to the boot - soccer/softball socks, which are tall enough for the outer boot and the inner ice sock and more importantly, breathable.  I can tell you right now that any desire I've ever had to become a softball or soccer player at any point in my life (zero up to this point) is forever squashed going forward.  These socks are complete nightmares.  I wear both leggings and skinny jeans no problemo.  But these socks are so tight (even though my calf has shrunk to the size of a grape and the socks are XL mens).  My calf is so incredibly sensitive the slightest pressure feels like a blood pressure cuff at its tightest.  

Robert finally caved yesterday and gave me one of his stretched out socks.  It was much better.  I proceeded to dust the entire showroom yesterday and do some production that required me to stand up with my scooter and had zero issues with the calf pressure.  Dusting the showroom was the right move too, because the HVAC folks recently descended on the building, which means much poking around, moving ceiling tiles, throwing dust, dirt, and dead bugs all over our black shelves and merchandisers.  HVAC visits are normally a chance for me to practice my creative cursing, but yesterday I just felt like an enraged, deflated mylar balloon, trailing my scooter and massive booted leg behind me.  Not sure if you've ever seen a birthday balloon fighting the limbs of a tree.  That's pretty close to how I was feeling.

Naturally, Robert's old sock gave me a case of trench foot.  God bless him, he's such a giver.  

So yea, I had PT this morning, and the first thing we did was take the boot off.  My incision is still weeping, so we've been keeping an eye on it.  The boot and sock came off, and the physical therapists both gasped and asked what happened.  The only thing Robert and I could think of was the sock, which had only been on my foot for 24 hours.  They took some pictures and messaged the doctor.  There were a few uncomfortable minutes where the physical therapists turned away from us and started whispering to each other.  I've never had trench foot before.  Apparently the physical therapists have never seen trench foot before.  Robert went into frantic Google-Fu mode, which is when he starts chewing the collar of his shirt while staring intently at his phone screen.  Meanwhile, I started to quietly panic.

Finally, the news came back from the doctor, and the tension eased up some.  Instead of spending the rest of the session teaching me how to use crutches, the physical therapists talked to me about socks while bending and squeezing my sad, bloated white foot in the spot that wasn't claimed by trench foot.  Needless to say, I cannot progress to 25% weight bearing because my heel is where the worst of it is.  So I will be on the scooter (and the dreaded soccer/softball socks are here to stay) until at least next week when we check on the trench foot.

I've had such unusual off and on pains in my heel, I didn't even think there was an issue.  When the doctor did my surgery he had to go into my heel and also up my calf due to the severity of the tear.  I just assumed it was a bunch of miserable healing going on down there.  

For now, Robert and I have been tasked with changing my sock several times a day and airing out my foot when I can be completely still and have Robert around to help me get the boot on and off.  The combination of these two things is the equivalent of finding gold at the end of the rainbow right now, but hell we're going to try.

I have been riding such a wave of emotions, trying to stay on top of everything.  I completely lost my cool after realizing I emailed a customer with a day later than planned on with his Christmas order of all things.  The work order simply got scooted over on my desk.  I attempted to storm off on my scooter, fell into a metal shelf (better that than my bum foot), and immediately chastised myself for losing my cool (as one does).

I honestly thought that one email was a sign I was going to fail all these new missions.  Thankfully, Robert was once again there for me, reminding me to give myself some grace.  I usually listen to music every day, any chance I am alone, since I like it loud and pumping through all the speakers in the house.  Music is how I heal.  It's my fuel, and how I relax.  When I was at the PT appointment today a Destiny's Child song came on (thankfully not during the trench foot moment so I don't have to think about rotten feet every time I listen to their music in the future), and I could feel all my working muscles relaxing.  I knew right then that I needed to take a break and think things through tonight while listening to some extra loud music.  I decided to sit down and write it out, face the music so to speak, and accept this new challenge that I have been given.  So I'm scrounging up some grace, both for myself and my work, creating some gentle wind to untangle myself from the trees.  Trench foot, interviews, learning first.  Second, let go and ask for help when I'm on the crutches.  Third, everything else.

Meanwhile, humor and grace.

