Don't Wake Me Up, I'm Thinking

Several nights ago, I dreamed about my real-life aching knees, brought about by chondromalacia patella, a breakdown of cartilage under the kneecap – with some arthritis thrown in there, too.

The symptoms include discomfort when walking up and down the steps, inability to squat, and any other movements that require bending of the knees. I’ve gone to physical therapy on and off for years which has helped immensely, along with gym and home exercise.  

I’d like to say that this issue is due to marathon running as a teen or young adult, but…I can’t. 

In my dream, I was sitting on a chair and pedaling my legs on a small piece of equipment that simulated the movement on a bike. I recognized it as something my mom had used to manage her knee pain and, in my dream, I told myself that I need to buy one of these so that I can get back to the routine I had before the pandemic, which included 15 minutes on the bike at Planet Fitness.    

When I woke up, I was back to square one. I didn’t recall the dream, even though you might think my stiff knees would’ve been a reminder. As I've done most days, I started to stew about the situation. I wanted to take a walk, but at times that makes the situation worse; I contemplated doing my knee exercises, but I find them soooooooooooo boring. It’s one thing to work out at the gym where I have my pick of apparatus but, on my own with the majority of the workout centered on stretching on the floor, I tend to be so unmotivated.

Meantime, my girlfriend texted me to ask how everything is going. I mentioned my knee dilemma and how frustrated I’ve been not being able to get on the bike regularly, given that I don’t have a stationary bike at home. 

She responded by sharing a scenario about another friend with a similar issue who uses a lightweight and foldable device that has resulted in a positive impact on her joints, which in turn has made her much more comfortable overall. It’s so great in fact, my friend said, that this woman not only benefits from it at home but also travels with it. She commented that I can throw it in my car when I take my next road trip to Florida, although this sounded rather far-fetched that I’m going to want to start traveling with this thing.

And then…DING DING DING…as she spoke, I began to realize that the little contraption she was describing was what I had just dreamed about, 12 hours earlier, that my mom had found so valuable as well. I cannot get over the fact that my brain solved a problem for me…at night while I slept…that my girlfriend echoed with the same solution, during our text exchange the next morning.   

I immediately went online to search for a portable peddling machine and low and behold there were tons to choose from. I ordered one from Amazon for under $45 and have cycled every day since then (nearly a week) for 15-20 minutes per session, with noticeable improvement. It’s actually been fun, too.

I have another issue that needs to be resolved…better go take a nap! 

The Road Back

‘Tis the wedding season, and I am…p s y c h e d!!!

I love celebrating the joyous union of two people, and it’s always an honor to be one of the selected guests to witness the most important ceremony of their lives.   

When an invitation comes to our mailbox, I rip it open, do a little wedding dance, mark the date on our calendar, and then ask myself the critical question: What am I going to wear?

Last week, we received the first invite of the year, for a May wedding. This time it was David who opened it, but I still did my little dance, we confirmed the date, I thought about my party dress, and then we gave each other “The Look.”

Given that we are still in throes of a pandemic, this once-romantic glance has new meaning these days. We know that this kind of event will require discussion.      

It is unfortunate but true that virus concerns seep into every decision that would require us to step out of our cocoon and mingle with others. We have, after all, been programmed this past year to be as cautious as possible, to live in relative isolation in the hopes of protecting ourselves and our loved ones.

Yet, this invitation to start living it up again has come right to our door. Are we ready?

By the time the wedding takes place, the Coronameter should be continuing to tilt in a favorable direction given that the majority of all who want the vaccine will hopefully have received at least one dose and will, therefore, have some protection. The festivities are scheduled to be outside, and my assumption is that many people will wear masks and socially distance. These are all great things.

While there has been a wide range of opinions about all the recommended dos and don’ts of how to manage the virus, I am so grateful to the scientists who are leading us in the right direction.   

We can all likely agree that returning to normalcy and getting back to our lives as we once knew them will evolve over time.

I, for one, am chomping at the bit.

Just My Imagination

Thanks to all my empty nester friends, I am having some awesome daydreams.

In the past couple of years, dozens of folks have shared with me their plans for starting new chapters in their lives now that they have the opportunity to do so, given that the kids have gone their own way.    

Whenever I hear about a person's intent to downsize and/or relocate, I close my eyes and picture myself in his/her new life, from the digs to the surroundings to the weather and so on. 

It’s a pretty cool trick to be able to try out a variety of lifestyles, from my very own living room couch…with no boxes to unpack…and no stress.    

All it takes is some imagination and practice and, before long, I have become the main character in my fantasy. I’m able to view my life in multiple settings and can then compare options to determine which might be the most appealing for me to try out one day, for real.

Most of the moves seem to have subtle differences among them, such as going from a large suburban residence where many of us raised our families to a smaller, local dwelling in a walkable community, whether in a suburban town or a city.  

