6 Weeks

The orthopedic surgeon called me today to say I have a stress fracture of the femoral neck (my hip). Since this fracture is on my left side, and I drive using my right leg, I can drive. But no weight bearing of any kind.

"Are you kidding me?" At this point, I was actually laughing over the incongruency of my expectations against his instructions. Originally, I was hoping I had pulled a muscle or torn a ligament or something and that he was going to tell me just to go light on my workouts for a while. Six weeks on crutches was not at all what I'd imagined.

In fact, this diagnosis is the "best case" at this point. The MRI will be read by the hospital today to determine if the fracture is complete; if it is, then we're talking possible surgery.

He said I need get in the car and drive to his office and get my crutches. Now.

So I did what he suggested. I still can't believe I'm now walking around with crutches. That half-marathon coming up in three weeks is entirely out of the question. And the Run Like Hell 5k the week after that. And the Thanksgiving Day 10k. Guess I'll shoot for the Flying Pig in April...

Good thing I have a sense of humor about it all today. (Last Thursday, it would have been a different story. My sense of humor took a personal day and was nowhere to be found.) I asked the nurse about everyday errands, like grocery shopping. She told me I might want to use the motorized cart for a while. Stunned, I just paused. "Are you serious?" I asked. Yes, she was. Well, there's no way a cheek of mine is going to settle into a motorized grocery cart. Not until I'm 90, and maybe not even then.

I decided to try out my maneuverability while running some errands near the doctor's office. Didn't even make it through the front doors of Dick's without someone asking me if she could carry my bag for me. (!) No, thanks...

Then I went next door to Bed Bath & Beyond. I'm happy to say that I singlehandedly supplied comic relief to all of their employees and customers during that little jaunt. Let me describe the scenario:

Yes, I was determined to push a shopping cart -- of course, mine had to be the one with the bum wheel that caused the cart to list to the side -- while learning to use crutches, without accepting help. About every 10 to 20 feet, I was approached by someone offering to help. Very nice, but unnecessary, in my opinion. I'm a perfectly healthy 39-year-old woman! I don't need help! Although they were practically begging me to let them help me...

So I made my purchases and then headed to the car. After refusing all that help, I realized that my car was actually downhill from the store. Just think about it. In fact, go ahead and picture it. I've got a bum left leg and new crutches, and a runaway cart headed downhill forever -- yet unpredictably so, since it also had a bum left wheel and definitely couldn't be counted on to go where I aimed it.

Yet, there I am, hobbling along. Hobbling pretty fast, actually, since I had to get ahead of the cart and then use my behind to stop it. While using the crutches to brace myself against the impact. (Is this what the doctor intended when he told me absolutely no load-bearing activities?) Then repeating. I actually made it pretty far with my cart-moving method.

Finally, an older gentleman called out to me. "Ma'am? Now, I know you don't need help. I can see you're doing just fine on your own. But would you let me push your cart the rest of the way to your car?"

Do I stick with my pride? Or give in? I'd made it so far on my own! Yet I was getting tired of the shenanigans.

I turned and smiled. "Yes! Thank you!" I don't know who was happier.

Ah, yes. Six more weeks.

Rebuilding a Bridge

In a lapse of better judgment, I set fire to a bridge.

Ordinarily, I do use better judgment. I'm usually pretty diplomatic, reluctant to offend. But I do have my hot spots.


About a year ago, someone in a position of power found one such spot. The issue involved the well being of my daughter, as well as the workings of a bureaucratic organization, and neither one of us wanted to budge from our positions.

By the time everything was said and done (and plenty was said, and then it was definitely done), I'd lit the fire at the base of the bridge. Fortunately, I didn't blast it with enough ammunition to blow up the thing in a massive, irreparable explosion. But a small, smoldering fire can do enough damage.

A year later, it's become obvious that I need that bridge. It might be my last resort to get to the other side, where I want to be.

So I'm now trying to put out the fire before it's way too late. I'll play nice this time, but I still won't lose sight of why I need to cross that bridge. Certain things have to be in place. I know what's important, and I still need to insist on the important things, but this time I'll do it in a more cooperative manner.

And in the future, I'll think a little more about the consequences of burning a bridge I may later need to cross.

