Explaining Those Random Injuries Takes Imagination

The other day I woke up as I usually do, except something was different about my knee. I started down the stairs and thought it kind of hurt and felt a little swollen. I couldn't for the life of me figure out what I had done. It wasn't like I had some glamorous accident playing beach volleyball. I just woke up like that. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like I don't have a history of random bumps or bruises that have mysteriously appeared. In fact, I have so many I have contemplated writing down each time I run into something so that I can attach an explanation to the bruise or scrape that suddenly shows up somewhere on my body. Last winter I woke up with my hand hurting so badly that I could barely move it. I vaguely remembered falling into the house (I remember that one because the mishap was witnessed by my husband) a week or so earlier. Then I ripped up old carpeting and removed thousands of carpet tacks, but how could that cause such pain resulting in a wrist splint for two weeks? Unfortunately, there was no exciting story to go along with it. People would ask what happened and I'd embarrassingly respond, "Well, nothing. Nothing happened." After a day or so of this I jazzed it up a bit by saying "I fell." What I should have done was to add, "...down a long flight of stairs while I was chasing an armed fugitive!"  Maybe the bruise stories need a little embellishment too. "That bruise? I got that one from a rough landing when I was skydiving over the weekend...um...in Tahoe." Maybe I could explain the cut on my hand by saying I was whipping up a gourmet meal with Rachel Ray.  As I imagined the weird feeling in my knee getting worse for no apparent reason, I could envision people asking me what happened and me saying, "I don't know.  I just woke up like that one day." Which would be just as embarrassing as the wrist injury. I don't know why I worry about explaining unexplained injuries to people. Maybe it's because I lead a pretty uneventful life, or maybe it's because I just feel old. It's just another quirk in my life that I'm learning to get used to. So if you are wondering what happened to my knee, it happened when I was water skiing, no, slalom skiing, no, barefoot skiing! Oh who am I kidding? It's like all of my other injuries...I have no idea.

Middle Aged Senior Moments

In the past I have been known to jokingly accuse friends and family members of having "senior moments." If you aren't familiar with the term a senior moment it is like accusing a person of having momentary dementia. When I was younger I would walk into a room and completely forget why I was there. At that time it was something to chuckle to myself about and chalk it up to having a lot going on. However, at 45, the term "senior moment" takes on a whole new meaning. It's like saying "Hey everyone! I'm getting old!" Recently Tom and I want to a craft show in Charlevoix where I purchased a bottle of syrup. I carried it around with me for what I assumed was the whole time. Later that evening at home I decided to make some granola with my syrup. But there wasn't any. I checked the saddle bags on the bike. No syrup. I asked Tom and he said he hadn't seen it. In fact I figured I had given it to him. Nope. I honestly had no recollection of what could have happened to it. The jug was in my hand and then it wasn't. It's like I had a  blackout. Frustrated, we returned to the two places I could possibly have set it down. I was really upset and a honestly the thought of early onset dementia crossed my mind. We always used to laugh and make jokes about my grandma's failing memory. She even got a T-shirt for her birthday that said "Now that I have it all organized I forgot where I put it." We joked about her forgetfulness until we found out she actually had dementia. I know I don't really have dementia. But it's interesting how things in life turn from funny to concerning once middle age hits. The other day I asked Tom if he called a friend of ours to which he responded, "Really?"
I said "Did I just ask you that?"
 "Yup" he responded.
"Did you answer me?"
"Yes."
"What did you say?"
"I said no."
I guess I could blame it on being a busy working mom who has a lot to think about, only its summer vacation with one kid gone and the other one self-sufficient. The fact of the matter is that it happens to everyone. Its just a part of life. Even though I know there will come a time when I need to be concerned about my failing memory, for the time being I will make more lists and laugh as I admit that I must be having another one of those pesky senior moments.

Why I Wear Grey in May

Sometime last fall I was on my way to work and I thought to myself, "Hey-I'm not sad anymore!" That seems kind of random, but I will explain. I've had a pretty uneventful life, relatively devoid of tragedy or out of the ordinary loss. But from January of 2010 until the summer of 2012, I pretty much got hit all at once. It started with my mother-in-laws cancer diagnosis and her passing, then the passing of my grandmother one month later, then the return of my brother Vern's brain cancer and his passing the next April, followed by a few more family losses mixed together with two very stressful years at work. An unshakeable sadness seemed to envelop me. I think the technical term is "situational depression." For some reason, in America, we feel it necessary to recognize what I call "death anniversaries." I really don't know why we do that. It seems to just dredge up that loss and bring back the pain. After the first year's  "anniversaries" of my mother-in-law and then Vern I did two things. The first thing was that I made a conscious decision; no more death anniversaries. Tom and I were watching Joel Osteen on TV and he said an interesting thing. He doesn't visit his dad's grave because that reminds him of the loss and accompanying sadness. He celebrates the happiness and good memories through photos and things like birthdays. That made a lot of sense to me. It wasn't easy letting those days go by unrecognized, but I did it. The second thing I did was to get proactive. I found out that May is Brain Cancer Awareness Month. So for the past two years I have gotten on Facebook and rallied my friends and family to wear grey. Then I paint my toenails grey and keep them that way the whole month. I went online and found out that November is Neoendocrine Cancer Awareness Month (the cancer that took Tom's Mom) and told him that we would be bringing awareness then too. Both types of cancer are rare and aggressive. To me, bringing awareness to these two causes makes me feel like I am doing something good that honors the memory of two people that were very special to me. I know I could wear rainbows every month, but I can't help but feel that once I made the decision to focus on the positive, that feeling of heaviness in my heart that I carried around lifted. And I wasn't sad anymore.