These are easy choices to visualize given 1 - I’ve already lived them and 2 – I’d still be close to the important peeps in my life.

More dramatic a change is in the works for my friends contemplating life as snowbirds. They would sell their home to spend winters in Florida and summers either on a New Jersey beach or in close proximity to their current house or grandchildren.   

Along these lines of moving a distance away, I have another friend who is mulling over the purchase of a place in a resort area across the country for a robust life of outdoor activities, culture and fun year-round, while also possibly keeping a residence near where they live today.

The most extreme plan I’ve heard so far relates to a friend and her husband who are living out her longtime goal. They have sold their home in exchange for the purchase of a truck camper, so they can spend all their time on the open road, hiking and camping around the country.    

After decades of staying put to raise children, all of these plans fall within a spectrum of possibilities that I can envision for myself, although I’d have to get David on board.

My guess is that he is happy for me to live vicariously through my daydreams, because he’d be perfectly content staying in our house forever.

As for me, after all these exciting scenarios I’ve played out in my mind, I only know one thing for sure: If/when we do move, our new pad is going to be one level.

An Afternoon Walk

On a sunny, 55-degree day this past week, I took a fabulously long walk and got back to my neighborhood about 3:30 pm. As I crossed from the main road on to my street, I could see the face of a teenage neighbor in front of her house behind a car, but I could only see the back of the guy she was talking to. 

She looked bigger than I remembered and pretty grown up, compared to the last time I had seen her. She was smiling so much. It made me think about the magic of young love.

As I inched a bit closer but was still a distance away, I saw she was standing on a skateboard, which explained her being taller than I’d have expected. She didn’t take her eyes off the guy, who appeared to be instructing her on skateboarding techniques.

Right away I started to project my own worries on to her parents. The mother in me started to empathize with her poor parents for having to deal with this new hobby of hers. I started to sweat just thinking about all the safety matters that come into play.

Add to that a persuasive boyfriend encouraging it, and the situation is ripe for battles at home, with her parents concerned that she may want to do all kinds of crazy stunts on her skateboard, hang out with other daredevils (or, worse yet, with her skateboard buddy alone) and so on.

I walked to the other side of the street as I approached them since I wasn’t wearing a mask but wanted to say “hi!” to the teen and of course to check out her boyfriend.  

Let me just say … WOA!!!

That “boyfriend” teaching her how to skateboard was…HER DAD!

I was s h o c k e d!!! I had seen him eons of times but usually with a briefcase in hand. I’d never have guessed that he’s a skateboarder and/or that he’d be encouraging her to learn.

But once I thought it through – that he is sharing with his daughter a hobby he enjoyed – I began to feel differently.

I think fathers and daughters often struggle to find common ground, and a mutual appreciation for a hobby can add a wonderful new dimension to their relationship.

By the time I got home – 12 houses down – my thoughts went from “those poor parents” to “that lucky dad…and daughter.”

 

 

 

 

 

I Can See Clearly Now

About 20 years ago, I started wearing “readers,” those little eyeglasses with magnifying lenses that have become absolutely necessary for me to function if I want to read…anything…and do…almost everything else, within a foot of my face.

I started with a strength of 1.0; although I resisted, over time I moved up in increments of .25 until I got to a 2.0. From there – based on what the store had in stock – I jumped to a 2.5, although I found myself still squinting until I finally succumbed to a 3.0 and boy...what a game changer!

Because I need these glasses so often and misplace them just as much, I have a bunch and place them all over: by my bed, on my desk, in the kitchen drawer, in my purse, in my car. I pick them up whenever I see them at a good price and they fit well, whether at the dollar store, Barnes & Noble or CVS and, most recently, in a pack of 3 at Whole Foods.  

Last week, as I was going through my greeting card stash to find a sentiment that I wanted to give David for his birthday, I reached for a pair of glasses on my desk. I put them on, and everything c h a n g e d.

Within seconds, I could not see normally. I got dizzy and lost my balance. I was afraid I was going to faint. Maybe, I thought, I was in the midst of a stroke.  

Pay attention to the details, I told myself, in case they are important when I get to the hospital.

I leaned against my desk, took off my glasses and 30 seconds later, I felt better. I was eager to discount that bizarre experience - assuming it wouldn't repeat itself - so I went downstairs to reset, starting with a glass of water.

After a few minutes, I went back upstairs, put the glasses on again and started looking through the cards for the second time.  

But, it started to happen again! That very disturbing sensation returned, and I went immediately into panic mode…I wondered…Is the end of the line for me?

I took the readers off once more and was blinded by the glare of the sunlight on one of the lenses…but not on the other.

That’s when I realized that one of the lenses had fallen out of the frame! This meant I was trying to look through a pair of glasses with a large magnifier on one lens and no lens at all for the other eye.

No wonder I couldn’t see straight when I had them on!

Why I didn’t figure that out but instead assumed I was on my way out, is beyond me. 

