baby, let's go, boot scootin'

I picked up this book from the library on Friday, and it's clearly meant to be (The Pivot Year by Brianna Wiest)

 

I ruptured my right achilles tendon and am a sad grab bag of emotions right now.  I know that with my need for exercise and a lot of it, I have a target on my back for injuries.  But the funny thing is I've been working like hell to strengthen my pelvic floor and core even more, up from an hour a week to 2 1/2 hours a week since my trips to Mayo.  I haven't reduced my tennis any either.  I've actually been playing like there's music inside me.  I don't think I've gotten any better, but it's more and more giving me a place to go to heal.  And then it breaks me.  It's just an injury, but I've got to figure out a new place to sort out my thoughts and feelings.  I don't want this blog to turn into all the rocky bits I've had going on.  I try to get to a positive place or find the moments of gratitude before sharing too much.  And just that process of looking for the blooms in the thorns has given me the strength to work through each challenge.  The growth and healing during and after the loss of my library job, learning how to run a business that I've never had any experience with (a blessing cloaked in a challenge), working through my G.I. issues with the help of so many and getting on a healing path.  

But occasionally there are things in life that are harder to process and work through, things we add to our load of unsolvables that we carry in one large knapsack that can never be put down.  I lost someone close to me, someone I didn't expect to.  It happened late last spring, and the pain of it has been all-encompassing.  I know I am strong and can grow from it, but I'm still in that place where I wake up most days and relive the loss.  I spend these days fighting to not let it destroy me.  Exercise, especially tennis, is where I go to ruminate, heal, and rage until I'm exhausted.  This injury has left me particularly vulnerable.  At this point I can't see myself ever being in a good place where I can write about this loss with any kind of gratitude or positivity.  But it's just as much a part of me as my breath, and it will shape who I am going forward, so it's time to say it out loud and not be upset at myself for not being able to scrounge up any kind of positivity or peace for it.    

When my tendon ruptured I was working through nerves because I was playing with new people.  We were all joking, having a good time, but I hadn't found my groove thing yet.  I took one step back to receive a serve, and the tendon exploded and I went down.  Even during the initial shock of pain, I knew it was bad.  I couldn't put any weight on it, and these incredible strangers helped Robert carry me off the court and to the car.  I can't even begin to tell you how mortified I was.  Even as I remembered seeing another player go down several years ago much the same way with a torn ACL, and how everyone jumped in to help her, I couldn't get past the embarrassment.  

I can already find the gratitude for this latest challenge though.  There is much to be grateful for.  As Robert was reaching out to others for help - he has an athletic trainer friend who knew which ER we should go to and another friend whose sister owns a medical supply store, I was thinking holy hell, I don't have a single person in my life to say, "this horrible thing happened, and I'm completely wrecked by it."  And just as fast as that emotion flickered through me, there was this relief that I did not have to share this ridiculously embarrassing thing with anyone, Robert being the exception of course.  He's the one person in my life who continues to be there for me.  He's seen it all.  The good moments.  The ugly.  The stuff we know we're going to laugh about once we figure out how.  

While I was at the ER I asked one of the nurses whether I did anything to create this injury.  I went through the stretches I did, the tennis I played the day before, everything.  It was a relief to hear her tell me that sometimes this kind of thing just happens.  One thing I've realized recently thanks to a special book is that I'm so ready to blame myself for everything because it means that it's still within my control if I'm the one who caused it.  But it also completely depletes me when I tear myself down.  So I was really proud of myself for trying to get ahead of this problem by asking her.  

I'm twenty four hours into this situation and now I'm ready to process it rationally and develop a plan.  Really, it's many plans.  But the first thing I'm going to do is not let the embarrassment and worry eat me up.  So I'm owning up to the fact that I did not go down in a blaze of glory.  I went down just backing up to receive a serve that had a little more sauce on it than I was expecting (something we do all the time in tennis).  I played the day before, worked through my current roadblocks, ate what I was supposed to the morning of, stretched everything, and walked on the court ready.  Sometimes shitty things just happen.  

I am doing the boot and scoot this week, meeting with the same doctor who did Robert's ankle surgery next Monday (he's out of town or I would be in sooner), and doing the surgery as soon as he assesses the injury.  And then it's 6-12 months recovery.  Not too bad, right?  There are already two things that I think are absolutely hilarious.  The tournament I was playing in was called The Bracket of Death because it's a condensed into one day.  While carrying me to the car on my lawn chair throne, Robert told me I didn't have to take the name literally.  Second, the first song that was playing at the beginning of the tournament was Boot Scootin' Boogie.  The universe was trying to warn me!  I try to pay attention for signs from the universe, but they're usually not sung by Brooks & Dunn!

I can feel the injury like a hot, evil thing lurking in the boot, but it's not painful if I leave it alone.  Other than my pride, the thing that hurts most is my back, which hurts with every breath.  I am thinking I must have gone down hard and the scooter has been kind a jerk to my back (the dogs think it's a jerk too).  But the scooter has a cute basket, and it has given me mobility, so I'm not going to talk too much shit about it.  I also have an extra day thanks to the holiday to get used to this new reality and become a human again, ready for life and work again.  

meandering

Robert and I had a rare weekend off together this past weekend.  We explored Weston, MO where we did some coffee shop flopping (I sewed and Robert click-clacked on his laptop), wandered around their tiny and adorable Main Street (they had a Polish Pottery Festival happening, which included a polka band), and ended the day with some bug-free, zero humidity hiking (probably the last perfect weather for a few months).  On Sunday we did a short walk with my niece, Izzy, and her bunny (Margo and Josie know these creatures as bun buns).  Margo and Josie did not eat the bunny and were only vaguely aware it existed.  Izzy is doing well - same job and relationship for quite some time.  She is content with both.  And well, she has a happy bun bun, so that says something too.

