Complaining

"Don't let me turn into a crabby complaining old woman," I said to Day, half-teasing.  

"You're not much of a complainer," she assured me, half-true.

I complain about the Texas weather--enough already of the 99 degree days!  To people who kindly inquire about my knee, I might be tempted to answer with more details than necessary: 

"It's been four months," I might say, "It's way better, but--between two and three every morning, I wake up moaning with pain in my foot, my calf, my thigh.  The toes cramp and the sole of the foot...."  

Well, you get the picture.

Day said she'd read about (and tried) this:  Put a bracelet on your right arm.  Every time you hear yourself complaining about ailments, heat, politics, COVID, or whatever, move the bracelet to the left wrist.  

As we were talking, I put a silver cuff bracelet on my right arm.  Within five minutes, I had to move it to the left.  The following day I didn't have to move it at all--but it was a day when I was at home alone and didn't talk to anyone.

"From now on, if friends ask about my knee," I said to Day, "I'm just going to say 'Much Better,' thank you." (Yeah, right!)

On the other hand, it's also true: when our closest people ask, it feels good to say how it really is, to complain a little. Mutual honesty gives us a chance to support each other and  makes both of us feel a few stitches closer to normal.  

 

Yesterday, I texted the surgeon: "Is this night pain normal after four months?  Should I come in for an x-ray or something?" 

"I wouldn't worry about it," he responded, reassuringly.  

I didn't text my first thoughts back or I'd have had to move the bracelet to the other wrist: "Yes, but you're what? 30? You might worry a little more if it were your leg that wakes you up moaning every single night." 

Lives Well Lived

I'm watching the most inspiring program on PBS--profiles of optimistic old people still living full and happy lives.

What are their secrets?  You'll have to watch the program--because the ways they answer this question are as unique as they are. 

One woman celebrating her 103rd birthday talks about age "being only a number;"  she laughs a lot; and she advocates doing something good for someone every day.  

These men and women represent varied nationalities and range in age from 75 to over 100.  They talk about their passions, their marriages, and their work, all fearless in their vibrant final chapters.  I'm inspired by every one of them.  

PBS is a national treasure

Friday Night Lights and Music

Tonight, I went to Helotes to a high school football game.  Our team lost something like 14 to 39, but our band blew the other band out of the water.  I haven't seen many high school bands, but O'Connor's band is dazzling!

If you look real closely you'll see Nathan with the percussion group, and he's loving it!  

The band performance happened after the game--which is why the Away Team's bleachers are empty.  

I couldn't resist sharing this....

 

The Pritchett driveway is a mile-long bumpy road--a good place for a girl to learn to drive on her way home from dance class!

I notice that she's singing along with the music as she drives! 

Elena's Speech

Last night I coached Elena via FaceTime in writing her campaign speech.  She’s running for 4th grade rep for Student Council. At dinner, her family pitched in questions and pointers for her to consider. 

To her dad, she said, (as he told to me later),  “Remember they are just little kids, Dad.  They don’t know anything about politics.”

She wanted my opinion on this line: “I don’t want for you to vote for me because I’m your friend, or not your friend; I want you to vote for me because you think I’d do a good job.”

“Well, I don’t want to put words in your mouth,” I began, “But maybe you could take out ‘or not my friend’?"

She removed that phrase and said, “That’s actually a little better.” 

Together we brainstormed, then organized the points, then polished up every line.  Every time she read a line out loud, she started reading from the beginning.  She was loving the process.  “Writing about something really makes you think,” she said. 

Even though I taught college speech classes for many years, this was my favorite speech coaching project ever.  We devoted two hours to her finished speech--all nine sentences!  Who gets to spend two whole hours with each student in school?

"You did it!" I said.  "Fantastic!" 

She was glowing. 

"But what if somebody else writes a better speech?" she asked.  

It's so exciting to see someone you love begin to love writing!  

Update: She won!

She's never actually been to Mexico, but her desk top "All About" shows that she has pride in her heritage.  

Root canal day

People used to  say, "I'd rather have a root canal than...."  I assumed the root canal must be the most painful procedure out there.

Well I lived to tell the tale and it was minimally painful, so if anyone ever needs a recommendation for an Endodontics doc, just let me know.  I was very impressed with Vaughn clinic on Shook Ave.  

Within 30 days, I still need to go to a regular dentist to get a permanent filling and crown.  

My face and mouth are numb at the moment and I'm thinking this is a perfect time to take a nap and listen to some podcasts.  