For some reason, ever since I turned 60, I jump to scenarios that are unnecessarily extreme...yet another reality of aging.

 

 

 

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Oh where, oh where can my videotapes be???

Yes, those big chunky VHS recordings I took of my kids in the late 1980s and 1990s…

Put that to the tune of “Last Kiss” by J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers in 1961, and you’ll get what I’ve been singing to myself on and off for years now.

These babies are MIA.

I can picture where I used to keep them in my old house – EXACTLY where – in the cabinet underneath the TV – and I know that I and I alone packed that area to move into my current house, 17 years ago.

The question is, Where are they now?  

Everything not deemed essential for the kids and the running of the new house from Day #1 went into the attic…so I’ve always believed those videotapes are in hiding up there.

But David, who finds every excuse under the sun to go into the attic and fiddle around, hasn’t seen them, and he’s gone through all the cardboard boxes which I dutifully collected from local supermarkets every morning for months.

The reality is, even though I hate to admit such a lapse on my part, it’s quite possible that I donated the tapes along with others like Disney movies…or trashed them in my packing frenzy…there just aren’t that many possible scenarios, given that I don’t think anyone broke into my house and absconded with them.

And if either of these scenarios is the case, I have no one to blame but myself.

I hate when it boils down to…ME.

So unless we find them, I may never know what really happened.

While obsessing over this, I often think back to the purchase of the camcorder, in 1987. Bob and I decided to invest in one when Michael was an infant. We wanted to record his and our future kids’ every move and milestones, not only for us and for them, but for future generations to enjoy.

I took an entire videotape – some 4 hours – of Michael lying on the couch moving his arm ever-so-slightly so he could get a good look at his fist. It wasn’t easy for me to hold the camcorder for so long given how cumbersome it was to maneuver but since we did buy it for this purpose, I did it for the greater good.  

Later that day, I called Bob’s parents – almost too excited to speak – to tell them what their amazing grandson did that day. I asked if they wanted to come see the recording that weekend. “Of course!” they said. 

A few days later, they indulged us and marveled at his accomplishments just like we did – for hours…bless them – even though he was doing the same thing right next to them, in real time. I remember this like it was yesterday, and that was almost 34 years ago.

I am hopeful that one of these days I will be reunited with the videotapes, given all the effort and good intentions that went into taking them.

Of course, once this stupid pandemic is over, I hope to be creating the next series of recordings, this time on my iPhone.

It's Snow Beautiful

One night last weekend, I woke up for my nightly bathroom trip around 3 a.m. and, as usual, peeked out the window. The whiteness first blinded me until my eyes adjusted and then it drew me in to the most amazingly beautiful landscape, blanketed with snow. It was like sparkling sugar coated the world and ohhhhh…how sweet it was. 

In the morning, as snow continued to fall, I took SheaDoggy for a walk and basked in the stillness of the moment, the feeling similar to the heavenly aftermath of a full-body massage.  

Throughout the day, I parked myself by various windows so that I could continue to experience that snow-induced serenity – before it was gone – because it never lasts long enough. I suppose that is part of its allure, how fleeting it is.

As nightfall took hold, I had a flashback of ogling a snowstorm not that long ago, with my mom.

She had recently moved into an assisted living community close to me, and her living room window overlooked the courtyard. The location of her 2^nd floor apartment was integral to her decision to move there because she saw that she could experience the joys of nature not only from the outside, but from the inside, too.

It was challenging with her wheelchair to get close enough to the window to see flowers and other greenery below but, on this one particular night, the steady flow of snow in combination with the glitz of the holiday season created a fabulous display in the courtyard, from all the viable vantage points.      

I assumed we’d watch from her wonderfully warm and cozy apartment but, true to form, she was eager to rough it in the courtyard. We bundled up and headed outside, where the air felt delightfully crisp. She sat in her wheelchair with her head leaning back so she could see the snowflakes up close, delight in them as they touched her face, and she even stuck her tongue out to taste them, too. I mirrored whatever she did, loving every minute.

After about a half hour, we went back upstairs, pretended we had hot chocolate, and sat by the window to continue watching the show.

When she went to bed, I left. The snow was still coming down, I cleaned off my car and began to relive all the memories that I didn’t want to forget.    

About a minute after I left her complex and turned on to the main road, I saw some activity in my rearview mirror. Those dreaded flashing lights were getting closer and closer until there was nowhere for the car behind me to go. I then realized this guy is coming for me, so I drove over to the shoulder of the road and waited. 

“Show me your license, registration and insurance,” he instructed. I asked why he pulled me over. He said my registration is not up to date, and he gave me a ticket.

Talk about a buzzkill.

My mom called the next morning to thank me for the night before. I decided it best not to mention the ticket because she would’ve been upset for me or about me, because that’s how mothers are.

So, I simply thanked her for a wonderful time too, not realizing that the joyful evening we had just shared…was our last.