My back is still giving me fits, so much so that I have promised the DW that I will try some low-impact pilades this evening to see if that will loosen up the muscles. Two trips to the massage therapist have been of marginal benefit, as have the pain killers and ointments. Twelve hour stints on my back have not been helpful either. Pain sucks, but not as bad as feeling unproductive.
To remedy the latter, I have been working on cover letters and resumes in a two-pronged approach to finding suitable employment, either as a teacher or as a copywriter. Writing upbeat prose is not an easy task when one’s muscles are doing a little dance unrelated to their purpose. Still, I was making progress, fine-tuning and making the leap from passive to active… and then the power went out. Not a good sign. Yet, it came back on within seconds, and my computer fired itself back up. My auto save is set for ten minutes, so I knew I didn’t lose too much.
As I have written before, we are on the outskirts of the power grid. When our power goes out, it could affect the region, or just our road. The fact that it came back so quickly is a good sign, yet it is also a sign of things to come, like inclement weather. In my dungeon the weather is always the same: somewhat cool, dark and dank. I went upstairs to get a better gauge on what was happening, and saw that the wind had picked up. Maybe a tree limb had hit a power line somewhere. Then I looked out the kitchen window. The wind had demolished the hoop house.
I knew this would happen, as it does every time I build a hoophouse. They’re not permanent structures by any stretch of the imagination, and when the wind has its way, I just put the thing back together and wait for the next gust. The difference today is that when I bend over to secure the plastic, my back will be screaming for me to stand up. Still, I had to try, and to tell the truth, my back didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would. I was making progress, and had one side almost secured when the wind made 400 square feet of plastic into a sail. Fuck it. I laid the plastic down on the ground, weighted it down and came back inside. I’ll try again later.
Once back inside, I went to give the DW a status report. She was on the phone. Her Grandmother is back in the hospital, this time on a ventilator. This is actually her second hospitalization in as many weeks. A couple weeks ago she suffered some bleeding in her brain, which while serious, didn’t appear to do too much damage as she was back home in five days. The doctors were more concerned about her low oxygen levels, and when they discharged her, sent her home with oxygen. One problem: she smokes. Pall Malls. No filter. And she wasn’t going to quit. The oxygen sat in a corner, unused.
Now, some might think: Poor woman, a victim of her vices (she loves her vodka martinis too). She’s 86 years old. Her retort is simple: “When Jesus wants me, he’ll take me.” The last time we saw DW’s Grandmother was last Thanksgiving. We had the opportunity to spend some time with her at her house after the family gathering, and at that time she spoke of her failing health. She was as resolved then as she appears to be now, except then it was a tad more morose: “Darling, just give me a bottle of vodka and a dry cleaning bag.” God, I love that woman!
After the phone conversation, DW and I talked, shed some tears. In accordance with her grandmother’s wishes, there will be no funeral, no memorial service. The tough Hollywood broad to the end. We will take her dog, Annie. Cats, get ready.
OK, I just did the pilades. It was low impact, to be sure. Minimal discomfort. The wind seems to have died down, and I have ten minutes before evening chores. Sometimes the best thing is just to keep moving.