And...finding the best person to tackle graphic design and production with me.  If you know of anyone in the Kansas City area looking for an amazing job opportunity that comes with a daily dose of golden retriever and all the feels and happiness that comes from amazing and thankful customers, please give me a shout. 

care bear beams and roller grill nights

My miserable cast and stitches were removed yesterday.  Good riddance!  The stitches were causing about 80% of the pain, which makes me feel a little embarrassed.  The achilles rupture didn't take me out, but the stitches?  They pretty much turned me into a monster.  

I am only feeling some superficial pain from the stitches.  The biggest thing I'm dealing with is what feels like a forest fire in my boot.  Turns out I carried the fire with me from cast to boot.  Who would have thunk it?  The healing powers are doing some kind of fire dance with bonus crackling flame sensations.

Thankfully Robert found the best ice machine ever with a bootie that fits underneath my boot.  We put the machine between our heads last night and set it to 30 minutes on, 30 minutes off.

This picture is the machine taking up valuable book space.  Sacrifices!  Unlike the ice machine I had after my meniscus repair surgery which had the plug beneath my foot, I can unplug this one on my own.  This is what eleven years of technology advancements looks like.

Josie has been absolutely glued to me since this whole thing started, but even more in the last few days, especially at night.  We weren't sure what she would think of the ice machine and long hose, but she squeezed herself in.  Each time I woke up to rotate myself she was there and a couple times she was even laying on the hose, which didn't look comfortable at all.

She does something I've only known one other dog to do.  She stretches herself out so that she's touching me from head to toe.  Each time I turn she makes small adjustments so that she's still snuggled as close as she can get.  Rose, our maternal and sometimes stern reincarnation of Emily Post, would do this same thing. It's a little like being in a roller grill but the hot dog next to you is glued to you and covered in fur.  Sometimes Josie cuddles so close she oozes into my roller grill spot when I rotate.  After about five turns I only have about five inches of bed space left, and poor Robert has to help me roll her back to her own spot on the roller grill.  This is how it's been going a few times a night: 

"Robert?"

Silence.

"Robert!"

Some kind of unintelligible noise.  

"Your dog's butt." 

That's all I have to say, and he knows it's time to help me move her again.  

I just can't get over this dog.  She is taking such good care of me.  I think Josie and Robert's care have doubled the healing powers in my house.  The beams of light from these two care bears is probably what's fueling the forest fire.

I am wearing all four wedges in my boot right now and non-weight bearing.  One by one the wedges will disappear, and as each one disappears I will become weight bearing 25% at a time (and probably have a taco party each time too).

I start PT next week, and I already know the first question I am going to ask.  I have been separated from my home workouts for too long, and I've already modified the lists to remove the things I can't do at the moment (see you later sumo squats and planks) and left the things I can do (hello upper body weights and leg lifts).  

At the exact moment I had the achilles injury Robert was busy coding a new version of my home workout list.  Prior to the summer, I used a program (shortcut) Robert created to pull 25 numbers from from my exercise list, which has about 100-150 exercises.  Sometimes multiple numbers appeared in the same workout - like a motherload of planks (which I did 30 miserable seconds at a time because that's my max time).  Sometimes the random numbers were balanced.  Sometimes the numbers zinged the other way and I would spend an ungodly amount of time rolling muscles and doing breathing exercises. 

Over the summer I learned the importance of sequencing, and an expert went over my exercises with me.  We deleted a few that were either not a good fit or they just weren't good for your body (turns out sit ups are terrible for you!).  We added in the ones I needed to do for my specific kind of pelvic floor therapy, and the last thing we did was sort them into four categories - warming, strength, balance, and stretching/mindfulness.  Cardio is important too, but it's separate from the home workouts.  Robert was busy coding a program that would give me a list of 3-7 exercises per category.  In addition to creating a program for the four different categories, Robert was factoring in duration too (gotta love his beautiful nerd brain).  There are longer exercises like sun salutations and shorter ones like getting off the floor with zero assists (although there are days this one takes longer!).  I was initially worried about the sequencing, because the surprise of various random generators and shortcuts is a small gift to myself and also helps my mind relax.  With Robert's program I will be able to follow the sequencing while still randoming the numbers within each category.

I know I will not be able to play tennis for another 8-11 months.  But getting my daily exercises back and doing my PT will be a huge mood boost for me.  I've heard it's not going to be easy, but any work I can do will help me feel like I'm doing something to put all the pieces back together again.  Who knows, by the end of the year I might be going for walks with my care bear homies.

a jar full of barn sunshine

This piece took a while, but it gave me zero grief to make.  I have definitely become a little too attached to the green felt, so I'm determined to walk away from it for a while and use a different fabric next time.  Most of the buttons from this piece came from one of the several jars of buttons I found in the barns on Robert's grandma's property.