And always there's tennis, which is really just an opportunity for Margo to read the newspaper of whatever park we're at (though I have yet to see, hear, or smell these newspapers due to my human limitations).

tennis racquets

I restring my tennis racquets two or three times a year, and Robert volunteered to take one of my racquets in for me this time.  It dawned on me I hadn't had a new racquet in several years.  I've had four racquets since I started playing tennis when I was thirteen.  I have been taking my racquets to Tennis Set for many years to have them restrung and to change the grips.  The gentleman who does it has always done a fantastic job.  As Robert was leaving, I wondered out loud if the gentleman would tell me when I needed a new racquet, or if I would need to eventually figure it out on my own.  Each time I've needed a new racquet, there's been a reason.

That night Robert had a giddy look on his face.  Anyone who knows him well knows about the smile he gets on his face when he's up to something.  He told me he didn't say anything at all to the gentleman who restrings my racquets, and he told Robert it was time for me to get new ones.  What are the odds?  Robert also ordered the new racquet, which was an updated version of my last racquet, but the little fart wouldn't tell me what the color was.  Thus the giddy look on his face.  

I imagine the feelings I have when I get a new racquet are a little bit like how a wizard feels when they receive their wand.  Seriously.  There's some kind of muggle magic to it.

My first racquet was a wooden Chris Evert racquet that I used for less than a year.  Sadly, I do not have a picture of it.  Its sweet spot was about the size of a pea.  I remember my dad, who was the one who introduced me to and taught me the game of tennis, lamenting about how big racquet heads had gotten.  I think he said something about how all you had to do with the new racquets was hold your racquet out with your eyes closed, and you were guaranteed to make contact with the ball.    

My second racquet was expensive.  I was thirteen at the time, and it was the most expensive thing I had ever saved for.  It was so expensive, I needed a job.  When I knew I was serious about tennis (which was immediately), I decided to save up for a nice racquet.  I was thirteen so getting a job was tough.  Thankfully, the couple who owned the bar next door to my grandma and grandpa's house offered to pay me under the table to clean the bar restrooms.  It was one of the best and worst decisions of my life.  The smells, images, and bizarre messes from a job like that stay with you for the rest of your life.

But it was worth it!  When I finally bought the racquet, which was a red and silver Head, the man who helped my grandma and grandpa with their trailer park carved my initials into the throat of the racquet.  Can you imagine someone doing this?  Oh yes, you are thinking.  A hillbilly.  

As you can see in the picture, I had the wrong grip for my backhand.  It was a bad habit I was able to unlearn.  Both hands are now on the grip!  Unfortunately, I've never been able to learn how to go back and forth from forehand grip to backhand grip.  And someone only told me I was doing it wrong about ten years into playing tennis!  I've also been working on pretending there's a wall behind me when I'm at the net.  I had a lot of help learning to play singles.  I am a mostly self-taught doubles player, but I can't take all the credit.  There was a lot of exasperation, yelling, and pointing from doubles partners over the years, which helped me learn. 😆

I used my first Head racquet for several years.  Only when I started to play a lot during college did I decide to look at a more comfortable racquet.  The first racquet's grip had always been too large.  I tried about ten racquets before I landed on a Head racquet the color of macaroni and cheese.  

Something I've been working on is making sure I'm in position each time I hit.  As you can see in the picture, I'm not in position!  One of the things I love about tennis is that I'm always working on something or learning something new.  

I would have kept my macaroni and cheese racquet forever, but I developed tennis elbow and couldn't kick it.  So while talking to the same gentleman at Tennis Set, he suggested a different racquet that was easier on the ol' elbow.  That is how I made the switch from Head to Volkl.  The tennis elbow was gone in less than a month, and it was by far the best racquet I ever hit with.  I also made the decision to buy two identical racquets, which was a game changer (pun totally intended), because it guaranteed I always had one to play with when something happened or one was being restrung.  

One of the best things about playing on the backboard is that I can listen to audiobooks or music.  Who knew a strenuous activity could be so calming?

I'm sad to let my first Volkls go but thrilled to get something so similar.  Robert picked up my new racquet the day we left for our trip, so I could try it out immediately.  The racquet and I are growing into fast friends.  I moved the dampener to my new racquet, so it's officially a keeper.  It was a small ceremony that involved the dogs snoozing and me cursing after about 20 attempts to squeeze it onto the strings.

As I held my newest racquet, I realized I've been playing tennis two thirds of my life.  There was a rocky patch 2019-2020 when I had my back injury, and I wasn't sure I would ever play again.  Thankfully that concern was wrong!  I play about 2-3 times a week in the winter and 3-5 times a week the rest of the year.  Every time I step onto the courts I am overjoyed I get to play again.  I mostly play on the backboard now due to not wanting to make the time commitment to set up tennis with others.  I no longer play at a club, which was a tough decision, but a good one. 