Calm Down. It's Just a Bee

A while ago I was leaving for work in my Bug convertible, with the top up so as not to ruin a perfectly good hair-do. I glanced up to see the headliner scrunched up and reached over to straighten it. I quickly looked over my shoulder to see if the other side was too and there he was. The hitchhiker. A yellow jacket of some sort clinging to the headliner. Immediately one of my favorite Gary Larson Far Side comics came to mind. It's the one with a human-sized bee sitting in the back seat and the woman driving thinking, "It's just a bee. I am not going to panic. I'll just pull over and let it out." I always laugh when I see that strip but I'm never laughing when one of those nasty things makes its way into my car. I have a sort of irrational fear of stinging insects, (for the sake of simplicity I'll just refer to them all as bees). I was always that kid who ran screaming and flailing whenever one came near me. And if one got in the car I'd get out,

open all the doors and windows an wait for it to fly out.
When I was a teenager, my dad, not knowing the consequences of his actions, plugged up a hole that contained a nest of bees. Instead of killing them, they came into the house. The expert they called in said that they'd die off in the fall, but there was nothing we could do about it. My life resembled something from a horror movie as bees entered my bedroom through cold air registers and dropped from my ceiling light. I'd lie awake at night listening to them buzz. I can vividly remember going into the basement laundry room to do my weekly chores armed with a can of Raid in one hand and a fly swatter in the other. I learned to manage my fear when I became a teacher. If a bee entered the room I would have to swallow my panic and say "It's just a bee boys and girls. If you don't bother it, it won't

bother you. We'll just open the window and let it out." On this particular morning in my car, I realized I could not drive all the way to school hunched over the steering wheel waiting to feel it land on the back of my neck. In fact, you may have seen me. I was the one with the top of the car half off, dumping the contents of my school bag on the ground next to the car after it had fallen in.  Oh I know. I probably looked ridiculous.

After all, it was just a bee.

Tapping Away the Injury Blues

Nothing makes me feel older than being sidelined from something that I love doing because of an injury. About a year and a half ago I suffered what’s referred to as a “high hamstring” injury from running. It’s a painful, nagging condition which is, from what I have learned after extensive research, one of the most difficult injuries to heal and recover from. Not only is it difficult to recover from. It takes a long time. It’s located on that sits bone in the lower pelvis and is easily flared. I have gone through various medical treatments only to discover that probably the only thing that is going to work is rest, plain and simple. For me that is easier said than done. I enjoy working out and being physically fit. And if you ask my family, they will admit that when I’m able to exercise on a regular basis I’m not such a grouch. I was trying to find something that wouldn’t aggravate it but when you aren’t able to do any kind of activities that involve jogging, lunges, squats, or extended sitting such as bicycling, you’re pretty limited as to what you can do. Even yoga seems to be a no-no. As my friends talked about their various core classes and races, I did my best to keep my chin up and try not to feel sorry for myself. After all, I have been running since Sammy was a baby and to listen to friends quickly surpass all of my accomplishments not only in speed but in distance was a hard pill for me to swallow. Just when I was getting ready to throw in the towel and accept my new sedentary lifestyle, my good friend Bridget told me that she was taking an adult beginner tap dancing class. Wow did that sound fun! I told her I might like to try that so a few weeks later she let me know when the next class would be starting which I promptly signed up for. I was of course, nervous that I would be only aggravating my injury. But I was determined to give it a try anyway. Even though I did a lot more stomping than fa-lapping, after just one class my spirits lifted. It didn’t aggravate my injury and I found a new form of exercise. I guess I didn’t have to let my self-pity get the best of me. I just needed to get creative and find my inner Shirley Temple. After all, she’ll be young forever!

Testerone in the Garage, Estrogen in the Volkswagen

I have heard men complain about living in a house full of women, (meaning a wife and

one or more daughters), like its one drama event after another or he easily gets

overruled by the females in the house. Well I'm here to tell you that living in a house full

of men is no walk in the park either. Whether you're up against estrogen or testosterone,

you're sure to be in for a fight at one time or another when they decide to gang up on

you. Take for example what was referred to as "that goofy Bug" less than a year ago.

What was dorky at one time quickly gained popularity in my house of guys. My husband

has spent the better part of this winter restoring our 79 Super Beetle. Since it is

supposed to be my car, I felt I had somewhat of a say in how the restoration would

occur and what the end product would look like. It started out being pretty cut and dry to

me. The car would be the original color, keeping it as much original as would be

possible. My husband was good about respecting my wishes since, again, it is my car.

Enter my two teenage sons. What started as a pretty straight forward hands-off

restoration became me with bloody knuckles, hanging on to my classic car for dear life. I

should have picked up on the fact that I might be in for a bit of a challenge when, before

the car even went to paint, the stick shift handle had been replaced with a 8 ball. My first

battle was for the fenders. I noticed on Facebook that my older son had posted a picture

of it without the fenders taking a vote on wether or not it should become a "Baja Buggy."

When the fenders were put back on I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I went out in the

garage to find a race car style steering wheel where my classic VW steering wheel had

once been. This was after Tom and Sammy had outfitted it with a stereo and speakers

that could rock out a Hummer. The only reason there isn't an amp and subwoofer is

because the electrical system wouldn't support them (and don't ask me what those

things are, because I really don't have any idea). Most recently Sammy informed me

that he would be driving it as much as possible this summer. Um...I don't think so. Tom

assured me that its still girly, just with a few male touches. And I guess I can put up with

all of the testosterone filling the garage because I know how happy it makes them. So

when the snow melts and I'm on my way down the road in my awesome VW convertible

I'll say my usual morning prayers, thanking God for my wonderful boys.

The finished product: My fully restored '79 Super Beetle

Catching Up!

Wow, Where has the winter gone? I didn't realize that I had gotten so far behind! Here are my January and February columns. I'll post March as soon as it gets published in the local paper. Enjoy!