I used up a lot of neutrals to make this piece, but sunshine found its way in.

I am eager to share the piece I made for the Columbia Art League's Interpretations VII, but I haven't taken proper pictures of it, and I have been unable to travel and see the show.  I've been apart of Interpretations twice as a poet, and this is my first time as an artist.  I have been a little bummed about missing the reception and not being able to meet with the poet I was paired with.  I'm hoping I can travel at some point next week and see the show before it comes down.  I should have pictures and the poet's poems to share soon.  

But for now, there's many paths to take in the threads of this piece, all leading to sunshine.

play by play

Robert has been doing a great job keeping up with our two businesses, taking care of me, and doing all the necessary chores at home.  But there have been some things that have slipped through the cracks.  Robert mentioned to me that he was going to have someone help us with our yard for a while.  We already have someone who helps us stay on top of mowing and leaf/snow removal, so I was confused.  

When he said he had hired someone to do dog poo duty, I was shocked.  That type of thing exists???

This morning I noticed someone outside.  I quickly pulled up our home cameras and yep, someone was in our yard, and all I could make out on his shirt was the word POOP in capital letters.  The heck with work.  I called Robert.  "No need to call me," he said.  "They're texting me the play by play."

The play by play of doggie poo duty?

Apparently these doggie poo duty folks text their every move: 

No need to worry.  Poopy pickup is on the way.  

This is your poop technician, and I have arrived.

Taking the scoop for the poop out of the truck.  

Ready to take a load off your yard!!  

What do you feed your dogs?!???

I honestly don't know what they texted (although they really do call themselves poop technicians), but I was laughing so hard thinking about the play by play.  

I wanted to say thank you but I can't even get myself out to the porch to say thank you.  I can go up the stairs to the house unassisted, but I cannot go down the steps without help.  I've learned the hard way that our rock landscaping does not make for a soft landing place when you fall off the porch.  

I would wholeheartedly recommend this poopy scoopy business, but they failed to do one important thing.  The man's shirt said POOP instead of P💩💩P.  

I have been at home more than I had hoped to be this week.  I went to work for a couple hours on Tuesday and a little more than a half day Wednesday.  Unfortunately the evenings have continued to be complete hell.  Everything is fine until there's swelling, and when that happens it feels like I'm going to bust through the cast.  I've been doing almost continuous icing, even at work and through the night.  But for some reason the icing during the night is like trying to spit on a forest fire to put it out.

The good news is that all that fire and swelling hopefully mean a lot of healing.  A lack of sleep is a small price to pay for healing.  I also think about our neighbors who have a newborn and two kids under the age of five, and I instantly feel better about the quality and quantity of my sleep.

Robert was on a job in a different part of Kansas City today and offered to bring me lunch from a vegan place I love.  It's a good 30 minutes or more from our house, so I rarely get to eat there.  He walked into the place and a customer said, "Thank you for spending your white Johnson County money on this place."  Seriously!  I asked Robert what he said in reply.  Robert told me he was thinking, "Well this guy isn't wrong..."  But he ended up saying, "We've all got to support this place!"

Robert said when the customer left he drove off in a Hummer.  

I'm not sure if it's the lack of sleep, but the strange interaction Robert had at the vegan place seems even funnier after our first visit from the poop technician.

Here is a fun video I found while sorting thousands of old pictures and videos.  It seems appropriate here.  It's the moment Robert and I first discovered Siri would translate emojis in meaningful and sometimes life-changing ways while driving.  As you can hear in the video we got very lucky our first time trying out this new technology.  Over the years we've discovered it all depends on the car, the Siri voice, and the emojis.

under construction candy corn

I am getting closer to some kind of normalcy.  I had my checkup yesterday and only have to wear a hard cast for a week and a half.  Everything is looking as it should.  Apparently I shredded the tendon, so the doctor lassoed the shreds of the tendon to another tendon.  That's what I got out of the conversation anyway.  Thank you unknown tendon for kindly holding onto the rogue tendon.  

Robert and I thought it would be cute to do a candy corn themed cast.  But really it just looks like I belong at a construction site. 

