With the suddenly wonderful weather, we decided to head out to Sandy Hook, where the temperature was clement and the wind was a relentless bitch. Fortunately, so am I or I never would have made it back to the car on two wheels.
Finished another round of exhausting but productive physical therapy this morning and my shoulder’s recovery was blessed by the sports doc this afternoon. I am free to get to work on the hip that is actually kicking my ass, yay!
Damn, do I miss the bike path, the blue sky and the New York City skyline. I do not miss the sand, since New Jersey ran out of rock salt and my house is full of second-rate grit.
Yesterday was the anniversary of my hip surgery, so how can this winter be five years long?
Pirate Wednesday, author of such remarks as, “Arrrrr!”, would like Drusy, Queen of Our House to am-scray. Countdown to cat fight in 3, 2, 1 –
After a tumultuous, frustrating and frightening three months of trying to do someone else’s job, I have finally calmed down enough to begin studying Italian again. In related news: my lips are numb.
Also: this is supercool.
Mando Footloose chainless folding bike. I love it more than chocolate.
Pete and I rode our bikes around Sandy Hook, which took a hellacious beating during Superstorm Sandy. The Park Service and volunteers did a fantastic job.
Last year, these buildings were in use. This year, they look unstable. Some look quite dangerous.
The rest of the park looked fresh. The roads had been repaved, parts of the bike path were repaved and some new fencing protected goats. I don’t remember goats out there before. Maybe the park upgraded.
These are the backs of the buildings. I was struck by their even spacing against the bright sky and the blue of the inlet. I love this place so.
Because I am full of sore muscles, arthritic joints and smartness, I drive myself over to the massage therapist’s office once a week and turn myself in. I explain what parts of my glorious person are laughing at me and not with me, then do half an hour of stand up comedy lying down, because if I stopped telling jokes, I might go a little screamy. Therapeutic massage, as practiced by Merciless Mark, can be very painful, but it forces me to come up with new material on an urgent basis.
Tata: This spot here feels wider after the surgery.
MM: Any chance the surgeon gave you a new body part? I hear that happens.
Tata: Why didn’t I ask him, “Hey Doc, can you make that narrower? I wouldn’t mind narrower hips.”
MM: Shake his hand and slip him a little something?
Tata: “My friend Mr. Lincoln would like you to take off – say – two inches?”
MM: “And his friend Mr. Washington would like to thank you.”
Tata: “What if Mr. Hamilton joined this party?” Sixteen bucks! I guess you could make up money.
MM: “Mr. Taft would like you to make the scar reeeeeally small.”
Tata: He’s on the one million dollar, right? No, the $250 bill!
MM: What’s Kennedy on?
Tata: The fifty cent piece. You flip that to your orthopedic surgeon and say, “Here, kid. Don’t spend it all in one place.”
MM: “Susan B. Anthony nominates you for Surgeon of the Year.”
Dang. He’ll be here all week.
Tomorrow, I start bicycle commuting again. It’s a huge step forward and I’m very excited about turning up at work, flushed and sweaty, on purpose!
Uh…okay.
Mom’s having more surgeries. I am sorry to be so scarce, but a gal can’t be both fresh air and Times Square without tearing her dancing shoes to shreds.
Sweetpea’s favorite new snooze spot doubles as her favorite squirrel-spotting spot.
Three PT sessions per week with time to rest has been kicking my ass for about a month. Next week: back to work, less rest and down to two sessions per week, thus I am expecting an ass-kicking of comic proportions. I will make every effort to avoid drooling, but no promises.
Today, I’m six weeks out from hip replacement surgery and I can’t say enough about HSS, which I know because they keep sending me surveys. Also: I’m up to 29 minutes on the stationary bike, which – survey says! – should be unpossible!
Poor Impulse Control 