I belonged to a handful of tennis clubs from 2004-2019.  It's a ton of money to join, their adult drills are often in the middle of the day or late at night and cost at least $20 extra per drill.  Plus, I was often on teams and leagues with players who weren't very friendly.  I got so much grief for hitting too hard, being too big, and not wearing the right things.  I couldn't fit in to save my life.  I sometimes had seasons where I struggled to find people to play games with due to the fact that most leagues were for players 40 and over.  Some nights I played until 9:30 PM, because that was the only time the clubs had any adult drills.  And then the next morning I would be back at 6 AM to hit with someone before we had to be at work.  Sometimes this kind of arrangement would be the only tennis I could make happen in a week due to the club's limiting hours of play for adults.  I would scramble to line up more tennis with people/leagues from other clubs.  It was SO much scheduling.   

Occasionally I still play with others, as long as it's spontaneous and someone is looking for a sub when I'm already at the courts.  Someday I will make more time to schedule and play with others, but for now I've been enjoying playing as long and as hard as I want to when I have gaps in my schedule.  I hope I can keep playing as long as I'm alive, and when I retire I hope to be one of the old timers who bring a lawn chair to tennis, so they can sit between games and stay the entire day. 

comfort

This recent gratitude journal entry is too lovely to hide away in the pages of a journal.  

• Oh Gopey. Suffocating me with her long night of cuddles. But so dang cute and such a comfort. 

• First cool morning of the season. 

• Storytimes went pretty well. The Oge Mora book is hanging on by a thread (Saturday). It’s a bit too long but too good not to keep trying.  All the breathing exercises and zoooooms helped some. Grumpy Pants has been such a winner all week it’s just ridiculous. When I read the words, “hot chocolate” a little boy screeched, “CHOCOLATE” with such delight and enthusiasm a coworker, who was in the office next to the storytime room mentioned it later. This was also the same book that inspired a little girl from the Montessori outreach storytimes to tell me she pooped her pants and had to take a shower. Who knew a penguin could evoke so much emotion from children?

After storytime today, a patron approached me and told me how much her family loved my storytime. 

She asked me if I had a masters in library science. I said not yet. She then asked me if I had an education background. I said no. 

She said, "So it’s music then?" She didn’t give me a chance to respond. She flashed another smile and scooped up her child.

I was standing in a pile of foam letters from one of our storytime games, but I was speechless.  I have been thinking about our short conversation constantly.

I don't have any kind of official degree relating to my work.  Instead, my life is constant learning.  I think that's one of the greatest pleasures of my job.  The learning never ends.  

I major in enthusiasm, delight in the antics of children, and have a firm and unshakeable passion for being a part of a place where children can flourish and grow into themselves in a safe and nurturing environment.

One of my brothers shared a Mister Rogers snippet with me, and Mister Rogers says it best.

"I give an expression of care every day to each child."  

This is what we do at the library.  

Here I am going on and on again, giving all my thoughts to the white space like kids tossing foam letters onto the parachute.  😆

• I was a total zombie during lunch but glad I had my cozy car to hide away in until I became human again.  So thrilled to have my nap bag with my blanket and pillow.  

• A really easy and peaceful afternoon just getting my sh@# together. 

• Took four tries to find a free court with a backboard, but it was (undisclosed park) for the win today. Never had to work so hard to work so hard. I started to play tennis in the chilly air and my body was confused. It thought the hard work (finding a court) was over and it was time for hot chocolate. Thank goodness for new sneaks and socks. They gave me just enough juice to zombie sloth my way through some drills (the joy of experiencing tread again). All the while James Herriot was pattering on about cows and diseases and good ol’ hypocritical Siegfried.   I'm in the middle of his second book, and it's such a comforting place to hide while I pretend to be fierce and create white space for the next day.

Drilling

I love the heat so I'm out playing tennis as much as I can right now.  This is one of my favorite drills on the backboard. 

Robert was hanging out with me, and I asked him if the drill looked as cool as it felt.  I think it does!

So much to be thankful for part 2

I took that picture!  With my fancy phone camera!

It's been a glorious fall here with mild temperatures.  

Jo Pie!

The dogs and I have been enjoying lots of time playing tennis on the backboard.

Josie always finds a comfort stick to hold and sometimes eat.

And one day, something truly special happened.  In all the years I've been bringing them to tennis with me, we've never seen another dog on the courts.

Not only did we see another dog on the courts.  We saw it racing to the courts without a leash and it was a golden!  I rarely leash the girls when we're walking to the courts and I just keep their leashes nearby in case someone is playing next to me and the dogs make them uncomfortable.  They just lay in the sunshine like two rugs, so it's rare when someone is uncomfortable with them.  Sometimes rugs are ferocious and scary!

Robert has been blowing/raking/bagging a lot of leaves!  I've helped a little, but I don't like the leaf blower.  Margo and Josie, however, do not mind the leaf blower at all.  In fact, they get so comfy sometimes they are soon buried in leaves.  Like I said, ferocious and scary rugs!

The only thing that's truly terrifying are Margo's lips, which hold a lot of sass and a lot drool.

 

Back to updates!  I had a birthday!  It was a good one!

My coworkers got me an adorable card.

We visited our favorite neighborhood cat, Joy.  We met one of her humans a while back and told her how much we loved her cat.  She was only mildly alarmed by my cat enthusiasm and told us her cat's name is Joy.  We now visit Joy at least once a week on our walks.  If she's on her porch, we'll call her name and she comes right on over.  She doesn't give a flying fart about the dogs anymore.  Whatever little trepidation she had initially, is now just ambivalence or sass.