I came home from the checkup and immediately folded a basket of laundry standing up with my scooter.  It was my gift to myself.  

I sat down to work on an assignment, and after I reached the halfway point, I realized my focus was in the toilet.  It was tough to get comfortable!  I spent the rest of the day trying to keep my leg from resting on my stitches.

As it turns out, the stinging nettle pain is actually something to do with the stitches.  I've had stitches a few times in my life, but somehow my brain forgot what a torment they are.  The splint that I've been wearing had mounds and mounds of cotton batting in addition to two plaster pieces.  I now have a sock, some batting, and the cast.  I can definitely tell the difference.  The stitches hurt like hell, but the cast is lighter.  I'm hoping tomorrow is better and/or I can find things that hold my attention and distract me from the stinging nettles.

I've been dipping back into 2018 memories when Robert had his tendon surgery.  That fool was riding around the block on his dang scooter even before he got a cast.  Here I am, one basket of laundry, one acorn away from collapsing or wrecking.  It looks like I've got some catch up to do!

sun-warmed puddles and foot-knowledge

I just finished two excellent books.  I've got that feeling we all get when we finish books.  I'm both jazzed up about life, but I can't read more than two sentences of anything else, because I'm still stuck in the worlds of the books I just left.  

Candle Island by Lauren Wolk (Juvenile Fiction)

This book has everything - a mom and daughter sharing a secret (I was clueless right up until the secret was revealed!), an island, orphaned osprey named Gulliver, supporting characters with their own ginormous things going on, a horse named Hog, opera, poetry, painting, a library. You name it, this book has it.

I particularly loved the details and language. When Lucretia and her mom arrive at the island Lucretia checks out the pasture for her horse. She looks for any plants that might make Hog sick, which is something she learned from her grandmother.

Wolk writes this about Lucretia. "I wanted to be alone, in the wildest possible place. That was what I craved. If I was to be by myself, I might as well be the kind of alone that made me glad."

Each time Wolk writes about Gulliver, which is nearly every page, it’s such a treat. His character has more personality than some people I know. There’s no way this bird doesn’t have roots in truth. He’s too real. “He splashed and jostled his way out of my hands until he was sitting in the sun-warmed puddle, clearly content.” Each screech, whistle, and expression is so precious.

I also love how Lucretia and her mom are both painters and super supportive of each other’s artistic processes. Lucretia sees, feels, hears art everywhere. The island is brought to life through Wolk’s descriptions and also how Lucretia experiences the island.

Blade by Blade by Danusha Laméris (Poetry)

When I read the first poem, "Barefoot," I knew this was going to be a zillion star book. I immediately bought a copy and returned my library copy. During my childhood I spent every summer barefoot, only wearing shoes when we went into town. My feet knew our holler better than my eyes or my hands did. Laméris captures this feeling, which is not something I've ever thought too much about. Not until I read Barefoot.

"I'd marvel at how I could feel/ a gopher stir underground from yards away, that slight / rumble in the earth. This was foot-knowledge, heel-knowledge, / knowledge of sole and arch, that domed curve, vaulted nave, / everything that entered there, sanctified, holy."

I thought, how does it get better than this poem? But the glow of Laméris' words continues to light the way.

In "Slither," another poem so closely mirroring my childhood, she writes about lizards, snakes, and other creepy crawlies. She does this brilliant thing with the skink, writing about how she grabs one, and folks, she uses a line break to sever the tail. I am not even kidding here. She's so sneaky in her brilliance. This shines the brightest in her poem, "Alphabet of the Apocalypse," which has so many clever things going on it feels like I'm reading that Highlights magazine, noticing something different every time I read through the poem.

The entire book is a treasure, too short, brilliantly composed, each poem asking the reader to lift the rock of its words.

Magnets

Hopefully I'm never stuck in bed for so long again, but after spending so much time in there, I'm officially on the prowl for a new piece of art for our bedroom.

Just this year Robert and I splurged on some special frames for our horde of magnets we've been collecting on our travels (and a handful we've had since we were kids).  We bought some sheet metal and had it framed so it could hold the weight of the magnets.  We started with three frames, two for our entryway and one for the bedroom.  One of the frames in the entryway is a work-in-progress.  So three was the right move.  We can also change them up every now and then. 

 

The one in the bedroom has been a delight this past month as I've been recuperating.  There are so many favorites.  In two of the corners are what I fondly think of as the scrambled egg ladies.  They've graced the refrigerators of my youth, college apartments, the refrigerator of my first home with Robert.  