Flirt

Some girls are born knowing how to flirt.

I've got two of them living right in my own house.

(I wasn't so fortunate. I had to acquire the rudiments of that skill. Slowly and with much embarrassment, I might add.)

But my twins have flirting down pat, at the ripe age of 9. Thanks to their older brother, there are boys-a-plenty around our house. And the girls never miss an opportunity to bat their eyelashes (the twin who is generally very shy but also well aware of her good looks prefers this approach) or engage in rapid-fire banter (the other twin who rarely backs down from a verbal fight, in fact, rather seems to enjoy starting one) with their brother's friends.

Recently, during a car ride that included all my kids plus a friend of my son's, the kids were bantering back and forth, girls vs boys, until my daughter abruptly switched gears with, "Johnny*, do you love me?" All sweet and sugary. She stopped him in his tracks! The boys were stunned silent, but my satisfied daughter sat smugly with a huge grin on her face: mission accomplished. Her twin looked over in silent admiration at this little feat.

Today, a group of boys, led by my son, were "spying" on my girls and their friend. Till the girls turned the tables on them. In the end, the girls were chasing the boys, laughing and egging them on.

Yes, my little blondies are naturals at flirting. They may use different techniques, but both are so very effective. And they know it.

Should be real fun when they're 15. I'd better get my sleep now, because I doubt I'll get any rest when they're old enough to date.

(* Names have been changed to protect the innocent!)

To My Daughter

Here we go again, little one.

Time for Mom to put on her thinking cap, make those phone calls, get things happening. We're going to get creative -- again.

All for you. Whatever it takes. I'll do it over and over and over for you.

I brought you into this world. You fought to stay in it, when it would have been easier on you to leave us. I'll do whatever it takes to make it worth your while.

Thank you for staying. Thank you for trusting me.

I love you.
Mom

Oops

Painting his walls black was not exactly my idea, but he was adamant. I figured, while we're at it, let's add green (technically, "Limeade"). It's just paint. It can always be changed in the future.

My son's room turned out great! Despite the psychedelic nature of it. And I'm a little bit cool in his eyes for allowing this color combo.

But I'm also a bit more of a klutz in his eyes. You see, I spilled the bucket of black paint. On his white carpet. In the middle of the room.

It was one of those time-moving-in-slow-motion moments as we watched the bucket topple and the paint puddle on the carpet. Then we were both shouting at the same time:

"Mom! Do something! You got a big puddle of paint on my carpet!"
"Hurry! Hand me the paper towels and then go find some old towels!"

I sopped up the paint as best as I could, then covered it with the new shag rug. Voila! Problem solved.

When I showed my husband my snafu later that night, he just said, "Well, now you need to spill some more in various spots around the room."

As my son and I looked at him quizzically, he explained: "Then you'll have a cow rug!"

Lightening Up

Powerless

Something has felt wrong today. Throughout the power outage of the previous three days, I felt a bit down.

And I felt ashamed for feeling down. After all, my family was safe. My home was intact. I still had water, gas power, battery power. The electric power outage was a mere three-day inconvenience. And many wonderful events and lessons ensued as a result of our power loss: our coming together as a family to play, work, and hang out; active playing by my children with their friends; the understanding of an important distinction between fundamental needs and desires; learning to reuse and recycle when provisions were low.

Truly, I did not greatly miss any one particular electric-powered item.

And I knew our loss was temporary.

So why did I feel down?
With the loss of power, I felt powerless.

Choices I am accustomed to had been pared back or eliminated. Not that the options I was left with were unsavory; it's just that they were no longer true options. The absence of choice left me feeling like something was missing.

Communication with the world outside my neighborhood was virtually nil. In this world of electronic communication and instant information, I've become used to being part of a larger world. With limited electronic communication, my world rapidly shrank.

My routines were interrupted. Sure, we started to develop new ones in our three days without power. Some of the new routines were actually more satisfying than our typical ones. However, again, the change in routine was brought about by no choice of my own, but by necessity.

In a way, it was a blessing to feel a bit down. That feeling prompted me to reflect on its source. I don't feel ashamed any longer. And I believe that many, if not most, of us in Cincinnati and in other towns affected by Hurricane Ike experienced new emotions as a result of this event. We are all humans, and I believe that it would be fairly improbable for a drastic lifestyle change not to affect us.

