Day: September 21, 2018

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Halo, My Name Is HELEN W

Golden-hued Tie o’ the Day was kind enough to escort me  as I drove my truck for the first time since surgery. We drove out to Suzanne’s office to sit with her during her minuscule lunch hour, which lasted only about 20 minutes today. Apparently, she’s the most important person in the building, and they can’t get anything done without her,  even during her lunch hour.

The last time I drove my jalopy was June 27th– the day before my operation. My voyage today was yet another milestone in my recovery. I waited longer than you might think I needed to wait to drive it, but you have to understand my beloved Hombre. It is twenty years old. It has a manual transmission, and the clutch is not friendly. The driver’s seat has a tear in it which makes your butt sit on part of its metal frame. Plus, Hombre gives a bouncy, bumpy ride. Riding in it is like riding an earthquake.

I survived the brief ride, but my innards are pulling, and my shifting and clutch muscles ache because they haven’t been used in exactly that way for three months.

The thing about conquering the milestones in your healing is that you have to push your limits, in order to know your limits. And you can’t tell you’ve gone dangerously past your limits until you’ve already done it. By then, it’s too late to not hurt yourself. You have to learn to nudge your limits gently. So far, I’ve been lucky to not do irreparable damage when I’ve gone a bit too far. And do you know what the biggest pain about working to regain your normal movements is? After a serious surgery, your limits are not bigly at all. Baby steps is all you can take, and even baby steps sometimes injure you.

BTW Hey! Check out the halo effect on me in this photo. This is the first and last time I will be mistaken for an angel. 😇

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To Every Bow Tie There Is A Season

The chill is on. Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are experiencing our first long pants, long-sleeve shirt day since probably April. We mourn Summer. We’ll get used to the coming Fall and Winter seasons since we have to. Actually, Fall is my fave season of the year, but it seems like it’s a much shorter season than it was a few decades ago.

Right now I’m taking a gander at the mountains behind our house, and I see the turning leaves on the trees. Watching the leaves turn into their brilliant Fall colors is one of the best parts of the season, but this year the colors are muted and dull. Not enough water in them thar hills! It makes me sad just to look at them. The leaves are not their best selves. That’s gotta be hard on their self-esteem. 🤡

Beyond having to wear “long clothes,” another harbinger of the nearness of Fall is The First Fly-In-The-House o’ Fall, which has been tormenting me and Bow Tie and Skitter all morning. Fall flies move more slowly than Summer flies, it seems. But they are harder to swat for some reason. They move unpredictably, as if they are intoxicated. Apparently, drunk-acting flies are just as annoying as certain drunk people. You just wanna slap ’em. At least you can do that to flies.

A bigly bright spot to the return of long-sleeve shirts is the return of Cufflinks o’ the Day. Love me my ‘links. This morning’s ‘links need no introduction. We all know a crayon when we see one. Yes, these actually work. Of course, I don’t want to wear them down. I don’t have a crayon sharpener this mini.

I remember when I first read the word “crayon.” I had to figure that word out, because I had only ever heard the coloring sticks referred to as “crens.” Was it just me? I don’t think so, because nobody ever made fun of me for saying it that way. I dunno.

The calming effects of crayons cannot be underestimated. Give an out-of-control kid a few crayons, and nine times out of ten, that kid will rein it in a notch or two. There is a reason that parents don’t attend church without carrying a supply of crayons and coloring books for their kids to use when they get fidgety. Hey! It just occurs to me that crayons are really kinda the original fidget spinner. Just’ sayin’.

Crayons work the same way with adults. Hence, the plethora of adult coloring books you can buy in almost any store. As adults, we might have exchanged our crayons for markers or colored pencils, but we all know they aren’t as fun as crens. Markers and colored pencils do not carry the same feelings of safety, freedom, boundless creativity, and memory of childhood possibilities. When you hold them in your hand, they don’t feel like that same crayon kind of imagination. Think about it: When we were in our kidhoods, a box of crayons could create AND rule the kingdoms of our minds and hearts.

And if you’re honest with yourself you’ll admit that in your life, few things have made your entire soul happier than when you so proudly gave your mom or dad a crayon drawing, and it ended up posted on the fridge for all to see. That drawing sucked, but it was a family treasure.