This is the last fridge Robert and I owned that could hold magnets.  I was a nanny for several years, so I always had a gaggle of kids with me, thus the magnet letters and beautiful artwork.  The first time we put a magnet on a fridge that couldn't hold them, and we watched it sadly zoom to the floor, we were completely aghast.  And momentarily lost.  

We both had metal pegboards/tool chests in our offices, so for a while they lived in clumps here and there in places that were hard to enjoy them.

Robert and I both have identical KC Pizza Hut magnets from our childhood, which is unusual because I did not grow up in KC.  I think mine came from my uncle.  I used to stare at it and think about how people in movies would order pizza (Home Alone comes immediately to mind).  I thought it only happened in movies.  It certainly did not happen in the rural area where I grew up.  When I found out Robert had the same exact magnet, I told him this and he said he didn't really know why they had the magnet, because Pizza Hut delivery (any delivery) was too expensive for him and his mom.  So we have the same magnet and the same longing.  Two kids whose big dream when they grew up was to order pizza and have it delivered right to their door.  Dreams do come true!

My favorite magnet is from the Catacombs of Paris.  It's a little book!

Prior to taking a tour of the Catacombs of Paris, I only wanted to be there and learn more about it.  But then we found out they have concerts, and now I think about how much I would love to attend a concert there every time I see the magnet.  I think it's tragic the bodies were buried in such a way, their remains now a cautionary tale, constantly gawked at and often disrespected, but I'd like to think that the music that stirs them every so often is mending in some way.  I don't care what happens to my body when I die.  Whatever is the least burden to the earth.  But if there was the possibility of music near my remains, and there wasn't the option of reincarnation, and I could politely haunt , I would choose the music.  No matter the ridicule or disrespect.  Even if it was Zydeco or classic rock, I would still pick that over the absence of music.

19,044 things organized

This morning I had a message from Dropbox in my inbox.

Until about a year ago all my phone pictures went straight to Dropbox.  I would move them into the correct folders and iPhoto (now called Photos).  I was always about two or three years behind!  Last year Robert helped me set up my pictures so that they automatically went into iPhoto.  I could just create a new album in iPhoto, drag the pictures into their albums and be done.  Any pictures that went back to live in Dropbox I just export every so often.  These are pictures that are not keepsakes - inspiration for art, ukulele songs/chords, pictures from books etc.  The only small issue with this new system is that I still had about three years of pictures to organize in Dropbox!  Every so often I moved about a hundred at a time.  I was slowly whittling away at it.

When I was told I was going to be on bed rest for almost three weeks I decided I was going to finish moving not only the rest of those remaining pictures in dropbox (about two years worth) but also all the really old picture albums from 2004-2008, which is when I switched to a Mac.

It was a lot of work, but it was easy to do laying on my back.  I officially finished it all on Tuesday this week!  Everything is organized, easy to find, and I now have the joy of all my pictures from the past 20 years being in one place.  19, 044 things organized! 

Next week I have my first check-up since the surgery, and I am excited to get one step closer to taking steps again.  I've had a few hairy days where it felt like my foot was constantly getting stuck in a patch of stinging nettles, and that has mostly disappeared.  I am now just dealing with a lot of heat, swooshing pressure, tingling, and some deep aches.  If I go lower than toes above nose for more than 10 minutes it's extremely uncomfortable.  I am hoping this is the next thing that goes away.  The sooner the better!

I'm also about a third of the way through my last semester.  My capstone class has felt terrifically challenging for being what it is, which is creating a portfolio of assignments from all of my classes.  We are sorting them by program objective first, and it's been a weird scavenger hunt that I am not always doing right.  Another class (collection development) has been challenging, but that was my expectation going into it.  Thankfully it has been interesting thus far.  My third class (event planning) is almost wrapped up and then I will do a different class for the rest of the semester.  I think it's programming for seniors.

Josie went back to work this week but has been taking care of me at night.  Nights are the worst!  So long!  Especially when I need to move about every 20 or 30 minutes.  But nothing beats an 80+ pound dog cuddling the brambly hurt away.  Each time I reach for her at night, and she's there, it's such a comfort.

stupid drunk on the hope

The small celebration in my last post has opened up into this ginormous, blooming hope.  Wednesday night I woke up and realized my toes were uncomfortable.  It was a weird feeling.  I realized both that they were uncomfortable and that I really hadn't felt them since before the surgery.  I lay there in the dark pondering what to do.  Should I move them?  What if it was painful and the pain kept me up the rest of the night?

