I’m thankful that I am still here to write a blog for your reading pleasure. The airbags did their duty, probably a bit more intensely than required at 35 mph, yet I am trying to keep a sense of humor in the midst of it all. Please excuse any humor that may seem off color in our circumstances. Remember also I am currently using narcotics.
My cute husband and I were enjoying a moment of peace and tranquility on the back patio yesterday morning, holding hands and loving the balmy Phoenix weather in March. He squeezed my hand and conveyed a heartfelt, “I’m so glad the accident was not that bad. I could have been going to two funerals this week!” BAH! I told him that his sentiments were kind but I knew he was WAY too cheap to pay for two funerals…. there would have been just one.
This morning I visited the spinal surgeon. He had good news and bad news for me… but the good news outweighed the bad by 98%. I am not free to discuss my injuries to the world at large, but spinal surgery was negated. Thank God! Then he proceeded to tell me that my spinal condition is appropriately degenerated FOR MY AGE. What the heck was that supposed to mean? I’m in my 40s!! If he were a car salesman, this was the equivalent of kicking the tires and saying, “She’s got a few more miles in her despite the apparent neglect.” Good grief!
It has been 11 days since the accident and today was the first day I had a surge of energy and applied makeup! Small steps. It was my fourth or fifth visit to the chiropractor since the accident. As I graced the waiting room the receptionist hollers, “OH MY GOSH! You look so much better today!” Yeah, thanks. It’s just makeup. I feel the same… still sore, achy and drugged. My Dad always said, “If the barn needs painting, paint it!” I gathered from her exuberance that my natural beauty was more in my mind than in reality.
I arrived home exhausted from more outings than my typical one-per-day. While sitting at the table eating another wonderfully fabulous dinner that was delivered to us by our rockin’ homeschool peeps, my 9-year-old says to me, “I like your hair.” Okay, seriously? It is a day #2 hairdo with the back completely oily from a massage, and one flat side from my nap. She kept going with her sincere flattery, “It makes you look like a teenager, Mom. It’s pretty the way it’s not all puffy like usual.” Wow. What do you say to that?
By day of recovery #5 I finally felt like reading. I read four whole pages of the 1850’s historical fiction of which I was in the midst…. during days 6, 7 and 8. Yes, only four pages. Then day #9 my reading juices were regenerated and I finished the book. It was the last 1850’s historical novel I had in my possession and I was still on the couch for the better part of the day. CRISIS! I perused my bookshelves and discovered several stories that we were supposed to read for American History last year. Yesterday and today I read Farewell to Manzanar a biography/history lesson about an internment camp during WW2 for 10,000 Japanese Americans on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevadas in California. Every summer when we drive to Lake Tahoe, we pass right by the historical marker sign that reads <—– MANZANAR. Being the history loving nerd that I am, the desire to stop has surfaced every single time we pass the sign, but we have yet to stop. Now that I’ve read the story…. we are stopping, baby. 10,000 American citizens who were considered dangerous simply by race… put in a “camp” like prisoners for THREE YEARS! Unbelievable. I’ve added this story here because I was hoping to see barracks, a mess haul, latrines, a pear orchard, etc. The end of the book describes Manzanar today as a dusty, deserted piece of land with a few cement slabs if you know where to look for them. Maybe I don’t need to stop as badly as I thought I had for the last 12 years. We’ll see this summer.
My Sister's Jar 