But my minor feeling of the blues (and yes, it was minor) allowed me to understand on a small scale what the true victims of Hurricane Ike -- the ones who lost their homes, the ones who lost friends and family members, the ones who will be without power and running water for a month or more -- must be experiencing. I can see how depression may very well be forthcoming and profound for many of them. I feel for them and would like to help them in whatever way I can.

And every time I flip a switch to turn on a light, I feel thankful. As I cook for my family, pulling something out of the fridge and popping it in the microwave, I feel blessed to have choices. As I dry my hair after a shower, I feel fortunate that I can once again experience such a luxury.

I am truly blessed. And I feel grateful for the opportunity to be inconvenienced enough to appreciate that I have more than what I need.

Without Power

It started on Sunday afternoon. Or, rather, it stopped.

When I called my mother-in-law from the Logan Airport in Boston to tell her our flight home had been delayed, she said fine, but where do we keep the candles and matches and flashlights? While my husband, son, and I had been enjoying our last day together of a weekend trip, my mother-in-law and daughters were back in Cincinnati, experiencing the hurricane-force winds resulting from Hurricane Ike.

Yes, hurricane-force winds. In Ohio.

It seems that Ohio experiences winds of this magnitude approximately every 105 years, and we were due.

Fortunately, our plane was delayed by only three or four hours. Other flights were delayed longer or canceled altogether as departures from and arrivals to the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky Airport were severely curtailed in the aftermath of the wind storm. My son initially seemed impatient with the delay. Strangely enough, I wasn't. Although we were eager to get back home at that point, we were able to enjoy the quiet hours in our near-empty terminal by talking, perusing, and reading.

Lost World
The drive home from the airport was somewhat other-worldly. Nearly all the lights were out in the city. Except for a few sparse pockets of highway lights, and the lights of the other vehicles around me, the drive was simply dark. When I exited near my home, where I have lived for ten years, I actually became disoriented and felt sure I had taken a wrong turn. I could see only what was in front of me. Without the traffic lights, street lights, and shop lights illuminating familiar landmarks and road signs, it was easy to second-guess my path and believe that I was actually in unfamiliar territory.

It was near midnight before we arrived home. The girls had long since gone to sleep. Armed with a flashlight, my son was headed there, too. After saying goodbye to my mother-in-law (she was eager to return home to her husband, despite the late hour) and closing up the house, I rather enjoyed falling asleep to the quiet, sweet-smelling breeze through my open window. Ordinarily, we'd still have the air conditioning running and the windows closed, due to allergies that my husband and son suffer. I enjoyed the reprieve from "artificial" air.

By Monday, it was clear that the power outage was here to stay. Neighbors shared updates gleaned from car radios or from their brief trips out of the neighborhood or from friends and relatives who had phoned with news. Approximately one million households and businesses were without power. Since many Duke Energy employees had been dispatched to help with hurricane recovery efforts in Texas, only about half of their employees were available to help out here at home. Our own power recovery would logically focus on infrastructure priorities first, then move to residential areas in the outskirts, where we live.

Nature's Pruning
As I surveyed our property Monday morning, I realized that, although the yard was a mess of leaves and sticks, we had weathered the storm very well. We had lost many large branches from our trees, and hundreds of small clumps of leafy twigs littered our yard, but the trees themselves were intact. Our roof, siding, and windows sustained no damage. We were very fortunate that the damage that had occurred to many other homes and businesses in the city had passed us by. The kids and I set about collecting and piling the branches (except for a few large ones that were too heavy to move from their resting places on our driveway). I raked the small clumps of twigs and branches, filling nine trash bags full. I figured I'd save the large branches for my husband. What guy doesn't like using a chain saw?

Despite chatting with the neighbors more than I usually do, I felt a bit disconnected from the world at large. In this age of electronic communication and instant information, I just felt a bit lost. I may be an introvert, but I'm not a hermit. Finding a good excuse to venture out in the world -- we needed batteries, gasoline, dog food, and ice -- the kids and I piled into the car for our big trip out.