I took a chance.  I wiggled them.  Just the small toes, mind you.  I learned the day of the injury that there was something about moving the big toe that caused bright white pain, so that's going to be something I work on later.  

So yes, I wiggled my toes and nothing happened!  I was strangely elated.  Our bodies break.  But they also heal too.  It's tough to remember that second part during the times we're broken (or in self pity's chokehold).

The next day I felt some of the weight leave the leg.  It went from cement anchor while I waited for the nerve block to wear off.  Each move took effort from the rest of my body - "Here you go leg - here's a boost!" shouted the rest of me, from my teeth to hips.  Then there was just this heavy, throbbing weight.  And on Thursday it became, almost miraculously overnight, just a leg in a splint.

Where did I read that beautiful piece about celebrating just being alive.  Oh yes, that remarkable book I can't stop talking about, A Perfectionists' Guide to Losing Control.  The author's toddler daughter was wondering why they were having a party, and the author replied, "'You know why we're having a party? Because mommy is trying really hard at something! We're having a trying party!'"  Lots of weird parties here, the latest being a toe wiggling party. 

Josie has been doing hard work too, taking care of me.  She has been in bed with me more times than not.  She leans her body against the injured leg, sometimes uncomfortably so, but who can say no to such a sweet face?  Robert says that she is trying to absorb the pain from me, and who knows, he could be right. 

Look at how cuddly she is.  She's a masterpiece, stinky breath and all.

One morning I couldn't figure out why the bedroom smelled like peanut butter.  Turns out Robert gave the girls some peanut butter on their snooters, and Josie saved some for later.  She was insistent about having her crusty peanut butter snout in my business.

Margo has been going to work each day.  She is a creature who needs routine, which I can relate to and respect.  We have worked really hard perfecting our morning routine since I changed jobs in January and Margo officially became employed for the first time in her life.  Because I go to work later in the mornings there is time for more than a walk, brush, and goodbye hugs like my last job.  That was an easy routine for her.  

Our pre-injury routine began with me working in my home office (which is upstairs) on my personal endeavors (art, chaos, sometimes both).  Margo would take a nap on her pillow at the top of the stairs.  After I wrapped up in my office I did my workout (my workout room is also upstairs).  When I started heading downstairs she would follow.  If I took too long with chores, she began to not so gently herd me toward the door.  We would go for our walk.  After our walk, I brushed the girls, alternating each day between the slicker brush (which they love) and the FURminator (which I love because it gets so much more hair), and washed Margo's face with a warm washcloth and then her special tear wipes.  She has a tear duct issue that isn't uncomfortable for her, but it causes her to cry a lot and sometimes get crusty, which does look uncomfortable.  After grooming them I would get ready for work, and then we would head out.  First, we dropped off Josie at Robert's office, and then Margo and I would head to the shop.  If I deviated from any part of this weird equation that equalled Margo's routine, she let me know about it.  She would either try to herd me in the direction of whatever it was that we weren't doing (for example, no walks on stormy days) or give me deeply disappointed, borderline homicidal stares (if I failed to brush her if I was running late).  Here are a few of her stares, which she was born doing.  It's a little unnerving to see a puppy look at you like how did I get stuck with this obnoxious piece of garbage?!?  Robert often comments that it's a wonder she hasn't killed us one night while we're asleep.

(WARNING only look if you're not prone to nightmares).  Included is a video so you can feel the stare.  Most times we feel the stare before we see it, and on occasion she'll stare long enough for us to examine our souls.

Margo has not understood my injury at all.  In fact, I think it's fair to say it has deeply confused her.  Last Tuesday she finally had enough and started to not so gently herd Robert toward the door, remarkably around the same time we would normally go to work.  So Robert took her to the shop, and that's what he's been doing since then.  She really does have many important jobs at the shop.  She even has her own business card, which J designed for her.  Margo is there for emotional support.  She's the president of both HR and our social media.  And most importantly, she is there for all of her friends, which is almost every customer who comes in the shop.  One of our UPS drivers comes in even on his days off to see her, and one of our mail ladies brings Margo cookies (Margo hasn't won over the second mail lady yet).  There was even one customer who came back after he already picked up his item just to say hi to Margo.  He drops by almost weekly now to see her.  So naturally, when he asked if we would be a sponsor for his American Legion's upcoming mouse race, Margo wholeheartedly gave him our support.

