I You And Everyone We

About a week ago, I started having very active, busy days. After the first two, I thought I was going to pay for all that activity with a couple of days’ reclining glamorously, icepack to fevered brow, but no. I got up a third day in a row and kicked more ass, mostly my own. It was peculiar, yet encouraging. The orthopedic surgeon, who is always right about everything, says that three months after total hip replacement surgery, patients suddenly feel a lot better. Three months is still a couple of weeks ahead of me, but in the past week, I started having encouraging firsts, like that I could stand up and step sideways without waiting for a stabbing pain to pass. Yay! Less stabbing pain! Yesterday’s first was dragging out my exercise mat and stretching out. Stretching, for me, is the habit of a lifetime. I folded myself in thirds and declared victory. This pose has not been relaxing and comfortable – when it was even possible – for about four years.

Mantra: "Exercise is always the answer."

Mantra: “Exercise is always the answer.”

I’ve been working in the same PT studio for years, with the same therapists and aids, which is a nice way of saying I have lots of invigorating problems. One of the physical therapists I worked with recently is a woman about my age. Talking with her while she twists me into a pretzel is easy, so I ask all kinds of questions as I gasp for breath. I mentioned that after the first hip surgery, I felt so much better I hardly noticed I never had two good hips at the same time and that it was hard to exercise. She said, “Now you have two hips you can strengthen simultaneously, if you work at it.” You can bet my reconstructed ass I will.

People Need Some Reason To

Pete and I go out for walks most evenings. Two nights ago, women walking toward us near our house were holding hands and let go when they saw us. That made me very sad. The last time I saw two women let go of each other’s hands because they saw me, those women were the young daughter of a family Pete does work for and her girlfriend. I was sad then, too.

corner corner corner

This afternoon, Pete and I watched that young woman and her girlfriend get married in the park at the end of our street. The ceremony was lovely, the weather cool and clear. The minister, an absolutely gorgeous neighbor of the young woman’s parents and a friend of my sisters’, added one exhortation to the vows I did not remember hearing before, asking the community if it supported and accepted this marriage. To a person, everyone said, “We do.” That is a fine reason to be happy.

A Dollar And A Half

Foraging for food interests me, especially now that I can walk again and know better than to just pick up stuff and nibble. That is terrible, do not do that – or at least call me first so I can watch. Anyway: foraging for food makes a lot of sense to me, so when a guy who used to write for Sadly, No! put up on Facebook a post-thingy about foraging for fake capers that are really pickled dandelion buds, I was hungry for details!

He said the tight buds can be picked, rinsed and quick-pickled. “Hmm,” I said. “Hmm!” The next day, I took a close look at weeds in my tiny, 100% dog-free backyard and found dandelion buds, seen here resting after a thorough rinse and cursory cleaning. Though I’ve pickled beets, onions, cucumbers and peppers, all of those things are much larger and I was working from specific recipes, so I guessed at a brine and dropped in the little flower-things.

These taste nothing like green Tic Tacs.

These taste nothing like green Tic Tacs.

The funny forager said that a person could go back to the same place the next day and pick more buds, so I tried that out, too. For four days in a row, I picked the backyard clean, tinkered with my pickling liquids and dated the containers. I found that I wanted to leave the buds in brine longer than originally suggested, but for your purposes, Poor Impulsives, a real recipe will help.

My mother asked if I’d like to pick dandelion buds in her backyard. I’m wondering if her street’s run out of kids with lawnmowers.

The Only Thing I Could

Tata: Hey! When I got here this morning, there was a ball of yarn on my desk.

My cellmate: I found it when I was cleaning out my guest room. It’s even got one of those hook things. You want it?

Tata: Sure. It’s not your yarn, is it?

My cellmate: No, I don’t knit or whatever.

Tata: And you don’t know where it came from or why?

My cellmate: No idea.

Tata: This confirms my theory, you know.

My cellmate: You have a theory?

Tata: There’s a ball of yarn in every house. No one knows why.

My cellmate: Interesting. I expected more cheese.

every house

I Gotta Be Forgiving If

Yippee! After a month of working my reconstructed butt off, much of the garden is planted, maybe just a little more than half. Pete took down the ruined fake greenhouse. This week, he and one of my larger nephews will build a set of steps for my planters. Yippee!

Yippee! After a month of working my reconstructed butt off, much of the garden is planted, maybe just a little more than half. Pete took down the ruined fake greenhouse. This week, he and one of my larger nephews will build a set of steps for my planters. Yippee!

In related news, the window box arugulas and spinaches dance for joy!

In related news, the window box arugulas and spinaches dance for joy!