The handwritten word

I haven’t done the math, but I’m pretty sure I’ve posted more than a week’s worth of celebrating the ordinary topics for Marie’s blog challenge. I’ve never been one to color inside the lines, so if I post more than a week’s worth it will come as no surprise.

Today’s topic: handwritten thank you notes. I love them. I’ve written about my love for them before, and likely will again. I’m a sucker for good paper products, and have a stash of folded notes, flat cards, and all varieties of stationery. I recently had occasion to write a thank you note to a cop. No, not a bribe or a buttering-up, but a genuine expression of gratitude. My favorite girl and I had a car crash on a rainy highway last month, and ended up stranded for a few hours because of deployed airbags. The sheriff who was the first on the scene was a peach. He was calm, patient, and knowledgable. He stayed with us from start to finish, even though it was hot & humid on a late summer afternoon following a Gulf Coast rainstorm and even though he found himself in a patch of fire ants that bit him mercilessly. He engaged my favorite girl with everyday conversation to reassure her and get her mind off the scary scene she had just starred in; she runs toward a bit of worry and anxiety, and he recognized this right away and did the gentle work to calm her. I was busy putting on a brave face, so passing that job off to him was a relief.

When the tow truck arrived to haul away my battered car, the sheriff chatted with the driver as he did his work. When The Hubs arrived to drive the girl and me home, the sheriff admired The Hubs’ car and spent a few more minutes of his long day talking horsepower and zero-to-60 stats.

All told, the sheriff went above and beyond in doing his job that day. At one point I told him how much I appreciated him hanging out with us until our ride arrived. He mentioned that he’s the father of two girls and that he’d hope someone would do the same for his wife and kids if they were in our shoes. And that the stretch of highway we happened to be stranded on is a bit of a rough patch, known for being populated by drug runners moving product from The Valley to Houston. He’s seen some ugly stuff on that stretch of road, and said he just wouldn’t feel right about leaving us to fend for ourselves.

After we got home, I thought about how kind the sheriff was and how he made a terrible situation bearable. I sat down to write him a note expressing my gratitude. He’d given me his business card, so I had the address of the sheriff’s office. Write a few lines, lick the envelope shut, slap on a stamp and I was good to go. But I wasn’t quite done. I googled the sheriff’s office to find an email address for the sheriff’s boss. Figured he needed to know what an outstanding job his charge had done. I imagine they get plenty of complaints at the sheriff’s office, so why not take a few minutes to pay them a compliment? Trouble was, there was no email address, so I printed off a copy, put it in an envelope and sent it old-school style. Snail mail.

I didn’t think much of it as I waded through the insurance red tape and dealt with my service advisor at the dealership. Days ran into weeks, time passed, and the upsetting incident on the side of the highway faded into a memory. Then a few days ago I got a call from the sheriff’s office. My first thought was something bad: the sheriff had forgotten to write me a ticket, or some other trouble. But no, it was just the opposite: the sheriff’s boss’s boss was calling me to say he’d read the thank you note I wrote to the sheriff and to the sheriff’s boss, and he wanted to tell me that in all his years of law enforcement, they’ve never received a thank you note. Not once.

That’s a crying shame.

I’m certain I’m not the first person who’s had a positive experience with the Victoria County Sheriff. Yet I was the first person to take five minutes out of my day and spend 44 cents on a stamp to say thanks, you really made a difference in my life? I was shocked. I still am shocked.

The Deputy Commander wanted to know why I took the time to write a note to the sheriff and to his boss. I didn’t have an answer beyond, “Because that’s the way my mama raised me.” As my dad instilled in me my entire life, “It’s just what you do.” And now I know that this simple, ordinary act — one my mama taught me — means something. It always means something to me when I write a thank you note, and it’s nice to know that it means something to the recipient as well.

The best part: Mr Deputy Commander said the sheriff is up for a promotion, to a detective, and that my two notes would be a part of the review process. Who knows, maybe a couple of notes will be the tipping point and he’ll get the job. Then he can write me a thank you note!