One of the best things we did during the remodel of the shop was add cameras everywhere.  Since we do not have any way to see what's going on in the shop from the back room where we work, the cameras have been a life-changer.  We still have the annoying alarm for when customers come in, but we can now see them before we hear the alarm and also keep an eye on customers who need time to look around without us hovering.  Our outside cameras have been a riot as well.  We have had everything from people sleeping out front of the building, a wide assortment of animals roaming the wooded area out back, and even someone peeing on the side of the building in the middle of the day.  No joke!

We had some training on our sand carver last week, so I let everyone know that I would be listening in and watching what I could via the camera nearest the sand carver.  

A couple days Robert has needed to drop Margo off early or pick her up late.  So I played a little Where's Margo to check in on her.  Can you find her in this first camera screenshot?

She's behind the chair at my desk!  You can see just a bit of her foot and tail.

Waiting for Robert to pick her up.  You know she's wearing The Stare.

J has also sent me pictures of Margo hard at work.  Margo absolutely adores J, so I think a big part of Margo needing to go to work each day is because she misses her J!  Here they are together.  Margo is doing her job - making sure J doesn't work too hard.  It's impossible to turn down a squishy lip break!

It's lonely in the house without Margo, but I understand that her job is very important to her.  Once I'm capable of hauling myself around on a scooter again, I'll be right there with her, forming a new temporary routine and doing the important work of helping customers on their journey to celebrate, commemorate, congratulate, and recognize the special people in their lives.  It's not librarianship, but it's important and incredibly interesting work that I love and now miss the short time I've been away.  

With my leg officially letting me know it's healing, I can't help but get excited about everything I love in life all over again.  There will be coffee again.  Showering inside!  Scooting around work.  I'll be able to do workouts again!  I can take over laundry duties again (Robert, bless him, needs to stay in the kitchen where he belongs).  It's tough not to get stupid drunk on the hope.

happily ever after horror movie

Tomorrow will be one week since my surgery, a milestone I'm celebrating early.  There are hours I'm engaged in work, school assignments, reading.  And there are hours I'm gritting my teeth, counting down each quarter hour as I ride the pain and tame my imagination about what's going on under the splint.  I stopped taking pain meds after Saturday, and the days have been doable, but the nights are like some terrible horror movie.

Robert went through a similar surgery when the tendon on the side of his ankle snapped.  I'm not sure what the name of that tendon is, so let's just call it hellraiser.  Though our stories are similar, Robert had the extra challenge of discovering there wasn't a groove to hold hellraiser once it was stitched back together.  So he went from splint to a hard cast, because they had to grind out a new groove in his ankle bone to hold hellraiser.  So yes, we've both had haywire tendon surgery stories, and he knows what I'm going through, but his was on a whole different level.

Each time I share a new pain with him, he's so nonchalant, like he's describing how a server works. 

There's the fire-hot glass pain in the bottom of the heel (his response - "oh that's just blood pooling").  

There's the gnawing on the back of my heel with razor teeth pain (his response - "just your stitches rubbing on the splint").  

There's the feeling of giant spasms in the calf area, which feels like being bitch-smacked by a fish.  You know the feeling when you're fishing and the fish comes out of the water and it's flopping everywhere and it smacks into you with all its spiny glory - that feeling but on the inside.  When I told Robert this, he said, "well that's probably just your tendon coming back together."  

The squeezing python pain?  "Oh, you just aren't elevating it enough. That's the swelling against the splint."  Like my leg is literally a sausage bursting from its casing.  

Last night there was a new sensation.  I told Robert it was feeling itchy in there too.  Having some experience with my disgusted looks, he was even more succinct than ever.  "Dead skin."  And I was like, "Dead skin what?!?"  He started to explain, "Well your leg isn't getting any air."  But I was done.  No more.  I've learned my lesson.  It's better to think there's a menagerie of creepy creatures having a nightmare party down there.

A couple big things happened yesterday that instantly lifted my mood and Robert's too.  First, I had a shower after not showering since last Tuesday.  Robert and I plotted for days the best way to do this.  And really, the best way ended up being what was going to be the most entertaining for Robert and neighbors.  That's how you know you're making a sound decision.