I was so thrilled she was outside on my birthday. 

We were all pooped from the excitement of seeing joy!

I've mentioned Margo's lips, right?  They are so baggy and floppy and lovely.  Robert calls them her curtains.

So yes, a lot to be grateful for.  It's an exhausting, all-consuming, electric, feeling-like-I-belong-and-matter, kitty-cuddles, new-amazing-niece, feeling-good-in-my body kind of joy.

Autumn

We're sopping up every last bit of autumn - taking long walks, doing some front-porch sitting, and lots of my favorite kind of interval training, which involves playing tennis on the backboard for a little while, then pausing for a bit of reading. Repeat until it grows dark.

Here is Josie's approach to zen:

For awhile Josie just sat in the water. Who knows how long she would have kept doing this if we hadn't grown tired and urged her to hop out?

Both dogs enjoy going to the backboards with me, but it's one of Margo's life joys. When we get close to the park she starts to "dance," racing from one side of the car to the other. While I play on the backboard she sits quietly, taking everything in. When I pause to read she army crawls her way over to me for snuggles. It's definitely our zen.

Margo is still in the lead for Best Face. There is no language barrier. We always know what she's thinking.

Tomorrow we're expecting our first snow of the season. Time for winter boots and crunching through the white and that exquisite silence of being inside a snow globe. 

a gift

After one long year of waiting and hoping...

When I injured my back last June I was pretty sure I wasn't going to play tennis again. It took about three months to feel like I had my independence back. Initially I couldn't walk to the bathroom, dress myself, or sleep more than a couple hours at a time. I was out of work for weeks, and when I finally went back I carted around an ice machine and needed help plugging it in. I couldn't bend over until the end of October, and I was in spine physical therapy for months. Learning to bend over and get myself down to the floor was the hardest part. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to get back up. 

When I was given the go to start doing yoga at home in addition to the physical therapy exercises I was given, I would carefully lower myself onto my mat and then just sit there. Eventually I asked for guidance about each of the poses and whether they would be harmful or beneficial. Until this injury I had always been so comfortable in my body and I took it for granted. Once I began healing and was able to start physical therapy, my cautiousness was the thing that incapacitated me.

It's been such a long, long journey. I was cleared to try playing tennis again right as the pandemic hit and all courts, including backboards, were locked up. Even then, I wasn't sure I wanted to take the chance. So I was relieved I could wait a bit longer, but I was also ashamed I was relieved.

Life kicked me in the gut this spring, and I had no way of dealing with it. Whenever life got tough in the past I always dealt with it through tennis. After days of all-consuming anxiety and grief, I knew I needed to get my ass back out there. Even if I discovered I couldn't play without pain, I had to try. 

The moment my hands pushed the gate to the backboard open, and it gave a long, rusty squeak, I felt like I was home. That long, rusty squeak calmed the turmoil, and the calm I felt gave me the push I needed to pick up my racquet and try. 

So I've been hitting on the backboard several times a week but only about 30 minutes at a time. I'm not sure I want the stress of playing competitively again. The idea of someday leisurely hitting balls with someone rather than the backboard sounds nice but that's as far as I'm willing to take it at this point. I've spent a year coming straight home after work most days and spending time on my art, writing, and with my family, and I've grown fond of this kind of lifestyle. I've decided to give most of the 10-15 hours I played tennis each week for the last fifteen years to other areas of my life. Thirty minutes of smacking the crap out of a ball a few days a week is currently the perfect amount of tennis.

I feel like I've been given a piece of myself back, and it's a gift I'm not going to take for granted. But I'm also not going to take everything that gave me this gift for granted either.

life stuff

My life has been so crazy.  Mostly the good kind of crazy, but still absolutely crazy.

My back is still healing. I am driving and sort of going for walks and swim-walking at this point. At this week's PT I started working on learning how to bend over again. My current go-to method is to stare helplessly at whatever thing I drop on the floor until someone walks by or I roll a chair over to it (if the chair rolls) and spend several minutes carefully trying to reach it. I've also been picking up a lot of stuff with my right foot, which is on the side of my body that still knows what's what. 

Home life has been great but different in ways I didn't expect. I have been spending most of my time focused on a big change in my life (Robert's too, but no we're not expecting). But I can't talk about it at the moment. I'm still figuring out a way to talk about it, but don't want my family and friends to think I've just disappeared or don't care.  I do! And I'll explain soon.

Rachel is enjoying her college classes (biology, chemistry, and two design courses) but has been buried under homework since the first day. She is glowing, snarky, ridiculously happy, and will not shut up about college life, which is just about the most amazing thing ever considering how quiet she normally is. I usually have to ask about a thousand questions to get her to talk about most things.  Now I just stand there, open-mouthed, as she goes on and on about college. Margo and I feel a little rejected but we are super happy for her.  Ella keeps looking for her, which is a kick in the gut whenever I see her heave her creaky self off the floor and go sniffing around the house for her.  I'm not sure about Robert, who is so busy I barely see him, and Josie, who hasn't figured out who she loves best and is just happy to take anyone's love.

Work has been nuts! Storytimes began this week, and I'm currently giving two of them while we do some shuffling at work. Having two storytimes and two teen programs is awesome but tiring, and I've been finding a new kind of balance.  