Whatever the trouble…

“Whatever our individual troubles and challenges may be, it’s important to pause every now and then to appreciate all that we have, on every level.” — Shakti Gawain

In my case, the trouble was a messed-up knee. It was all kinds of messed up. As The Hubs so astutely pointed out, it’s been messed up ever since he’s known me, which is some 20 years. Day after day of running, jumping, squatting, and lunging was taking a heavy toll, as was years of escalating stair-climbing, box-jumping, and jump-roping, all in an attempt to achieve and maintain a level of physical fitness that “they” say thwarts disease and ensures a long, happy life. Well, I blew the thwarting part, and despite my best efforts, disease found me, but I won’t let that discourage me from my pursuit of the kind of fitness that fires off a slew of endorphins and allows me to do things like easily hoist a 40-pound bag of dog food into my shopping cart.

My pursuit and its inherent impact and repeated pounding has caused me some big-time, ugly trouble in my knee. Seven years ago, I had enough of the pain and grinding and had it scoped. A thorough cleaning of the underside of the kneecap and a few tweaks to a ragged meniscus breathed new life into my beleaguered joint, and the running, jumping, squatting, and lunging, et al, resumed. However, one scope can’t hold me for life, especially when you add in a borderline obsessive tennis habit. Fast-forward to now and you get a knee that is one big mess.

I’m not one to slow down, take precautions, and tread lightly. I’m not a fan of admitting weakness and succumbing to pain, either. But sometimes our bodies and the universe have other ideas, and this busy-body was felled. A quick consult with my favorite orthopedic surgeon revealed that it was time to stop the madness and sort out this mess. An x-ray and MRI confirmed that there were some big problems that needed to be fixed: chondromalacia (denigration of the cartilage under the kneecap), lots of inflammation, and a bad case of patellar maltracking. Another scope as well as a lateral release were in order, preferably sooner rather than later.

Oh, goodie: more surgery.

I’d rather take a beating than go under the knife, again, but I’d ignored this hot mess as long as I could. Just the scope would have been no big deal, with a couple of weeks recovery, but the lateral release meant a much longer, more involved recovery. And, in typical me fashion, the situation was complicated even further by a surprise once the surgeon got inside my knee: a few tears to the meniscus, a couple of small tears to the ACL, and the biggest surprise of all: the complete lack of cartilage under the kneecap. That’s right folks, the cartilage was gone, baby gone. Hmmmm, no wonder my knee hurt.

Here’s what a normal kneecap looks like: lots of healthy white cartilage on top, all shiny and smooth like a cue ball or a full moon, with no bare spots or blank spaces.See that shiny, white segment of cartilage on top, just above the tool that’s been inserted into the knee? On me, there is none. Instead of that glossy white section of healthy stuff, there’s nothing. Oh, bother.

 

There is hope that the PRP can help regenerate some of the missing cartilage. But as the oh-so-wise Peggy Hill once said, “You can hope in one hand and poop in the other, and see which fills up first.” No, there is no guarantee my cartilage will regrow, and the more likely scenario is a knee replacement at some point in the not-so-distant future. Uh, huh: yet another surgery.

But not for a while. I’m going to tuck my head and soldier through this recovery. I’ll take solace from the fact that my doc and his PA were surprised by how well I’m walking, even thought I’m impatient to be healed. One week should be enough, right?? I’ll relish hearing my resident experts say that most people are still on crutches and pain pills at this point while I’m hobbling and grinning & bearing it. I’ll feel the swell of pride in knowing that my no-cartilage kneecap lives out loud in my doc’s and his PA’s minds: “Oh, yeah, you…the one with the gaping hole where smooth cartilage should be. Cool.” Physical therapy isn’t my favorite, and being sidelined from the things I want to do is even less so, but this is where I am right now. So be it. PT, limited mobility, pain, swelling, and stiffness will be my constant companions for a few more weeks. Then, like a little chick hatching from its shell, I expect my new, improved knee to make its way into the world, no longer still and helpless but bending and flexing and strengthening. As Marie’s challenge reminds me, I can appreciate that, on every level.