Robert waited until all of our neighbors were out taking walks and as a bonus, a city worker was digging up and replacing the old gas line in our yard.  Then he found the most obnoxious spray setting on our garden hose, hauled me out of the house, plopped me on a chair where I could be viewed by our entire neighborhood, wrapped up the injured leg in multiple plastic bags, and proceeded to cackle maniacally as he Jackson Pollocked me with soap and the sprayer.

The good news is I can now tolerate being around myself and we've got a good plan for the next shower.  The only difference is that we're going to do it in the dead of night.

And I also have something to do during the long hours - plotting vengeance.  Robert always says he loves my creativity.  So I'm sure whatever I cook up for him will be something he'll enjoy.  

I knew Robert was going to pick up the girls from their little vacation at their doggie daycare, but I was so exhausted after the shower I went to bed for a while.  The next thing I know there's golden retriever flying at me.  Robert said Josie flew past him when he got home and opened the door.  She went straight for me.

I'm the lump to the left. 😁

I am extremely fortunate to have a husband who is so incredibly nurturing and such a lover (he helped me take off my nail polish for the surgery and even found a walker like thing for the toilet so I could I use the bathroom independently).  But I also have this dog who went from this happy, goofy sweetheart who made it clear from the beginning that she was a baby who needed our love and protection.  Never once did she show signs of being protective or nurturing like one of our past dogs, Rose.  Even as a baby, Rose made it clear that she was there to take care of us and keep us in line.  

Suddenly, with this injury, Josie has become a total nurturer.  She has glued herself to me since she's been home and has been so incredibly gentle with my giant boo boo.  We were going to try to keep her out of the bed, but she made it very clear that wasn't happening.  I told Robert if she just happens to land on me the wrong way, we'll have one hell of a story for the emergency room.

So here I type in bed, and her butt floof is all up in my laptop as it should be.  

Margo is a different story.  She got up this morning and gave us some hardcore stares.  So Robert finally surrendered and took her to work where she can be with her beloved J and do her important shop dog duties.  I love her to infinity, but she has her own agenda!

Well, I've got some important cuddling with my Jo Pie to do next.  The most important thing on the list today.

Wild Geese/Dear Writer

Some book love:

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

"Adults can change their circumstances; children cannot. Children are powerless, and in difficult situations they are the victims of every sorrow and mischance and rage around them, for children feel all of these things but without any of the ability that adults have to change them. Whatever can take a child beyond such circumstances, therefore, is an alleviation and a blessing...the beauty and the mystery of the world, out in the fields or deep inside books can re-dignify the worst-stung heart."

Dear Writer by Maggie Smith

Favorite moments:

"When I say that attention is a form of love, I'm also saying that attention is about devotion and commitment. 'Paying attention' is a metaphor in itself: attention a form of currency we pay to things we value."

On Titles and Epigraphs was the most helpful chapter. "When we 'try on' a title - for a poem, an essay, or even a book - we can ask ourselves: What does the reader need to know early on or at the outset? What information or frame of reference could the title provide up front so that the piece of writing can begin unencumbered by exposition? Are there details or explanation that could be moved into the title, so that the piece's load is a little lighter?"

"As you try on titles and consider whether to use - or remove - epigraphs, think about the welcome mat you're laying out. Think about how you've invited the reader inside and prepared them for what's going to happen next. Is the reader overburden or underprepared? Or do they have everything they need?"

I'll never use this one, as I'm constantly editing and shaping as I write and think, but this is the best way I've heard it explained: "Don't worry too much about the form as you get the raw material down; that would be like making a container at the same time as trying to fill it."

The second most helpful chapter for me was Generative Writing Activity: Line, Sentence, and Stanza. "Whether the line is enjambed or end-stopped, the word at the end of each line is emphasized. Imagine a little spotlight trained on the last word of each line in your poem. Do you need a spotlight on his, and, or the? Or would you rather shine it on words with some importance, some metaphorical weight in the poem? Don't waste a spotlight."

I thought her signature at the end of some chapters was a little much and weird, but her advice was sound. I bought the book only a few minutes after opening my library copy because I knew I was going to want to pick it up again and again. So I'll get over the fact that she's a little full of herself. I'm excited to look through her poetry books and see if I've missed any and maybe also reread them.