I also have several art projects going, and have been making an earnest effort to set up different stations in my office so I can jump from project to project. A good portion of the hours of tennis I played weekly has been put into my writing and art, and I enjoy the hours I spend pottering about my office. My back injury has definitely made me think about what is most important to me and what I most enjoy out of life. I may not go back to tennis. I'm considering taking swim lessons when I've been given the go-ahead by my doctor. I have to decide if it's more important to nourish my spirit but at the risk of more injuries or find another sport that's easier on the body but not as nourishing for the spirit. I may get lucky and find out that swimming laps is good for everything - the soul, spirit, and body. I thought I'd play tennis forever, but I also want to take care of myself, and it's quite the commitment. Hours of playing each week just to stay at my level. I've learned that I really enjoy coming home a night or two a week, and it's going to be tough to go back to playing most evenings.  I still have time to figure everything out though.  I have to figure out how to pick up things off the floor first!

long, perfect weekend

Last weekend was crazy and incredibly fun.  I played tennis early Saturday morning, had a sewing machine lesson immediately afterwards and then...my first official crafting party at our house.  Seven people came and there was enough space for everyone, Robert and Rachel chopped up a thousand fruits and veggies and made all the food, and everyone had a swell time.

We went back to school shopping Saturday night and managed to get nearly everything on Rachel's list plus a dress with parrots on it for me (because you know a gal can never have too many birdy dresses).

Sunday morning I played some more tennis and then we took off for the Ozarks to visit with my dad.  It was an AWESOME visit with lots of joking, thrift shopping, and chatting.  On Monday, dad and Lisa had a doctor appointment, so while they were at their appointment Robert, Rachel, and I went to Ha Ha Tonka, which is one of the places I've been wanting to take Rachel to.  We watched a family of beavers frolic in the spring, climbed all of those steps, visited the now fenced off castle, and soaked up enough serenity and sunshine to get us through this week.

It was such a wonderful weekend!

looking out for each other

I have been fighting a stubborn but not terribly awful cold bug.  The first few days I was simply fatigued. This was followed by a headache and sore throat so it seemed perfectly doable to play tennis on Monday, though I attempted to cancel but couldn't.

I may or may not have passed out while going for a shot.  I honestly don't think I did, but I had a very concerned audience plus several people checking in with me later.  It was very embarrassing and to top it off Robert and his mom came to rescue me so I wouldn't have to drive.  I slept for almost two days straight and am now feeling stuffy but much better. As much as I wanted to go for a walk tonight I curled up with some music and a good book instead.  Too risky.  

When you think you've merely sunk to your knees to regain your balance and clear the pounding from your head and then suddenly you have a crowd lifting you up, bringing you a chair and water, it makes you question not only your sanity but also your competence.  

To be burly and strong, composed and clear-headed.  And then suddenly completely unsure.  It makes you question everything.  

And it's really a good thing to question yourself, to look at your burly, clear-headed self and be aware that this isn't everything you are.  Knowing our boundaries is definitely an important component of self-preservation, but more important is that our boundaries make us vulnerable. 

We all need to be aware of our fragility.  That's a positive, heads-up, pay attention kind of thing.  But there's something else that's really special about what happened.  I think we're all looking out for each other more than we realize. Do I drop everything and help when I see someone go down in tennis?  Yes.  Why not expect others to do the same?   

Before tennis the other day I wouldn't have called any of the people that were there my friends.  Sure, we play tennis and enjoy each other's company, but we do not hang out beyond tennis.  

Today I feel differently.  Friendship has a little bit more depth to it.  Or a different side I hadn't considered.  

This feeling grew stronger today when a tennis player stopped by the library where I was working and asked how I was doing.  I didn't even see her on Monday, but she was there.  

a field of chocolate chips

Last night I played tennis and had a decent match, but I easily pulled ahead.  We had played games prior to this and were pretty evenly matched so she was definitely just having an off day.  After we played I came home and ate a late dinner and read for as long as my eyes would stay open.  

When I woke up this morning I noticed Rose was panting even though she was laying on the cool wood floor versus her giant fluffy pillows.  Usually she only overheats on the pillows.  On Monday both girls had their teeth cleaned, and poor Rosie pie had to have four extractions.  Robert and I decided to put them both on soft food because we couldn't really figure out a way to just give Ella hard food for the seven days Rose needs the soft food.  By Tuesday night Ella was starting to act like herself again but Rose was most certainly not.  

When I woke up this morning and noticed her panting I quickly hurried to the bathroom.  My rule is I pee first and then take them out.  They are always perfectly fine with this and sometimes when I whistle for them they stagger towards the door like zombie dogs and shoot me stink eye lasers for interrupting their beauty sleep.

This morning was different.  It became apparent very quickly that Rose needed to the use the bathroom ASAP.  And she was so sick she didn't quite make it.  

I had tennis very early so Robert agreed to watch them while I played and then afterwards I would watch them until I went to work for my late shift.  We were hoping she would be back to her dandy lover pie self by then.  

During tennis I checked my phone about 10 times and also noticed that my muscles were incredibly sore and all of my motions felt like sand in water.  The combination of being incredibly fatigued, having 1/2 a protein bar for breakfast and being so worried about Rose made for some very hard tennis. An hour into it I really really just wanted to quit, but I stuck with it, and seeing no text from Robert felt mildly better about the Rose situation.

But when I walked out to the parking lot Robert and Rose were waiting for me.  Robert said she was still having issues so he had called the vet, who told him that her problems were not normal after having dental surgery.  So off we went to the vet, and even though Robert had some very important all-day training that he needed to get to, he decided to stick with us because poor Rosie had frantic eyes and a sore bottom and she certainly looked pretty sick.