 


Another ordinary posting

Today’s installment in Marie’s infectious challenge comes in the form of a routine appointment with my orthopedic surgeon to check my new, improved knee. Going to a doctor who has nothing to do with cancer or infection is something for which I’m grateful. Just a regular girl, going to a regular doctor. I like that. My chart is nice and slim at the orthopedist’s office, just a regular chart. Not full of page after page after page of complications and problems.

Unlike my chart at a certain plastic surgeon’s office. At one of my many appointments there, Amy & I snapped a photo of my chart as we marveled at its girth. Sitting on the edge of the desk, that bad boy looked huge. So huge we just had to take a picture. Then we just had to take another picture to compare and contrast. Yes, everything is bigger in Texas, but this is ridiculous!

a very thick chart — there’s not much good news in there

an ordinary chart (L), next to my big mama (R)


Celebrating the ordinary

It’s Day 5 of Marie’s gratitude challenge, and after a rotten night’s sleep and an early-morning wake-up call from Princess Piggie, I’d really like to crawl back in bed. I could be grateful for that, right? That would count, wouldn’t it? I purposefully left my bed unmade, on the off-chance I might fall into it as I walked by after dropping the kids off at school. But I’m not a good napper and usually awaken feeling worse than before, and then my sleep cycle would really be disrupted, and things would get really out of hand.

Instead, I’m going to pretend that it’s an ordinary day and dive into my most favorite and decidedly ordinary breakfast: old-fashioned oats, almond milk, blueberries, raspberries, and a sprinkling of almonds. Nothing fancy, not at all trendy, perhaps too carb-heavy, but a little spot of ordinary worth celebrating, especially on this sleepy day. 


Gettin’ back to nature

Marie’s gratitude challenge is spreading like wildfire. Several of my friends in the blog-o-sphere have taken up the challenge and are writing about nature. The other Nancy is focusing on trees, Jan is reminiscing about her koi pond, AnneMarie is watching butterflies, and Martine discovered a gorgeous flower while out for a walk. I’m jumping on that bandwagon. It would have been too easy and too predictable to use the first day of school as my gratitude du jour, so instead I spent a few minutes in my backyard after delivering my kids to their respective schools. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Earth laughs in flowers,” and there’s a lot of laughter in my backyard.

We’ve done a bit of landscaping since we moved into this house in May 2004. The corner garden pictured beyond my favorite girl and our favorite chocolate lab was the beginning of our efforts to fill our little patch of earth with all things green. A banana tree, a fan palm, and a few crepe myrtles went into the ground with hopes of fast growth. They were the anchors of what we hoped would turn into a lush backyard paradise.

A very rare snowstorm on our first Christmas in our new house gave me a good reason to snap a pic of our backyard. That corner garden is still working on becoming a lush screen from the houses behind us, and a pitiful patio table & chair set looks pretty lonely in that barren backyard. 

Two years later, when we decided to put in a pool, the corner garden had grown quite a bit and was getting some competition form a tulip tree on the right, a trio of oleanders on the left, and the stars of the show — 3 Italian cypress that carried the weight of really filling out the backyard. It’s looking decidedly less bare, but still a long way from the tropical haven I envisioned. 

A quick glimpse of that tulip tree during pool-building shows a little more growth, but there’s still a whole lotta fence showing through. I tried to mitigate the expanse of fence with a few old plates. Back in the day, I thought they looked cute hanging there. 

Today, I know better, and I’ve expanded on my quirky display. 

I love how the ray of sunlight snuck into this photo today. I’m not a great photographer and am too impatient to use anything other than my iPhone camera, and when I snapped these pics of my backyard this morning, I knew the light wasn’t going to be great. Little did I know, the light might not be great, but the sunbeams are!

