Things That Go Bump in the Night

Things that go bump in the night -- me -- and the nine miracles that followed.

So who will sympathize with my achy-breaky back? Jerry, of course. Jean, of course. Jane, Christian, and Jeff? Who else has suffered the agonies of turning over in bed with a twisted back?

My mighty fine doctor told me I wasn't getting any younger, he always tells me that, and that it takes six to eight weeks to overcome a twisted back injury, I wish he wasn't so sure about that. To add insult to injury, when I finally went to the doctor with my back woes the doctor stole some blood and urine then sent me a letter saying my other health issue numbers were inching up and to came back and see him. You just can't fudge with a good doctor.

I was coming home from Connor's birthday party and had on my pretty, shiny, black patent, slicky-soled, party shoes when one foot slipped out from under me on the wet condo bridge and I went down. If any photographer would have been around my twisted like a pretzel fall would have made u-tube in a nanosecond. My slippery foot went forward but nothing followed, so the stuck foot/leg merely twisted in about seven different directions as I went down on it. All of me went down on it. All 110 pounds plus went down on it. All of my left side went down on my right side.

You know you are getting older when you have heat on your back, ice on your ankle, and compression on your knee.

Now the miracles:
I was nine feet from my front door.
Or is that a tragedy?
Nothing broke.
Ian was there.
Ian was there to help.
Ian was there to help me up.
Ian was there to help me hobble inside.
Ian was there to bring me heating pads, ice bags, pain pills, water.
Ian was there to make a pain pill run since ours expired in August of 2009.
I had accumulated some time off days, finally.
I had already cooked for the week so all I had to do was hobble to the fridge and then hobble to the microwave and dinner was ready.
I had new movies from Netflix I could watch as I groaned on the couch.
Ian was there to set up the movies.
Ian was there.

Ian makes a really good nurse as long as he doesn't have a social engagement.

Before the fall of Jan, Connor's party was lovely. He was surrounded by three grandparents, two uncles, one aunt, two friends, and two lovely parents. He just wandered from arms to arms and lap to lap. I did see a flair of the famous Taylor Temper, or two year old temper, when the other little boy moved into Connor's gift area, not to manhandle a gift but just to get closer to watch him open his packages. I thought Connor would lose his mind. It didn't last long, but man did it flair, Taylor high. Or is that two year old high?

At first the electric piano won the day, then it was the forty year old Tonka dump truck that Jean had salvaged from Grandpa's sandpile and Roger had refurbished to mint condition, now it is the Duplo Legos that entertain him for hours. The little tent I had bought him was, well it was disappointing. A sheet would have been better. I won't be sucked into Thomas the Train tents again.

I hadn't seen Connor for about three weeks due to the aforementioned body injuries, so I drove over there last night for an abbreviated playdate and Connor came rushing out onto the porch, so happy to see his granny, a big smile on his face and hands working the air -- then he heard the leaf blower two houses away. Leaf blowers trump grannies every time.

Connor spent part of the evening carrying on complex, lengthy, conversations with the empty rooms. Is he too young to have imaginary friends? Maybe he is hearing things that go bump.

All of Ian's friends are either getting married or having babies. Christian is renting a room from my friend Claire for a while so his address can be struck from the books. Roger, Stephanie and Connor are adorable, sometimes I can't figure out who I love the most.

My friend Claire O'Keefe has lung cancer, so much of my expendable energy is going to her. Please put her on your prayer lists. I think Lynn already has her on several pagan prayer lists.

Book club is great.
Work is fine.
The commute is a commute.
I loved Mark's post, especially the tomato bit.

I saw a great, wonderful, weird, Swedish movie called You, The Living, fifty vignettes about the human condition. Fantastic if you like great wonderful weird Swedish movies.

Jerry, what clues did you pick up in the book The Heretic's Daughter that made you think she was a witch? I missed any and all of them, so my conclusion is she wasn't a witch. I thought the book was okay. I loved the historical part and the family connection, of course.

I loved Comanche Moon, I guess it was the Oklahoma connection, it certainly couldn't be the Comanche's penchant for torture and mutilation. Jeez they raped and murdered everyone. I loved breathing in the wide open spaces in the book. I still miss those expansive vistas, there is nothing quite like the plains for expansiveness, except maybe the ocean.

These days life is a commute and a heating pad, a movie and a heating pad, a little laundry or cooking and a heating pad, a Connor visit and a heating pad.

Maybe heating pads are the most underrated modern luxury.

Here is the link to the Tonka truck rebuild photo essay that Roger took, it's pretty amazing.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/99581982@N00/5335198008/in/set-72157625773574466/

And here is Connor playing with it: Men and their toys, and the truck keeps rolling along.