Depletion and Rationing
I guess I'd expected that the gas stations and grocery store near us would be open by now. After all, it had been about 24 hours since the power outage began. Usually the businesses are restored first, so I figured it would be no problem to find the items we needed. Our drive in the daylight illuminated the extent of the storm and the outage. Trees were down -- some of them resting on power lines. Power poles were knocked over like dominoes. Shingles were ripped from rooftops. Exposed Tyvek revealed where siding had been torn from the sides of building and homes. Bright blue tarps covered holes left behind. Reconstruction would be extensive.

Most businesses were still closed. The electricians who had been dispatched to Texas had not returned home yet, and there was only so much that the remaining crew of 400 could accomplish in one day's time. Most areas of town that were dark last night were still without power today. Except for another suburb north of town, I'd heard! So we headed there on my 1/8 tank of gas.

We weren't the first to think of heading there.

The few gas stations that were open had lines wrapping around the building and spilling over onto the street. But at least they had gas. While listening to the precious radio broadcast in the car, I learned that stations that had weathered the storm in other parts of town had been depleted of their stores of gasoline. As we waited our turn, we passed the time rather pleasantly, while noting the few clueless souls who flaunted their time at the pump by reorganizing the contents of their trunk long after their tanks were full.

We had successfully found three of the four items we needed, and were feeling pretty good about our acquisitions. Ice, however, was a different matter. Every store we entered, every gas station we approached, was depleted of ice. Some proprietors were even so kind as to post large signs outside their stores indicating that they were out of this precious commodity. As the hours ticked by, we all knew that our refrigerated items were a loss. But we held out hope of salvaging the frozen goods. Or at least filling a cooler so we could stock it with fresh milk. (Or beer.)

We returned home iceless but energized by our excursion. As dusk neared, we filled our flashlights with new batteries, set out sturdy candles in strategic locations throughout the house, and cleared the floors of any items we might trip over later in the dark. Then we set out to have dinner at my parents' house, as they had the luxury of their electricity having been restored the previous night.

Used to It
By 9:00 a.m. Tuesday morning, I just knew our power would not be restored that day. According to the broadcast from the battery-powered radio I borrowed from Dad, nearly 600,000 households were still without power in the tri-state area. Schools were closed for the second day in a row. Numerous businesses were closed as well. Entire sections of the city were without power. Ice was rationed.

We were adjusting to our slower pace. The kids spent more time outdoors, playing with their friends. I played games with them, an activity I (unfortunately) don't do often anymore. We worked together to clean up our property. There was no arguing over loud music, TV shows, computer time. We still had plenty of food to eat from the pantry, and a gas stove on which to prepare simple meals. We still had hot water for showers and dish washing, since our water tank is heated by gas. We missed our cold meats and dairy items, but felt fortunate that we still had a variety of dry goods from which to choose. We didn't have to go to the health club or my parents' home for showers. We read books by daylight. We did all our work in the day and relaxed by candlelight and flashlight in the evenings. We enjoyed the sounds of nature through our open windows (well, that and the sound of generators...). We kept the house rather tidy because we had more time to spend cleaning up after ourselves than being distracted by e-mails, video games, and web surfing. The kids played the piano spontaneously -- for enjoyment! -- instead of grudgingly only to practice when told to. The weather was glorious -- 50's at night, low 7o's in the day, sunny -- and we really couldn't have asked for a better week to be without air conditioning or central heat.

We really did not suffer. Not like my friend who is battling cancer -- again. Or like my friend and a relative who are unsure whether they'll still have a job by December. Or like the one who is going through a heart-wrenching separation. Or the one whose child ran away from home, leaving parents with too many questions and too-suffering hearts. Or the many in Galveston, Texas, who not only are "inconvenienced" by a power outage, but who are dealing with cleaning up the flood waters and debris left behind in the wake of Ike's massive strength. Or the ones who don't have a home left at all.

Third Day
Duke Energy announced that 85% of their customers should have power restored by the end of the day Wednesday. Since we live in the outskirts and have few businesses near us, I felt sure we'd be in the 15% who would still be without power. Although I hoped for a speedier recovery, I understood that some of us had to be in that 15% without power, and if it included us, then so be it. Eventually, we'd all have power again.

