It’s been nine months since my hip replacement, and my progress appears to be on schedule. More and more I forget that a surgeon hammered and glued a couple of chunks of titanium in my body, and I seem to be able to motor around without any pain, and that has been a most pleasant change.
From time to time, I hear friends and acquaintances talk about a hip or knee replacement as though it were not much more than a modest walk in the park.
Some walk, some park.
Thoughts While Shaving
When one considers that one’s limb is being cut off and reattached, one might think of it as somewhat more serious than a congenial perambulation. There is always the risk of a less-than-perfect outcome, and there can be problems.
I was lucky that good luck and serendipity conspired to get me to prepare for the surgery with physical therapy, massage, and a modest form of meditation. The surgeon did a great job, and I had terrific help during my recuperation.
I am not completely out of the woods, but I have said farewell to the pain which was my constant companion for the last few years. Next week, I’m going to put on my ice skates for the first time in a while, and I just can’t wait. (Yes, the surgeon said it was OK.)
Speaking of woods, I live in the middle of a small grove of hundred year old oak trees. About this time of year, the acorns start dropping, and prairie wisdom has it that there is a relationship between the overall supply of acorns and the forthcoming winter. More acorns=more winter.
As a highly educated person who still doesn’t get how weather forecasters with all their dopplers and gangers and such seem to have no better grasp of the coming season than a squirrel, I prefer to watch the squirrels. One squirrel has been burying his acorns in a pot of impatiens, and even a pair of raccoons has made an appearance – the first in the twenty-seven years I’ve been here – and they seem to love the acorns as well.
They are not alone. The wood ducks make twice daily trips from some other part of the lake, and they take the acorns and leave a great deal of evidence of their enjoyment of their visit. No matter…it is no longer the season of bare feet.
The way the creatures around us are eating, it’s clear they know that something serious lies around the bend, and some nights the acorns hitting the roof above the bedroom sounds like a machine gun, and that can be discombobulating.
All we can hope is that it’s nothing more than a cold, snowy winter – but these days you can’t be sure of anything.
In the patches of conversation I can make out amidst the hubbub, there seems to be a lot of distress in the air. War, terrorism, natural disaster, along with the monthly reminders of fiscal unpredictability seem to have made us particularly wary about life as we know it.
When I find my own concerns beginning to vibrate too much in me, I think of my parents who lived through a depression and a world at war – plus the cold war which ensued – and still managed to convey a sense of hope and optimism to their kids in spite of their own anxieties.
The older I get the more I grasp how hard that most have been for them, how hard it is for us and ultimately, how essential.
Gather your acorns while you can, and prepare for winter. If we can’t talk to the animals like Dr Dolittle, at least we can take time to watch and to learn.
