Monday Moanings - August 18, 2014

Stuck in Neutral







At the top of this week I'm just rocking the wagon back and forth, just sitting up here watching the world go by. It's actually quite pleasant above it all - calm, quiet, nonchalant. Getting into this groove though was a pain.







Three weeks ago the tendons in my right foot took it upon themselves to gift me with a layoff. They stuck me in Neutral! I might have been a little more cooperative had it been all expenses paid, but no that's not how this lodge works. Though Health Ontario paid for MD's and x-rays, I have to pony up for physiotherapy treatments (the perils of a defined benefit plan for retirees!) and pay $16 parking at the hospital to get the x-rays taken. I have been a very unhappy camper these past 21 days and based on past layoffs imposed by the tendonitis gang, I've got 21 more to go before I can get outta Neutral.







So yeah, it's a good thing to finally let go of the protests and embrace the stillness (gag!) of being stuck in Neutral. There are activities here. Three times a day there are gentle foot/ankle stretches, toe and towel scrunching, arch raises to the tune of London Bridge is falling down and plenty of icing on the foot. Best of all I get to use a cane when I absolutely must walk any significant distance (>20m). People are very nice to me when they see I have a cane, stepping up to open doors, nodding and smiling. And speaking very LOUDLY to me! Yee gads, what's that all about?

Anyway, my tendons are on the mend - they do seem to enjoy the slow pace of things - so I think I'll try to hold out for here for another three weeks. It's not so bad being stuck in Neutral. The food is pretty good and the staff patient and understanding. Besides, the fastest way out is to stay put!

(a beach would be a much better location for neutral - just sayin')





So you folks head on off down the week.
I'll be watching from my wagon or my hammock, rocking back and forth, back and forth.

©2014 April Hoeller

Thursday, or Thereabouts - August 7, 2014

"Write about what should not be forgotten." Isabel Allende

Oh look! It's 'Throwback Thursday' again. Can I throw it back?
I limped into today via a Wednesday marred by a migraine and a nasty flare up of tendonitis in my right foot. In my efforts to salvage something useful out of the day I decided to clean the finch feeder and not only did I ram a screwdriver into my finger trying to remove the bottom plate, but I then forgot where I put an integral piece to reassemble it again. Not to worry, my love is an expert here - not at remembering things (he's no better than I am), but rather at fixing things - so problem solved and finches have food. Perhaps I should have written down where I put the all important part.

I took refuge in the kitchen. As I turned the fish in the skillet for supper a deep penetrating hum emerged from the oven. I jumped back at the distinctive sound of unrestrained electrical current. With a strange kind of thud, the noise ceased and stove top lights went out. "Well that was interesting!" Mr. Fixit offered. He'll figure it all out in due course, but in the mean time I have no oven, though the stove top is now working.

Is it any wonder that my approach to today, Thursday, is tentative at best? The headache is gone but the painful foot remains. Based on past experience, a few physio treatments to alleviate the acute stage accompanied by RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation) and 6 (SIX!) weeks from now I'll be back on track. Well, now what?

"Write about what should not be forgotten." popped up in a window on my laptop screen. The words grabbed my attention and instead of my usual disinterested nod, they garnered a full stop, look and listen as a deep resonance reverberated inside me.

For months the memoir about my journey with my mother through Alzheimer's Disease has languished in the bottom of a desk drawer. The story has all but disappeared from my radar. Oh I know the untidy melange of typewritten and hand inked pages is sitting there. I even occasionally give the drawer a kick to see if anything is alive in there. Nope. I chide myself for not getting on with the job, and therein lies the root cause of my inaction - the memoir has become a job, a boring, tedious chore devoid of all enthusiasm and out of sight. Where are the days when a passion-filled pen spewed out pages filled with a heart rending tale?
Why am I writing this memoir anyway?


Today the words of Isabel Allende answered my question. I took the time to search out the context of the quoted words, an interview titled "Why I Write." The full quote is even more instructive for me:

"...Maybe the most important reason for writing is to prevent erosion of time, so that memories will not be blown away by the wind. Write to register history, and name each thing. Write what should not be forgotten."

This may not be sufficient kindling to fire up my fountain pen, but it has opened up the drawer to let some light in, and where there is light there is energy.






Though a search on her name, "Irene Hoersch Cudbird" reveals her place in history, my mother did not change the world on any great scale, in any grand way. But she did shape my place in the world, how I experience and interpret life around me, and she still does so to this day. There are important stories to write, wisdom and truth, love and laughter that should not be forgotten.

©2014 April Hoeller

The Pity Party

I don't recall receiving an invitation to this loathsome affair, no pretty little note card festooned with balloons and sweets pushed its way into my mailbox. And I certainly did not offer to host this event nor offer my space as the venue. Apparently that doesn't matter, for here I am flopping around, a fish caught out at low tide.

Popular wisdom would encourage any of us stuck like this, to surrender all resistance and fully enter the experience. "Be in the moment," some would say. Well I don't like this moment, thank you very much and I can't possibly get out of it fast enough. I'm hoping the next wave will pick me up and carry me back out into the sea where all the action is. A good long walk in the forest, so wonderfully decked out in her autumn wardrobe, would go a long way to busting me outta here -- if only I could actually walk the distance.
I am struggling with tendonitis in my feet (the lower extremity equivalent of tennis elbow). First it was the extensor tendon in my left foot, followed shorty thereafter by the posterior tibial tendon in my right. I have endured physio for six weeks now. The guy does this thing called "frictioning the tendons". I have another name for it, a unique sequence of expletives that quite possibly would catch the attention of the cyber police. Let me just say that if you asked me to rate the pain on a scale of 1 to 10 that this frictioning inflicts, my response would be, "FORTY-BLOODY-SEVEN!"
I have iced my feet 3 times a day and faithfully done the prescribed exercises. I do solemnly confess though that I have not rested as I ought to have rested, and as a result there is no health in me, which is another way of saying recovery has been extremely slow.
For the past week however, I have repented from my waywardness and abstained from anything more than minimal walking. Sadly this sabbath appears to have put out the welcome mat for a pity party. Limited mobility it seems yields a whole lot of manure. For someone on the cusp of their sixtieth birthday, this is great fertile ground for reflections on personal morbidity and mortality, creeping decrepitude oozing from every crack and crevice.
Bring on the Pity Party!

Wait! Hang on  a sec -- I've actually accomplished something worthwhile today! I've not only taken time to write, but I've even posted on my blog!  That's TWO things done. Woo Hoo - I'm riding the wave...

Oh crap, I gotta go ice my feet. Sheesh!