So the girls went to school, despite the fact that power had not returned to it. They attend a Montessori school, and so it was in keeping with their philosophy to have "outdoor education" under these circumstances instead of typical classwork. My son's school had reopened in general, but not his particular building. He'll be home the entire week. He and I enjoyed our morning as we moved a pile of firewood from where it was dumped on our driveway just before we left for Boston, to neat stacks by the back door. We rewarded ourselves with lunch at Panera, which gave us the opportunity to see the world again, as well as to charge my cell phone in the car.

Driving home from our errands, I spotted Duke Energy crews attending to the power lines cradling some large trees near our home. Shocked, I wondered if this meant that our power might be turned on today after all! I tried not to get my hopes up, but still wondered...

At 2:10 p.m., I heard a click from the other room. I briefly thought that could be the power coming on, but, afraid of getting my hopes us, told myself it was probably just a noise I wasn't used to hearing through the open windows.

About five minutes later, when I walked into the kitchen, I was elated to see the lights on and the clock on the oven blinking. So the click had been the electricity coming on, after all!

Within 15 minutes, I'd run the disposal, started a load of laundry, vacuumed the family room, and booted up my computer, all the while thinking of the people who would not be able to clean, cook, and communicate with just the click of a button. It's so easy to take electricity for granted, but right now, I am attentive to each and every click that gives me instant power.

Politics

During the last presidential election, my son was 6 and my daughters were 5. They knew there was something called an election that was going on, but didn't really understand much about it.

This time around, my son is 10, and he's much more interested in our presidential candidates than ever before.

And what I've found is that he has very different political views than I have.

When I realized this, during a conversation he started the other day, my first mommy instinct was to "correct" him, to teach him the "right" views. Thankfully, I was able to put that instinct in check before any words escaped my mouth.

As he and his sisters grow up physically, they are also growing intellectually, of course. And even though they're influenced tremendously by their parents' views, they are also influenced by their friends, their teachers, their friends' parents, in creating their own world views.

They have a right to different viewpoints, even when they're vastly different from mine. I have no right to declare their views wrong or flawed.

However, I do have a right to engage them in intellectual debate.

So, what did I do? I showed him I was interested in what he had to say. I asked him questions about his view. I played devil's advocate and suggested that "some people" think this-or-that. I asked him how he would respond to their views. I showed him that I was genuinely interested in how he came to his conclusions, and that he can talk to me about his opinions even when they're different from mine.

In 8 years, when he's able to vote, his views may or may not be different from the views he holds today. In 28 years, they may be different still. While my core beliefs have remained the same over my lifetime, I have modified my stance on various issues as I've had more life experiences. I'd guess that most people can say roughly the same about the evolution of their political beliefs, and my children will be no different.

As the election year frenzy continues for the next two months, I'm proud that my son is actually aware of who our candidates are and what they promise for our future. Even if his views are different from mine.

Last Fling

Despite the thoughts that can consume my mind, sometimes it's important to just be "in the now." This weekend, I was.

We visited my sister-in-law and her significant other at their campsite in Indiana, where they spend most summer weekends.

The grown-ups felt it was a bit chilly for lake swimming (though the weather was otherwise perfect: 70 degrees and sunny), but the kids were undaunted. My son's lips were literally a shade of blue-gray after he emerged from his tubing dump in the lake, but he went back for more!

This weekend represented some probable lasts: last time in swimsuits, last time on a speedboat, last time sitting by a campfire. At least, for this summer.

Everyone seemed to truly enjoy the moments spent together as an extended family. Food, family, fun: What more could anyone want?

I'm so thankful we could experience one last fling before hunkering down for cool autumn nights and the wintry chill that will follow.

Top Ten

My last post led me to think of the things I want to do before I die.

Or maybe I was inspired by Randy Pausch (The Last Lecture), or The Bucket List, or Dave Freeman (One Hundred Things To Do Before You Die).

Anyway, here's a shot at my ten things, in no particular order. Some are quite involved. Some are not very specific. I reserve the right to amend whenever I feel like it :)

1. Visit all 6 inhabitable continents (we'll count Antarctica as a bonus continent).

2. Visit all 50 states in the U.S.

3. Climb a mountain.

4. Run a marathon.

5. Write a book (that is actually published!).

6. Learn to fly an airplane.

7. Play in a tennis match and (here's the kicker:) actually keep score, by myself, without having to stop and think! (I know -- doesn't seem like this should be so hard. But I must have a mental block about scoring tennis. I always have to stop and figure it out.)