Transformations

In a Gunsmoke episode about  60 years ago, a bedraggled, pitiful woman turned up in Dodge City.  Miss Kitty, the queen of the saloon, set about transforming her with a bath, clean clothes, and whatever passed for skin and hair care products in 1800s Dodge City.  I don't recall the plot of that episode or any others, just that the unfortunate woman got all fixed up and turned into a new person. I was intrigued.  

A similar story showed up in my fifth grade reader. The setting was nothing I'd ever seen before--a city ghetto. A little girl planted red flowers in a window box, and one by one her neighbors started building window boxes.  Soon the exterior of the whole formerly ugly building was transformed by blooming flowers.  Maybe I'm making this part up: what followed were clean ups inside the apartments as well, a pride in their surroundings and neighborhood. 

I love watching series in which rooms and houses transformed.  Whether or not I like the final outcome, it's intriguing to watch the changes.  The charming one I watched the last few nights is British, Design Masters.  

It starts with eight or nine amateur designers who take on a project each week--a beauty shop, a skateboard shop, a college dorm room, etc.  After each is complete, the host and her guest professional designer go over the plusses and minuses of each space and cut the size of the group by one.  As the amateur group grows smaller, the projects grow more ambitious and more impressive. 

Some of the professionals' own projects are shown--some quite dazzling, others not so much. I enjoyed hearing them talk about the principles of design and teaching the amateurs to recognize their strengths and weaknesses.

"This bespoke chair" means this chair made to order by the user.  They say "bespoke" a lot so I had to look it up.  

It's also fun to hear one team's dissing another team's work.  "It's hideous!" one said of his rival amateur designer's room--a room of mixed textures and colors I happened to like 

While all are not in agreement about what's aesthetically pleasing, most of us are drawn to changes, options, and improvements.  We love nature, the arts, and beauty--all of which are antidotes to the blues. 

Just before the first Obama election, driving from Texas to New England in my first Mini Cooper,  I stopped in Nashville to visit my favorite childhood cousin on my daddy's side--one of the few times I'd seen her in decades. 

When she came out to greet me, she saw my Obama sticker and called out to her husband, "Honey, come look. She's a DEM-o-crat!"  

(Aside to me: "We've never had a DEM-o-crat in our house before.")

"Yes you have," I said.  "Carlene visited you a few months ago." 

My cousin looked stricken.  "Aint Carlene can't be a DEM--o-crat!"  (Aint is Tennessee-speak for Aunt.) 

Fox News was rolling on two televisions.  I put my suitcase in a luxurious upstairs guest room.  We swam and talked of other things, but she kept rotating back to the original subject.  "Do y'all believe in abortion and all?" she asked--as if she were interviewing an alien from Outer Space. 

****

Now here we are, 2021, and it's my state that's taking the lead in turning back to the Dark Ages of pre-Roe in women's rights while offering strangers and friends a chance to collect a bounty for turning in anyone who wants even counseling or transportation to abortion clinics. 

I am (as are all my friends) outraged and embarrassed for what this horrible Texas legislation means for the future of choice.

Sanctimonious "pro-life" rhetoric is even more hypocritical now--when our governor disallows mask mandates for school-age children during COVID.

I don't believe for a minute that these law-makers genuinely care about "unborn children" but their right to birth agenda has proven successful in attracting evangelical far-right voters.

It takes a village

It takes a village....to educate children, to make the world better, to do just about anything really. 

Until Luci came, I rarely walked in my neighborhood.  Since I've started walking, even just around my odd-shaped block, my village has expanded to include not only already-favorite neighbors but wonderful people who have lived here all along, friends Jan has often mentioned who were strangers to me. 

Two young men (young to me, in their 40s) came over during the February freeze and fixed a water leak.  Now I know their wives and children and dogs.

As Luci and I walked  last night, we listened to the cicadas, talked to neighbors, and even stopped to sit awhile with a man I'd never met before. 

After my surgery, some brought food; Jan and Freda walked Luci when they could; the man who built Luci's fence fetched and installed a car battery one morning when my car died; one who lives part-time in Santa Fe brings edible souvenirs back for Jan and me; another helped me get in line (back when lines were hard to get in) for the vaccine. 

It's like a small town really.  Neighbors greet each other by name and pet each other's dogs and advise on books and movies and the best dentist for a root canal.  

One, a physical therapist, asks me, "What's your range of motion in that knee?" 

As I've expanded my range of walking motion in the neighborhood and met so many kind people, old-timers and new-comers, I feel more grounded than ever in this village, more connected.  

Having a village of like-minded people is especially gratifying in these crazy times when Texas is leading the way backwards for women's rights and encouraging neighbors to report neighbors for a bounty.  We can't let that happen!  

***

Meanwhile, out in Helotes, an hour away, Elena is riding and re-decorating her room.