Friday, December 27, 2013


I've been feeling churlish of late and I know it's because I'm basically Gorilla-glued to the heavy boot that is helping to stabilize my broken right ankle for the next--Jesus, take the wheel!--six weeks. Now daily movement constitutes a humbling experience for someone like me who cannot even stand to walk in the general vicinity of slow people because: 1)  I am easily irritated by slow walking 2) I don't like being late to wherever I'm going  3) I fear that walking slowly forces me to appear aimless, and 4) Again with the irritation.

It's worth mentioning the irritation twice simply because there is so much of it. However, because I've also been referred to as a "Type A personality" twice in one week, it appears that I'm going to have to pump the brakes on my sucky attitude with regard to my sudden medical house arrest status. Toward that end, I've lovingly assigned a name to my boot and it will henceforth be known to all as Lurch. For reasons I should not have to explain.

Christmas Day was a jumble of emotions. On the side of GOOD: Having all the kids home at one time for 24 hours. On the BAD side: All the food! Lord Jesus, lead me to someone whose love language isn't fried, smothered in gravy or doing the backstroke in a pool of melted butter. And the conveyer belt of sweets (Not to mention the loving little gifts from students at the beginning of the holiday) is going to force me into an impromptu case of the "diabeetus" or simply render me all trembly from  the sugar shakes. As soon as I stop eating. It's all made worse by the fact that Lurch does not allow me to generate the body heat necessary to burn more than a calorie every other month. I do what I can by crying hysterically, but tears don't weigh as much as sweat. It's a scientific fact, people. Look it up.

In other news, I learned that it is possible to nearly burn down your house by putting two slices of bacon into a microwave  (One that has an unfortunate habit of resetting itself so that 7 minutes becomes 70) and then wandering off and forgetting about it. Exhibit A: The smoking mechanical heap currently gracing our courtyard outside and Exhibit B: The smell of burning plastic throughout the house.

And this puzzler: A childhood friend of my husband's came by on Christmas Day evening and brought a small gift wrapped package that he said was specifically for me from his parents. They wanted--no--insisted--that he give it to me. Behold: A kitchen sponge for pots and pans. 

Because nothing says We are thinking about you during the holidays, special person, like an implement for removing stubborn food particles from cookware.

I cannot even begin to speculate why they wanted me to have this. Nor if they meant to suggest what this gift implies when you consider that my husband and sons received maps and music CDs. It's important to add that both of these people really do like me and neither is currently suffering from dementia. I confess that I'm stumped.

And finally....some advice from me to you. If you decide one evening to surf the internets in hope of ordering some sweaters that will spruce up your jeans-only work wardrobe while your bum ankle heals and you do a search for "oversized bohemian sweaters for women"? Please confirm that the sweater you ordered is not being manufactured in China and modeled on a very petite Chinese teenager and that said sweater is not being shipped from China. Why? Because what looks oversized on a headless photograph of a female model whose country of origin is not known for its tall citizens, will--in fact--fit  easily inside a quart-sized plastic mailer and the result will not be at all flattering to your 5'8" frame.

 I am now the proud owner of a sweater that would look perfect on a Cabbage Patch Doll.  Hope your Christmas was merry. 


  1. A few years ago I had bunion surgery--complete with metal pins through the bones and coming out THROUGH my skin--anyway, I, too had to keep my foot elevated almost non-stop for weeks.(Not as long as you, poor dear!) All the plans I made for my "vacation" from work! What fun I would have! Right. I'd add "inadequately washed hair" to the list of irritations. Maybe the kitchen scrubber will help with that.

  2. At least your sense of humor is still in tact. All would be lost if that was broken.

  3. I hear you. I had to have a major surgery on my left knee. They MOVED MY KNEECAP and screwed part of my tibia after moving it over as well. Bone pain is the worst. I was immobile, then in a wheelchair, then crutches. Add to that a variety of braces and therapy, and I thought I was going to order a hit on everyone who came in contact with me, even if they brought me lovely things. (Unlike what someone obv thought was a handy dandy timesaver.)

    I will definitely refrain from what Some People have undoubtedly told you, and which is Hugely Unhelpful to you (crap like "This Too Shall Pass"), and just say I'm sorry. I understand and I am sorry.

  4. As an ex-orthopedic/trauma nurse, I know what a huge PIA this must be for you. And I am also irritated by slow walking, so I can imagine your pain. I hope the six weeks go flying by!
    The sponge is baffling. Maybe there's an off-label use for these sponges that they thought would be obvious?

  5. Am laughing at how RANDOM that sponge/scrubber is. WTF?
    "Lurch" seems an appropriate name. It's good you can keep your levity during this ordeal.
    On the topic of sweaters: Garnet Hill has never done me wrong. True to size, wear well and you can find some good deals.

  6. Gawd, I am sorry about your ankle. I broke the same ankle - both tibia and fibula - in 2005, and there was nothing good about it. Nothing. About the sponge I am stymied.

  7. I belly-laughed at the sweater image. No idea about the scrubber--maybe the dementia is just not yet diagnosed. I am much more careful of late with things like stairs because of friends like you--and you and I could walk through a Costco together in perfect harmony I bet.

  8. I'm so sorry for your angst, but I have to admit that your descriptions made me laugh. And WTF is up with that pot scrubber? It reminds me of when my aunt clearly panicked that she didn't have a gift for me, and ended up handing me a shopping bag with books she'd pulled off her shelf about 30 seconds before handing me the "gift." And no, she wasn't elderly or senile or otherwise touched at the time. People are weird.

  9. Are his parents OK. The pot scrubber is harder to wrap my mind around than the BS of dragging your foot around for so damn long.

  10. My mom had a pot scrubber like that, and apparently she loved it. I didn't know about it until after she died, but my SIL assures me this is a fact. Perhaps the friend's parents loved their scrubber so much that they wanted to share this wonderful find with you?

    I had foot surgery right before the holidays last year. I named mine "Frankenboot."


Be nice. It's not as hard as it sounds.