The vet thought she had some anxiety and pain, gave us new meds and sent us on our way.  Robert rescheduled his training and took Rose with him to work and I went home to change so I could go to work too.  

After I checked on Ella and changed for work I hurriedly started making a pb, banana and chocolate chip sandwich.  Because I was running late and had shaky hands I accidentally dropped about a million chocolate chips on the floor. Ella immediately came over and as I ran to cut her off she gave me a very serious look and halted.  She didn't even seem to notice she was standing in the middle of half a bag of spilled chocolate chips.  And the serious expression on her face seemed so familiar.  It felt like deja vu.

Only just in time did I register what her expression meant.  

I mean, seriously, even though I was tired, my dog was just standing there in a field of chocolate chips and doing nothing. Duh!

After talking to Robert he went to pick up more meds and it was decided that our dogs' tummies are so sensitive they cannot tolerate the wet food version of the dry food they eat.  So after cleaning up Ella I called work to let them know I was going to be late and then sat on the couch and loved on Ella and listened to her tummy make terrible sounds while we waited for Robert to bring the medicine and take over.  I was so incredibly tired I was struggling to stay awake even though Ella's stomach sounded like it was going to bomb the living room at any time.   

Apparently tennis was harder than I realized last night or maybe I stayed up reading later than I thought or perhaps I was having sympathy fatigue for my family, but this morning was a total nightmare.  I am thankful, however, that the tummy issues were just a combination of anxiety and food intolerance and nothing more.  I am also incredibly thankful that Robert was right there, helping out and doing more than his fair share the whole morning.  Even though we grumbled with each other we still made a great team. And because Robert is going out of town to spend the evening with family his mom has kindly agreed to take care of the girls so I can work my evening shift.  Whew. Now I just have to stay awake.  Anyone need help writing their resume or finding that amazing book with the blue cover that you cannot remember the name of?  

figuring out how to test the viscosity of a funk

I am fortunate because I spend most of my days amped up on life.  Working in a library is a dream fulfilled.  I have a whole whopping hour during lunch to write or sew.  I have the means to ferociously pursue tennis.  I live close enough to bike and walk to many places.  I have had close to 30 years of just about the best health a person can ask for.  My family is supportive and charmingly silly.  The list goes on and on.  

Some days, however, I wake up in a funk.  I know this is a natural part of life, but it seems to especially affect artists and those of us who spend a lot of time with our heads in the clouds.    

There are few days when I am unable to generate new content, work on existing material or even do any of the busywork in an embroidery project without knotting the thread.  I think a big part of creating balance in my life is learning how to accept these days for what they are and not trying to put rectangle thoughts into circular ambitions.

Recently I have started noticing that there are two instruments that for the most part, blend into the background or can be ignored with little or no effort.  If I am in a funk, however, I can hear those two instruments in just about any music.  The heat rises to my face.  I start grinding my teeth.  In less than a minute I am riled.  (At this moment my dad is feeling pretty confident one instrument is a four-string banjo and the other, a five-string banjo.  But my dad also thinks it's funny to pick on banjo players.)

I don't know how it is that I am darn near 30 years old and just now figuring out how to test the viscosity of a funk.  A part of me is exasperated, and yet another part of me feels pretty clever.  

Any day that I wake up feeling a bit off I just have to play a little bit of clarinet or flute music. (banjos are fine.)  If I start to feel riled I have a free pass for the day.  If the clarinet or flute music doesn't disturb me, I roll my eyes at my funk and tell it to take its lame ass somewhere else.

Embracing the funk gives me an opportunity to clean house, give the dogs some extra attention, read my many books or take an extra long bath.  And by the next day I am almost always a little bit more tolerant of clarinets and flutes.  

leaping to touch the leaves on the trees

My bike is in the shop.  Apparently the rear brake has this flaw that makes it grip the tire funny, sometimes even when I'm not even using it.  So that feeling of barely. making. it. to. the. top. of. the. tiny. hill. the last time I rode it had nothing to do with the 6 or so books I was carrying in my panniers. 

I think I'm down with not biking for a couple days.  
Between the core strengthening class I took yesterday coupled with the tennis late last night and early this morning I feel a little beat up.  But I am a little anxious to get my bike back.  I'm missing out on the amazing moments I never see when driving my car.  

The last amazing moment involved a goth girl wearing a hoodie that reached her knees.  Her face was covered in piercings and dark makeup.  She was walking down the sidewalk with a backpack loaded with books, and even with this giant backpack she kept leaping to touch the leaves on the trees.  She didn't even care that I was whizzing by her.  The look on her face was luminous.   

Polly the pug

While biking today I saw a lady walking her pug.  The pug went bananas and started barking these silly raspy shrieks.  

The lady shouted, "Polly wants to get that biker.  Get that biker, girl!"

Later, on a more positive note, out of the corner of my eye I saw two high school boys walk past the backboard where I was playing tennis.  They paused their walk and after I finished a long run of hits, shouted, "Awesome!"    

And to think I was almost eaten up by Polly the pug and just shy of never hearing such flattery.  

the best way to spend an hour or two

When I posted my current profile pic I meant to mention the importance of it, but never did.

So now I will!

I am playing tennis, yes, which is #3 in my life after family and poetry, but I am also listening to music, and Rose and Ella are hanging out with me.  Not shown in the picture of course is whatever book I brought with me.  This is one of the best ways to spend an hour or two - playing tennis and listening to music combined with a little flop time with the besties when I take a reading break.