8. Cook a Thanksgiving turkey dinner without help from my mother or mother-in-law. (OK, I don't really want to achieve this so badly; I just think I should.)

9. Create something, from scratch, with my hands. (A quilt? A needlepoint creation?)

10. Dance sometime in public the way I dance when I'm at home -- unselfconsciously!

What's on your list?

Bourdain

In my make-believe world, I get to travel sometime with Anthony Bourdain.
(... you know ... Travel channel ... "Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations" ... straight-talking kind of guy ... comes across as pretty laid-back ... will try any food ...)

No well-groomed resorts.
No five-star dining.
No luxurious spas.

Just remote places.
And real living.
Assimilating into the authentic lives of unfamiliar peoples, in their native lands.
Browsing their markets.
Enjoying their adventures.
Eating their food.
(Except no raw meat for me, please.)
Glimpsing their lifestyles.
Enjoying life.
Perhaps appreciating what I have at home more.
Yet taking it less seriously.

True happiness derives from family, contentment, confidence, overcoming challenges.
Not from American "things."

But I like my American things.
Is that wrong?
Maybe only if I expect them, demand them, need them.
And if it weren't for the rewards of the "American dream," I might not have the resources to travel at all.

I like being an American.
I like being a woman in America.
But I respect and appreciate those who aren't.
I'd like to meet some of them.

Morning Solitude

Neil Diamond's "September Morning" plays in my mind. It always does in the early mornings as summer gives way to autumn.

Although morning is my favorite part of the day in any season.

It always has been, starting in my childhood, when I would awake before the others to watch my dad shaving as he got ready for work. Just the two of us, in the quietest hours of the day. I can still smell his shaving cream.

It was still my favorite time of the day in my youth; again, the early mornings belonged to my dad and me. Him with his coffee, me with my OJ. On weekend mornings, I remember watching him carefully enter the week's "acutal" expenses into the appropriate column on his hand-written household budget. And we'd talk about what those numbers meant. Sounds dry, but I was fascinated to be learning from him.

Better yet were those mornings when I was home from college. We'd share a pot of coffee and talk about anything. Some days, we'd sit in comfortable silence, reading our favorite sections of the newspaper at the kitchen table.

I not only love my morning solitude, but I need it. It's my battery-charge. The rare morning that I sleep in, waking at the sound of the household's hustle and bustle, finds me wishing for those lost moments alone.

This weekend has been a fabulous one, full of fun and friendship. But non-stop. We hosted five families -- 24 of us -- at a Cincinnati Reds game on Friday night. The next morning, after rising early (even for me) and finishing a long run, I headed to Columbus with my son to watch the first Ohio State football game of the season. I led him on a tour of the campus of my alma mater, pointing out the places that were significant to me in my college days. Then he was fascinated by a tour of my youth: the house in which I was raised, my old elementary school, the church where he was baptized, and the house my husband and I lived in when our son was born. Sunday was an all-day affair at "The Resort," as the home of our good friends is affectionately called. The Draft has become a great all-day family event: the guys start the morning with 18 holes of golf; the wives and children head to The Resort to swim; the guys join the families later to toss the kids around the pool and grill dinner; then, while the guys hole up in the basement for the actual draft, the wives take the kids home to a sitter, change into party clothes, and return later for an adults-only gathering.

And though we enjoyed every minute of the weekend, and spent many wonderful hours with our family and our friends, the socializing used up every ounce of energy available to me.

So now it's my favorite time of day. The sun is rising, bright and clear. The air is crisp. The day is new. And the house is quiet for yet a few more minutes. I feel so revitalized by the morning solitude.

What's that I hear? It's my Mini-Me walking softly down the stairs. She sees her target, and my arms will be outstretched to her by the time she crosses the room. She's never told me this, but I know that morning is her favorite time of day, too. The house is ours alone for a brief time every weekend morning.

Excuse me while I play some Neil Diamond and dance with my daughter. This is our time.