At Their Mercy

All I have to do is follow doctor's orders. I would say, without exaggeration, that fifteen people have told me this. Three weeks from tomorrow I'm scheduled to do the unthinkable - place myself in the hands of humans of the variety that I consider to be a shade smarmier than lawyers. I'm going to allow them to incapacitate me while they come at me with scalpels, saws and hammers. Allegedly, when I come to, I'll have a new and much better right knee. If I follow doctor's orders and physical therapy exercises, I should be pretty much healed in six weeks, and ready to go back to work in three months. All fifteen said that their only regret is that they didn't get it done sooner. Well heck, I've only been suffering with this knee for forty years, what's the hurry?

Actually, until about ten or fifteen years ago, it was what Carmen described as my  "trick knee." Sometimes I would twist it just the wrong way, it would issue forth a loud *POP* and hurt like a bitch for a week or so. My response to her was that this was not a very good trick.

During the "double naught" years, this knee began to just hurt all the time. If it stayed in one position for very long (like ten minutes) it would shoot pain like arrows until I moved it around. In 2004, Carmen talked me into seeing a medical human about it. He said I was not a candidate for replacement. He trimmed the meniscus and shot the knee full of cortizone, and it was better for a while. Then we moved to Boston, and I walked about two thousand miles. Albuquerque a few hundred more, and then Meadville. Watching me limp everywhere was painful for her, so Carmen talked me into another doctor visit.

My knee hurts a heck of a lot worse since I saw the X-rays. The right side of my right knee is pretty much bone on bone. I never noticed until that visit that the shin bone shoots off at about a five degree angle from the knee down. Well, no wonder it hurts!

I will be spending a lot of my life flat on my back with my leg elevated and straight. Carmen will let me use her oldest laptop to keep up with my Scrabble games. I'm betting the blogs will get a shot in the arm as well. There you are, a silver lining.

The Savage Breast

Three weeks have passed since my magical apperations as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore at the church's Harry Potter Day Camp. You'll remember that I was befuddled because the two lawns needed mowing and the front door step-up needed painting, and it was raining. You'll be ecstatic to learn that the step got painted that very afternoon and was unblemished by the next burst of rain, which began as I was finishing the job. The following Saturday I mowed both lawns.

Last Saturday we went to The Home Depot and bought stuff we needed to create a "Joys And Concerns" candle box. Carmen drew a Unitarian Universalist chalice symbol, I routed it into the back board on Thursday night, and finished assembly last night. This morning I had a commitment at the Community Garden to cut out and install doors on the cabinet in the pavilion. As soon as I got home from that, I unloaded my tools from the car, and vacuumed out the sawdust for Carmen, who had to drive it to a wedding she was officiating (refereeing?) this afternoon. Then I filled holes and cracks, listened to "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me," sanded and- painted the box with primer, listened to "Car Talk" and painted the final gloss white finish on the box - ready in time for the minister's first Sunday back in the pulpit after her study leave.

By now, you're wondering what the heck the title of this report has to do with anything. Wellllll...

Two weeks ago was Nicki's last day at Sherwin Williams. She was the "third key," which means she had many of the responsibilities of a manager or assistant manager, but with lower pay. She closed the store most weekdays, worked at least one day each weekend, kept the inventory on track, ordered products and tracked them, calmly went about many other essential tasks while cheerfully greeting every customer by name and tinting paint efficiently. She was the one I could ask the stupid questions, and she answered them without snide commentary or exasperated expressions. Now she's gone, the manager and assistant are stressed out, and I have noone to ask. To make it even better, my hours of torture have been increased.

This morning when I arose at 6:30 to get to the Garden early, the one essential accessory I took along was my MP3 player and headphones. Painting the step, mowing the lawns, installing cabinet doors, assembling sanding and painting the candle box, having a thousand of my favorite songs playing just makes me happy. I sing along, dance, work in rhythm with the music, and am genuinely delighted with every song the "shuffle play" serves up. My grumpy mood is blown away by The Beatles, Steely Dan, Gershwin, Glen Miller, Simon and Garfunkel, Susan Werner, Roger Miller, Jesus Christ Superstar, The Association etcetera etcetera etcetera. The fact that a thousand of my favorite songs can be clipped into my shirt pocket still amazes and delights me.

Labor Day I have to work 10:00 to 3:00. I'll be fine. I've been soothed.