Kickin' & Screamin'

Oh, how I’ve missed writing.  I’ve had many thoughts I wanted to share over the past few weeks, but they remained in my head (a scary place to live, no doubt), as I haven’t been able to type until today–my first attempt in weeks. (But YAY!  I can do it now….very slowly)  A broken wrist has interfered with my writing and life in general and it’s been a huge bummer.  I hope this finds you all safe and healthy in this rather scary time of not really knowing what’s going on, and what’s to happen.

Those who know me well know how much I love animals.  My heart desires to help them all–providing love and homes and security.  I surely can’t help them all, but I’ve certainly taken on my share with my three dogs and six (yes, SIX) cats.   The cats are cats.  They don’t care if I’ve had a good day or bad, they’re weird and moody, and I’m pretty sure at least one of them is plotting my death.

Dogs, on the other hand are the most loyal companions of all.  As Annabel Goldsmith penned,  “A dogs love is unconditional, and its companionship unsurpassed.”  Each day as I arrive home, whether having been gone for ten minutes or ten hours, my dogs greet me with excitement comparable to none other.  I often wonder what our world would be like if we as humans were truly that happy to see each other, day after day.  It would no doubt be quite a sight to see.

On the afternoon of January 27, my big, long-legged Karl was over the moon with happiness to see me, though I had only been gone for a few hours.  His happy, running fit led him to sweep my legs right out from under me, causing me to fall so hard–I’m certain the shingles on the roof actually shook.  For about three seconds, I thought the scariest part was how hard I hit my head on the hardwood floor.  Then the real pain hit…the pain in my left wrist.  Finding out shortly after at the local urgent care it was broken in two places, my 50 year streak of no broken bones ended.  All that “knock on wood” stuff had let me down terribly.

For all of you who have had a broken hand, arm, wrist–anything that has kept you from being able to use both of your hands…let me just apologize right now for never realizing how BAD you had it.   Jeez Louise, there are so many things you just can’t do with one hand. While in my hard cast,  I think the hardest was trying to pull my pants up.  And when I say “pants” let me clarify that I wore the same three pair of yoga pants for six weeks, because they could be pulled on with no zippers or buttons.  I actually tried to look decent one time and decided to try a pair of “jeggings”….figuring the denim would at least be a notch nicer than my usual look.  I pulled and pulled with my good hand, finally getting those suckers pulled up almost to my waist, then accidentally let go of the waistband, causing my hand to go flying up quickly, smacking myself on my face. I fully expected to have a bruise on my cheek the next morning.  Such a graceful move on my part.

Showering, washing my hair, washing my face, driving, cooking, scooping cat litter for the little devils plotting my demise, eating, doing laundry….the list goes on and on.  Things that make you realize how thankful we should be for two functioning hands.

One of my favorite days was when I realized I am apparently incapable of pushing a grocery cart with one hand.  I couldn’t keep the dang thing straight.  I ran over a woman’s foot (she was not very pleased with me), banged so hard into the shelf of bananas that three bunches fell to the floor (but ONE bunch fell into my cart–that was pretty impressive), and most embarrassingly, I knocked over an entire display of Stacy’s pita chips.  Ahhhh, good times.

What I missed most, however, had nothing to do with my hands and the inability to use one of them.  It was my hikes.  My walks in the woods.  No, I don’t hike on my hands (but that would be a sight to see, no?) but I was actually afraid to walk for several weeks on anything other than a flat surface (which still proved tricky at times if a grocery cart was involved).   My doctor warned me that a second fall could injure me to the point of requiring emergency surgery, and possibly never having full range of motion in my left hand again.  Every time I dreamed of a hike, I imagined myself tripping on a rock, stumbling over a tree root (things that actually happen quite often), and falling on my injured arm.  So I stopped.  For weeks, I stayed scared and idle.

But yesterday, I realized I simply couldn’t do that anymore.  I couldn’t continue to live in fear of additional injury.  My desire to get outside in nature overwhelmed me.  Of course, some of this desire was simply due to the fact that is was actually sunny, and NOT raining (Lord help us here in Georgia with all this rain)…and like so many others, I just needed some air.  Some sun and air.

I drove to my favorite local trails and I set off on my hike.  With my music playing in my earbuds, I felt like I was human again.  But I was still scared.  I couldn’t look up.  I had to carefully watch every single step that I made.  I fear the tripping, the wrong step, anything that might make me fall.  Though I enjoyed my first hike in weeks, I never looked up.  I didn’t look at the trees, the lake, nor did I look up to try to spot the birds that I could hear chirping loudly over my music.  I kept my head low, in fear.  But the important thing was–I was moving.  I was back.  I was doing my thing…hiking through those trees that I love so much.

I realized through all of this that many of us are living our lives in a similar fashion these days.  We’re afriad.  We fear this time in our lives….hearing all of the frightening stories on the media about the coronavirus.  Learning that our children’s schools will be closed for at least a week, possibly more.  Hearing that major sporting events are cancelled.   Courthouses, amusement parks, restaurants…closed.   Libraries, museums, universities…closed.  People in panic, stocking up on groceries and supplies.

People trudging on, day after day….keeping their head down.  Not looking up to see the beauty that still exists. Keeping their eyes on their feet as they simply get through the day, hoping to stay safe and healthy.  Scared of what will happen if they don’t.

My timid hike made me think so much of our current situation.  I hope that my next hike will bring me a bit more confidence, a bit less fear.  And I wish this upon all of you as we push through the next few days…the next few weeks.  Let’s try to hold our heads up to see all the goodness there’s still to see.  Let’s not live in fear.  Yes–we need to use our common sense and take precautions…but let’s not feel defeated.  For, we are NOT defeated.  We’re going through something rough, like a broken bone.  But broken things  heal.  Not always perfectly….not always the way we want, but healing will–in time, occur.

God bless you all, as we live through this strange time.   For, no matter how hard times are, we must meet it face to face and keep on keeping on.  If you catch yourself staring at your feet in fear of a wrong step, look up.  Look up and thank God for what you have.  Even if you look right back down at your feet again, at least you took that one moment to be thankful in the midst of a storm.

This too shall pass.

God Bless.

 

Sweet Karl….whose happiness I wish I could bottle and share with others.