What the Funk Part II

So the funk was actually a big bad scary sinus infection sneaking up on me and going woogie woogie boo.  The funk was my first clue.  My second clue happened the day before I got sick.  

This is when that scary music starts playing.

The day before I got sick I biked to tennis, continued on to the gym where I took a shower, and then went to work a late shift.  Before I left the house I struggled to medicate Rose, my lovely flower of a golden retriever, who requires a handful of tasty pills to combat her aching hips and arthritis.  Some days she staunchly refuses and I typically grumble a bit and move on.  Not that day.  That day I cajoled, cried, begged and even hollered before forcing her to swallow them, which is not the preferred method because the stupid pills have to be broken into a billion pieces to do so and the only way to break them up is to soak them in water UGH.  

So I was a grumpy mess by the time I left the house.  On the way to tennis I was stuck behind a garbage truck for two blocks, and once I escaped the gut-wrenching fumes, discovered I was being trailed by a line of cars who refused to pass me even though it was a slow road (max speed of 25 mph) with no oncoming traffic.  And while I should have had a whatever attitude about the cars, I stressed and tried to pedal faster.  

By the time I got to tennis I was late because of Rose (faster pedaling equals squat apparently) and had no time to recover before playing, which is one of the few times I need to recover (when going back and forth from tennis to biking) because I get wobbly and uncentered and frankly, a little tired.  On the way to the next gym I had to stop several times because I was out of fumes and had no back-up positive energy.  

After showering I discovered that not only did I pack a dress with tights, which are a nightmare to put on directly after showering, I also had a run in the tights and they had shrunk lengthwise.  I was getting terribly bitchy fast, and the usual elating combination of wearing a dress and an easy downhill ride to work from the gym only made me feel cold and the wrong kind of inhuman.  Normally when so many wonky and/or awful things happen at once my humor kicks in and the writer in me comes out and I get a little excited.  I point my fingers at the keyboard like I'm poking an enemy in the chest - 'Is that all you got huh huh?'

My lack of bravado-laced humor is always a warning.    

The very next day my throat started itching.  I also felt an extreme lack of zest.  This continued for four days and then the sinus infection pounced.  

I spent an uncomfortable few days on the couch watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and eating popsicles until yesterday when suddenly, at 2:03 p.m. I realized I could read and with that realization, the beautific epiphany that I could get even more books at the library.  POOF I was better.

I know I can do so much better

I've been doing a lot of thinking about the goals I want to accomplish in this next year.  In addition to continuing to write in some way every day and spending more time cuddling the three beasts that I share a home with, I have a few more goals:

1.  Learn to play the xylophone.  Yes!  I have been wanting to take a stab at it for years.  Hands down,  it's my favorite instrument and I'd love to get my hands on those mallet things.  My heart will forevermore belong to the brass family, but it's time I take a chance and reach out to the instrument of my dreams.  I don't know if you know this, but I used to play in a bell choir at a Lutheran church while growing up, and I loved it.  I particularly loved plunking them on the soft foam when that sound was needed.  My childhood best friend was a Lutheran so I went to church with her family nearly every week (unless I was fighting with the best friend).

While the Lutherans at this church made me sit in a hallway whenever they were doing anything particularly religious or cultish, I still managed to participate in two important events: the whole cracker/wine combo (which the best friend and I partook in while no one was looking) and bell-ringing.  I even went to a conference in Illinois with the Lutherans and got a t-shirt with Lincoln playing bells on the front.  

So what do bells and the xylophone have to do with each other?  Mostly nothing, but wasn't that a great story?  I do think that I will find the same happiness in the xylophone that I found in bells.  And maybe I can join a band if I'm good?  Any takers?

2.  More silliness.  I haven't been silly enough.  I know I can do so much better.

3.  More hugs for everyone.  Less frowns.  I can probably stand to be less hesitant when tapping into that fountain of empathy that lies just below skepticism and self-conservation.

4.  I need to tackle some of the more outlandish embroidery ideas I have.  Possibly do a cinquain or two in a hoop.

5.  Keep using my car as a treat.  Ditto to cake, book shopping and beer.  And keep using the bike and tennis racket as extensions of my body, which is a very superhero thing to do.

6.  Reach out.

7.  Continue being an integral part of writers connecting to other writers.  Be present and helpful to those in my workshops.  Find answers and resources and remain positive.

8.  Be more like Scott.  The last awesome thing I saw him do?  Offer to buy a drink for one of those bell-ringers that haunt stores around the holidays.  I definitely have room for improvement in this area.

9.  Dance more.  Learn at least 5 dances from this list.

10.  Grow.

11.  Listen.  Keep an ear out for amazing ideas, inspiration and life-changing moments.  For example, after reading The Wheeling Year by Ted Kooser, one of my goals this year is to always put my shoes on standing up because he mentions that it is something he does to maintain balance.  Another example that I just stumbled across is the acronym W.A.I.T., which stands for Why Am I Talking? and borrowed from an audiobook that I'm currently listening to, Miracles Now by Gabrielle Bernstein.  I definitely have trouble with saying way too much and have been using the W.A.I.T approach rather successfully so far. 

What are your goals?

Is this going to hurt?

As most of you know I had knee surgery on October 28^th.  But I know you also want the full scoop.

