I was at the pharmacy this morning and for the life of me couldn’t figure out why a cowgirl was waiting on me, oops, that’s right, it’s Halloween. So I have several options for a costume this year. I think it’s a bit redundant if I go as a person with a crappy spinal column who sits in traction….I mean this get up is scary looking enough but it’s a bit boring. I need something jazzier. I saw a man jogging as he pushed his child in a stroller the other day, when the signal turned just as he was about to cross, he pulled the stroller back and dropped to the ground doing push ups while waiting for the light to change. Even if I didn’t sit in traction I don’t see myself going as a jogger, not being able to run is one thing but push ups at a stop light, wow, impressive. I thought about going as something trendy but I’m not one ounce trendy so why try to be on Halloween. I’ve always been impressed with the low-key costume choices of the character Jim Halpert on The Office. One year he taped black circles on his dress shirt and was “three whole punch Jim.” Another year he wore a name tag that said, “Dave” and last year he wrote B O O K across his face. I like the understated costume.
I think there should be some unwritten rule that if one person dresses up everyone does or no one should. That’s what threw me off today, the other pharmacist was dressed like everyday, with a look of “why did I draw the short straw and have to work on Sunday morning.” So bright and perky cowgirl felt sort of out-of-place, a bit random. But hey she gave me good pharmaceutical advice and on this Halloween that’s all I need. Who knows, maybe she knows something from her years at the rodeo that will cure me and next year I can go as a jogger.
Strapped in listening to The Glenn Miller Orchestra play Moonlight Serenade. If this song doesn’t soothe you not sure what will.
Here goes, confessions of a girl strapped in traction……….. love Glenn Miller, love Jimmy Stewart, who by the way played Glenn Miller in the movie, The Glenn Miller Story, and love John Krasinski, this generation’s tall and lanky dude. Love is maybe too strong a word, but maybe not.
Ok, confession time over and so is the song, but if you don’t know what I’m talking about click out of here and do yourself a favor, go to YouTube, search Moonlight Serenade, close your eyes and listen…..hurry, go now.
I was out-of-town for a couple of days recently and in the past I’ve always taken my traction gizmo with me. Its been hung on some pretty nice doors in Santa Monica, The Biltmore Inn, Sea Island, DC, it’s willing to go just as long as it’s packed like a Faberge egg. For whatever reason this time I thought I’d be ok to leave it at home, I didn’t take it to Massachusetts and that wasn’t the best idea. I had so much numbness in my arms and hands it was nuts. It’s weird because traction on the road is usually a nice break in the traction routine and even though it’s just as much of an inconvenience as ever you tell yourself life could be worse. When I sit in traction at home I don’t hear the ocean or have access to room service, it gives me a new door to stare at, maybe sometimes they are extra jazzy and have slates for my entertainment. What was I thinking?! The traction missed out on fall in New England!
So the moral of this story is, have traction will travel, always, never again will it be left behind!
That’s my goal, always, to do less traction. I’m still at my schedule of three times a week and I’m sitting here wondering how to get it to two times a week. Not sure how to make that happen but I can wish. If I don’t do this I’m a bull in a fine china shop. You need it dropped and in a million pieces on the floor, I’m your girl! Ok, slow day, just hanging, wanted you to know I’m still here.
Thanks for reading.
You’ve heard of pet therapy, well as I sit here in traction I think it might be nice to have something fluffy to hold onto, perhaps a furry little kitten or a cuddly puppy. For me though I actually think that’s a dream or maybe a nightmare. When we moved out of my childhood home I found a dog collar in the garage, let’s just say, I don’t ever remember having a dog. The days of having a Rover around the house were part of an unspeakable pet past.
A friend once asked me to keep an eye on her cat while she was out-of-town, to stop in each day and put out some food. I asked her if I’d have to bathe the kitty and she responded with a sigh and then said, “you weren’t kidding when you said you knew NOTHING about pets!” Why would I lie about such a thing?
My pet stories are all tragic and true. I had a canary named Simon, after the 10th time my Mom had asked me to clean out his cage she placed him on the back porch and told me that’s where I’d find him until his home was clean. So hours later I stroll my 12-year-old self out there and pick up his cage to say hello and out he flies from the bottom of his living quarters that I suddenly realized was now missing its’ tray. As he flew to the woods behind our house I screamed and my Mom came running. She consoled me with the reassuring words that we lived close to an interstate and before I knew it he’d be far south and living in sunny Florida. (You gotta love the stuff that Mothers come up with on the fly) Although it was trickier for her to smooth over the next year when the wolf dog next door tried to make Simon II into the blue plate special, Simon the sequel headed to birdie heaven within 24 hours.
I had so many fish swim to aquatic heaven I lost count, even a stray cat we named Tigger gave up on us. But the story that lives forever in my SPCA hit list life is my little turtle. He was about ten days old, didn’t even have a name yet, we returned home and couldn’t find him in his terrarium. Wasn’t hard to immediately notice turtle was not in his glass home and nowhere to be found. When one of my brothers offered to help find him I desperately accepted. Within minutes the sound of the crunch shook the room…….yep, big bro accidentally squished turtle under his Chuck Taylors into a little pile of oozing turtle guts and simultaneously burned the desire for further pets forever from my heart.
My Mom quickly announced her term as pet grandmother was over. She was retiring the role and I believe still recovering from the dog incident from ten years earlier. Apparently an elderly neighbor had said our dog “snapped” at him and my brothers were told their doggie was going to a “beautiful farm to run free”…when my eldest brother figured it out sometime later he never let them forget Buck’s euthanasia.
It’s kind of like God sent our family a memo that said, “Look, but please don’t touch.” So as I sit here today I’m thinking about my first Simon who flew south, picturing his little yellow self flying in and out of his time share in Boca Rotan. Soaring high over an ocean filled with all my guppies and goldfish. Not being a “pet person” is one thing but to be a danger to them is an unsettling other matter. I think once you realize you aren’t good at pet care there’s no coming back. Don’t get me wrong I’m the first girl to appreciate nature, but it has to be from a safe distance for all involved. So instead of trying pet therapy I’ll just squeeze this fluffy pillow as my neck hangs in traction and know by doing so I’m actually saving a Spot or Sprinkles life.