Here comes the sun! 

The plumeria under the plate wall makes me smile, especially now that it’s blooming. It’s a fickle plant that craves more attention and TLC than I give it, but apparently it’s stubborn like me and decided to bloom anyway, despite its lack of care. Next to the plumeria is the ginger that grows under my bedroom window. Both of these plants scream “tropical” to me. Who needs to go to a resort when I have all this in my own backyard?

And that little corner garden? It’s all grown up now!

 


Gratitude, day 2 & 3

After just one day of Marie’s gratitude challenge, I’m already falling down on the job. I’m blaming it on my recovery from knee surgery a few days ago. Although I managed to work in my first posting despite the surgery, so perhaps I need a better excuse.

Since I inadvertently missed my gratitude posting yesterday, I shall post 2 today.

First, my sweet little dog Pedey. He’s the first dog I’ve had who is not a retriever, and he’s as lazy as labs are energetic. There’s nothing this guy likes more than sleeping, and he somehow manages to find the most comfortable spot in the house, which has garnered him the nickname “The King of Comfort.” His favorite of all the comfy spots is curled up next to me, and he has spent the last few days glued to my side as I recovered post-surgery. I’m grateful to have such a faithful companion.

And second, I’m grateful for this dish. 

It’s pretty ordinary; Pyrex clear glass, the likes of which I’d hazard to guess resides in nearly every home in America. Nothing fancy or pretty about this dish, but I’m grateful for it because it was delivered to my house Friday by my sweet friend Christy, full of hot, spicy, bubbly chile rellenos. It’s Hatch Green Chile season, and ay carumba those rellenos were good. I’d cooked up a storm in preparation for my surgery so that my people wouldn’t be subjected to takeout this and delivery that; we were well-fed. However, nothing is better than a yummy, home-cooked meal delivered in one’s hour of need. I wish I’d taken a picture of the dish full of the chile rellenos, but we were much too busy scarfing them down to think anything other than Homer-Simpson-esque thoughts of “Can’t talk/take pictures…eating.”

One of my all-time favorite sayings is that “Cooking is love, made visible.” Christy’s dish proves it, and I’m grateful.


Gratitude

Marie at Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer has issued a challenge. I can’t resist a challenge, so I’m in. Her idea? Take a photo each day of something for which I’m grateful and share it online.

Today I’m grateful for Mo Willems. He’s a children’s book author who writes a charming series called Elephant & Piggie. We’ve read this series a million times, and with titles like There Is a Bird on Your Head and I’m Going to Surprise My Friend, these books never get old. Even now that my favorite girl has way outgrown Mo’s books, I still smile when I think of Gerald & Piggie. As I recover from Wednesday’s knee surgery, I thought of Gerald & Piggie, and instead of Today I Will Fly, for me it’s Today I Will Walk. 

48 hours is about all I can take of the forced sedentary healing, so Today I Will Walk. Stiff-legged and slow, and probably a bit of shuffling, too, but Today I Will Walk.

My favorite girl and I were lucky enough to meet Mo Willems several years ago when he came to Blue Willow Bookshop

He read from his latest book, The Pigeon Wants a Puppy, and took questions from the audience. 

After his presentation, we stood in a very long line to have Mo to sign Macy’s books. He was funny and charming and everything I expect a kids’ book author to be. My favorite girl chattered endlessly about ideas she had for Mo’s books. She had a ton of story ideas in her 5-year-old brain, and I suspect it made perfect sense to her that they could collaborate. So when Mo asked Macy if she had any questions for him as he signed her books, she said, “What’s your phone number?” Sweet Mo was a bit taken aback, and when Macy explained that she has some ideas, he realized he didn’t need to panic, we weren’t a couple of crazy stalkers.

Meeting Mo and being in his presence and seeing how he interacted with all the kids was a super cool experience. Today I’m grateful for Mo Willems. And Today I Will Walk!