Since then, I’ve been trundling around on a knee scooter, dutifully keeping my weight off that foot. I’ve developed aches and soreness in various compensating body parts. I’ve had to learn how to take things slowly and have patience with myself and the situation. It takes a toll emotionally and physically.
Friends have been wonderfully supportive, filling in for me, taking on my responsibilities, planting flowers, bringing in meals, sending me loving, healing energy.
My husband, Peter, has been marvelous picking up the slack around the house and mealtimes, and there has been a lot of slack to pick up. Of course, he and I have different ideas about what constitutes an orderly home. I’ve had to let go of my neat fixation and focus on what is most important. So, meals get prepared, dishes washed, kitchen counters wiped down, trash taken out, dirty clothes laundered, lawn mowed, plants watered and the dog fed and walked. On the whole it’s quite a lot, considering Peter is doing almost all of it.
Beyond that, we’ve let the rest of home care slide, most especially the picking up of the detritus of daily living. Consequently, scattered about most of our main floor living space are various collections, cardboard boxes from Amazon deliveries (hey, I’m sitting all day, what else do I have to do?) piles of mail awaiting attention, last week’s projects scattered on the dining room table, tiny legions of plastic cars and toy parts amass army-like on the living room floor from the recent visit with our grandchildren, scraps of playdough with crumbs of who knows what on the floor that our voracious lab has yet to discover.
Said lab is also in the midst of her twice a year molt. Goldie sheds at least a pound of fur each summer and fall. Usually, I brush her outdoors during shedding season, but the stairs to the yard are daunting when you’re negotiating them on crutches. We’re now growing fluffy, dog fur kitties under the kitchen counters, around chair legs, and something that looks more like a polar bear out on the porch.
Our pretty family room sitting area has become my de facto office, as I’ve gradually surrounded my favorite chair with pillows, crutches, knee scooter, laptop, tablet, chargers, drinks, tissues, file boxes, various writing implements, lunch dishes and meditation paraphernalia etc.
I’m considering putting a sign on the front door. “Watch your step, real life happening here!”
Yesterday, Peter collected our two grandsons, ages 6 and almost 9, and brought them to our house for an overnight visit. They settled in happily, pulling out toys and asking for snacks. Shortly after their arrival their other grandmother dropped off our granddaughter age 11 and came in for a chat. Normally I would have been mortified to have her see the state the house was in. But when she left, I realized that it hadn’t even occurred to me to worry about it.
The grandkids were delightful, helping out, cooperating, sailing around on the knee scooter, enjoying life in the way that children do. Today, the kids have gone to their Dad’s home, our house looks, well, you know, and my neighbor just stopped in for a short visit bringing chocolate chip cookies. I thanked her, laughed with her about life on a knee scooter and totally forgot to feel embarrassed about the fluffy polar bear brazenly sitting in the corner of the porch.
What’s the takeaway here?
Real life is happening here in my home. Picture perfect neatness, though I love it, is for magazines. No one lives or loves in those rooms. No one sits down to read a book together or share a meal. Perhaps a broken foot, a little mess, some clutter, a furball or two are tolerable, when the reward is time invested in appreciating those around you, allowing them to pitch in, do it their way, even if their way is not your way. It is a way, and it is real life, a good life.
Life is full of spiritual lessons. Some feel good, some not so good. All support us to grow. This blog is about my life lessons. Perhaps you'll find yourself within these stories.