Tales From The Recliner

Thank you to my blog readers who supplied me with some welcome constructive criticism and accolades, even if muffled while in a full yawn. Being a first time blogger, I was a little nervous. As always, I’ve already learned a few new things from the experience.....1)that it’s difficult to read hot pink text on black background and ....2) it was a long blog. Who would guess that it took me longer to write my blog on Paris than the time I was actually in Paris. I’ll try to be less verbose in the future. Sure. I’m heading into what I hope is the last week in my air Jordan cast, having broken my ankle on March 12th. You never know what the doc may say this Friday. I’ve never broken an ankle before. I hope I’ll be able to ditch this cast as I have heard enough of the ripping sound of Velcro to last me a lifetime. I had to go back to the doctor’s office to get a replacement boot after mine developed a slow leak. After a debate whether to plug it or patch it, the technician implied that I must have done something to it for it to leak air….like “some people pump it up too much”…(I did try to see how much air I could pump into it) and “you didn’t have it around any pins or anything, did you?”…...nawwwww…..pins?? He missed that sloshing water sound inside the air baffles you could hear after I threw it in the washer. The Lazy-Girl Recliner has been my bed, sewing and command center since the night of the break having been told to wear the cast 24x7. It has not been as difficult as I thought it would be. Lon has gone way above the call of duty with a few exceptions and has even helped me lose a little weight while I have remained completely sedentary just by eliminating any and all snacks after dinner. Every night is like a fast before blood work. I’ve been calling it the “Nutri-Lon System” and as much as I hate to say, it has worked. Aunt Marian smuggled in some Peeps at Easter along with two rolls of paper towels (not green according to Lon) and Shirley came through for me with a large bag of oversized m&m’s. I myself rank paper towels right up there with antibiotics and television. I’m down past my post-Peru weight. Lon did break down and buy a commemorative antique reproduction 4-bottle carton of Coca-Cola, knowing that I’d think they were too cute to drink. My biggest quilting for hire fear had come true. Quilt needs to be finished and Claire can’t sew. My sophisticated sewing machine is completely controlled by tapping on the foot pedal and of course, I’m as right footed as I am right handed. You tap to raise and lower the presser foot and you tap it to stop and start the machine. The finesse needed to control my machine was not possible with a foot wrapped in pre-surgery swaddling clothes nor the post surgery boot I could re-use when I land on the moon. All I needed to do was lay twenty or so blocks out, arrange and sew them together. My dear sewing, quilting, Jill of all needle skills friend Gail, came to my rescue. She arrived around nine o’clock one Vicodin blurred morning and we arranged the blocks that needed to be completed and sewed them all together. By 2 o’clock, after breaking midday for scrumptious Weight-Watchers frozen entrée, the quilt top was completed. My first broken ankle hurdle was behind me. When they feature one of those crazy women on The Oprah Winfrey Show whose house has one small path by which to walk, I’m thinking…. I’m not ready for the crisis center yet….. my room isn’t that bad….….but, sadly it was. The fireman who came to my house to assess my broken ankle before the rescue squad with the hunky guys came to take me to the ER (billed at $530.00, I might add) was a little more than apprehensive about entering the great abyss known as my bedroom to get my purse that held the key to smooth hospital access and medical attention: The Insurance Card. I was surprised that the fireman didn’t nail some kind of sign on the door that read CONDEMNED or HAZARDOUS AREA-DO NOT ENTER. The point of my even mentioning this dilemma is that I have two incredible friends who have for several years offered to help me clear out this room in my house from junk, overwhelming clutter, dust, shoes, clothes and trash (I’m ashamed to say). I have always been too embarrassed to let them. I mean why can’t a woman like me, with all the time in the world tackle one cluttered room? That is one question I have not been able to answer. I know how the Incans could have avoided being slaughtered in Peru and more often than not, I know Final Jeopardy…..but, why I could not handle the deforestation of the one room in my house that has been a monkey on my back for more years than I care to admit is a mystery to me. My friends did what I could not. They cleaned up my room. While stuck in my recliner in another room, I heard occasional bursts of laughter and comments like “Nah, she doesn’t need that.” My friends even went through my drawers…….the spandex kind. There was a box for Goodwill, a box for Ebay, boxes I would have to further assess (while sitting in my recliner on my assess) and many of those black you know what bags on which Shirley and Joyce made joint executive decisions. I was instructed to go through a box of sox and keep one in my mouth while at it. Shirley did my laundry, ironed my clothes, set some clothes out for me to wear to visit the doc. She also introduced me to the Swiffer Duster after sending Lon to the store to buy one along with an extra box of refills. Joyce took on one side of the room and Shirley took on the other. They picked through collections of things I thought I could not live without and were mumbling things like “now that damn drawer will at least close.” Joyce also did some quilting for me so as not to disappoint my quilt customer whose quilt was now ready to be quilted. My May 30th deadline was met early. Could anyone have any better or sweeter friends? As I type this blog I am surrounded by uncluttered well vacuumed carpet, a clean sparkling area around my keyboard, a beautifully neat dresser with all drawers closed minus thirty or so unmentionables, six slips, a few dozen pairs of brand new mail-order panty hose pre-dating 2002, fifteen bottles of nail polish, several odd perfumes and umpteen pairs of ladies athletic socks whose elastic probably disolved in the rain at the 1996 Olympics. Shirley made me dispose of a lot of other things I've been saving for that rainy day that just never came. And the strange thing about being without all my stuff I thought I absolutely had to have is that my heart (with it’s very own little murmur) is still beating just fine.