September 18^th was a typical day off for me.  I rode my bike to a special place and spent a few glorious hours writing poems, including a multi-tiered haiku called ‘Joy.’  After writing, I hopped on my bike and headed to tennis and played a few nasty sets of doubles.  It was a fierce game that left me drained.  Robert had stopped by to watch the last of it, and afterwards, took me to lunch across the street.  I felt fairly drained, but after a bite to eat I was ready to conquer the world again.  I hopped on my bike, and in order to avoid hills, took the long way home.  It was a happy ride.  When I got home I had enough energy to play ball with the dogs before a shower.  I spent the rest of the day reading and writing.  My right knee was a little cramped, but other than that I felt excellent.  For the past few years I combined both biking and tennis in one day several times a week with little or no aches. 

The next day I woke up with a sore left knee.  Furthermore, I was filled with a sense of doom whenever I tried to bend it.  I wasn’t concerned.  As an athlete, I have lots of aches and pains and typically I just badass my way through them.  After a week and a half, however, the pain did not go away, and I could no longer do stairs, let alone tennis or biking.  I decided to see my doctor, who ordered x-rays.  After the x-rays were taken the pain decreased and I began to make plans for yoga and tennis, but just as the plans were finalized I received news that the x-rays showed something awry.  An MRI was ordered, and it showed a tear.  An appointment with an orthopedic surgeon was made, and during the two-week wait I forgot I had a whoopsie in my knee and one night, attempted to tuck it beneath me as I sat down like I have for 28 years.  It felt like a water bottle was being crunched inside my knee.  The pain was fairly intense, not poison sumac between your toes painful, but somewhere between breaking your nose with your knee and ear infection painful.  After that incident, I could barely walk.  When I finally saw the orthopedic surgeon on October 27^th and found out I needed surgery, I didn’t hesitate when I told him I wanted it done ASAP. 

I was a little surprised when he said he had an opening the very next day.  But surprise was erased by discomfort and pain and I was ready to get beyond that and get back to tennis and leaping around like an idiot again. 

The surgery went well.  Frankly, I wasn’t worried about that.  It was like taking an awkward nap.  Pee in a cup, put on an immodest gown, let someone stab me, fall asleep.  Easy.

After the surgery I was hooked up to an ice machine, which pumped cold water into my bandages 24 hours a day.  I could not reach the plug that connected me to the machine.  If I needed to pee someone had to unhook me.  At one point Robert had a job in another city and I was left alone for several hours.  Two friends came and unhooked me and let the dogs out.  One of these friends brought bread pudding, and after I declined a piece and the friend left it dawned on me that the bread pudding was in the kitchen and I was trapped in the living room. 

After the ice machine was removed Robert and I ripped the bandages off with glee.  Ok, carefully… But with glee!  Underneath the bandages I discovered a very strange message just above the offending knee.  It said ‘yes’ with possibly a signature beneath it and was circled with gusto.  By gusto I mean that the line kept going after the circle was finished.  Whatever marker this message was written in is taking its sweet time being removed, which has given me ample time to question what this yes was answering at the time it was written on my leg.  The most obvious question is, “Hey, is this the knee that’s being sliced?”

But I can think of other questions as well like, 

1. Is this going to hurt?

2. Will this be expensive?

3  Which side do you want your IV on?  Oh, sorry, that was a rhetorical question.  You want this in the smallest vein on your body, right?

4. Did you get an improper crutch fitting before this surgery?

5. Did you know your doctor’s nickname is Dr. Zigzag?

6. Do you like Pearl Jam?  No??  Too bad! That was also rhetorical and we’re still going to crank it right before we knock you out. 

7. The last time you ate was at least 72 hours ago, correct?

8. Would you like some applesauce?

9. You do know that, after surgery, your pee will smell like something burning inside a vacuum cleaner, right?

10. Do you have to go up steps before you enter your house?

11. Yes?  Ok, do you know how to sleep in your car?

I also have speculations that the initials just below the ‘yes’ weren’t really initials.  They might be something radically different, like:

1. hahaha

2. muahahaha

3. the Starbucks order the doctor was trying to remember for his surgical team so they weren’t thirsty during surgery

4. how much money the doctor was hoping to make for every strand of menisci that was repaired

5. how much money the doctor still owed on his student loans

6. a grocery list

7. the letters “U Owe Me”

8. a comic relief button that, when pressed, activates the ‘can-can’ muscles in the leg and instantly puts a smile on the face of anyone on the surgical team who is taking the surgery too seriously

9. a treasure map

10. a diagram that either showed where the tear was or how to dance the Robot

After the bandages were off I was ready to get a move on.  Unfortunately, after taking off on the crutches for a day my armpits felt like two raging forest fires.  I decided that crutches were put on this earth to make the original owie disappear.  I vowed to ditch the crutches ASAP, and tossed them aside on Friday.  Sure, I have to use all of my telepathic powers to propel myself up and over a curb, but it is better than listening to my pits scream at me. 

I have another appointment soon, plus physical therapy, plus I get to go back to work.  After two weeks of healing, aka watching Robert attempt to clean house by vacuuming a single line down an area rug and lining up baskets of dirty laundry in our living room like soldiers too tired to make the trek to the basement, I am ready to get back into the library and maybe soon match Robert’s clean patch of rug with another swipe. 

But I don’t want to get carried away.  So far, the road to recovery has been smooth, and according to the strange message on my knee, the answer to a complete and speedy recovery is Yes. . . gobbledygook.