Fall

Fall is here. Since the first day of the fall season the weather has been convincing; the sky overcast, the temperatures lower, rainy days, and even the leaves are falling, as if on cue. The past week seemed choreographed just to convince me that fall is really here. The weather isn’t the only talisman of the changing season, there are many others.

My summer garden has shut down. Just like that, it has quit producing. The plants are spent. A lacy layer of dried pole bean vine covers almost everything, as if Mother Nature has thrown a tatted tablecloth over the whole garden to say, “Enough.” Dried spears of okra forbid entrance and yellowed tomato vines don’t have the energy to flower.

People are trading in short sleeves for long. Bare brown arms and legs exposed and glistening with summer sweat only a few weeks ago are now hidden behind veils of fabric. Perky pink toenails are no longer peeking out from strappy sandals, but locked inside pumps or loafers or sneakers. And no self-respecting southern woman would dream of wearing a white shoe after Labor Day.

I like fall. The distant sound of the high school band practicing for the football game. The crunch of dry leaves when I walk across my lawn. The odor of chimney smoke on a cool evening. The feel of a warm sweater across my shoulders. The taste of soups or stews seasoned with the last of the summer’s bounty – butternut squash or pumpkin. And there is the feel in the air, that promise of a slower pace. The world seems to be saying, “Take your time, look at me, see what I can do next.”

Hopefully, I will slow down and watch. I’ll watch the Virginia creeper on my backyard fence turn to a brilliant red. I’ll study the downward motion of a particular leaf as it makes its descent. I’ll look up and watch the flying “V” of the Canada Geese as they fill the sky in their migration. I’ll light a fire, I’ll sip red wine, I’ll put my feet up and say, “Don’t you just love this weather?” And then I’ll turn the air conditioning back on and pull out my sleeveless shirts and sandals because Mother Nature was just giving us a glimpse of fall. It will be one-hundred degrees again. I know there is still that Indian summer to come; it’s one of the things I know about living in west Texas.

RICE

RICE = Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevate – the rules of treating a sprained ankle. I know this because I Googled “sprained ankle treatment” out of necessity. The treatment sounds simple, but let me tell you, from first-hand experience, it is harder than it seems.

Rest – Sounded great at first. I came home from work mid-afternoon on Friday after the unfortunate fall which resulted in THE sprained ankle and got into bed. A long afternoon nap followed by an early bedtime appeared luxurious, until the novelty wore off. Forty-eight hours after my injury (forty-four of those hours spent in bed) I am bored and ready to do something, anything, but rest.

Ice – Ice keeps the swelling down. Ice is also very, very cold. Ice is wonderful when shaken with vodka, but on one's foot it is not nearly as fun. Trying to position the ice pack on the outer side of one’s ankle is difficult, leaving it there for the prescribed twenty minutes is nearly impossible without visions of frostbite and the Byrd Expedition running through my head.

Compression – A simple ace bandage does this trick. This also keeps the swelling down as well as protecting the injured area. From the internet: “The wrap should be snug, but not cutting off circulation to the extremity. So, if your toes become cold, blue, or tingle – re-wrap!” Define “snug,” please! I spent the greater part of my waking hours comparing the color of the toes on my wrapped foot to the color of the toes on my other foot, and asking my husband, “Do they look blue to you?”

Elevate – Again, for the swelling. “A few pillows under the ankle should be fine to get the leg up enough while keeping the injured limb comfortable.” There is no such thing as comfortable! It is impossible to prop up one’s ankle without hyper-extending the knee. Another pillow under the knee helps, but every time I move I cause a pillow avalanche.

After all of this treatment my ankle is still sore, swollen, and bruised. I can’t walk without the aid of crutches and we are running out of ice. Surely this can’t last too much longer. I’m sure I’ll be fine just in time to return to work on Monday morning. What a way to spend the weekend.

Arggh...

Don’t say it, bite my tongue, resist temptation, take the high road, leave the room. I am so tired of censoring myself while others voice opinions which I think are idiotic. I was raised to be nice, polite, sensitive to others’ feelings. Am I the only civil person left in the United States of America?

This is one of those times when I really, really miss my parents. My mother always knew the right thing to say (and it was from her I learned to be so accommodating), and my daddy always stood up for me, even when he disagreed with me. I need a champion.

But, I don't really want to be that person who doesn't bite her tongue, resist temptation, or take the high road. The person I am is the person whom my parents made. I will continue to bite my tongue, resist temptation, take the high road, leave the room. I owe it to them. Thanks, Mom and Dad for making me the person I am, even if I find it very frustrating at times.

This Summer Has Kicked My Butt

In the last forty-eight hours I have worked twenty-one hours, skipped my writing time, begun a diet and an exercise plan, chewed someone out, threw a temper tantrum, developed a cold and had a cry-fest/pity-party. I have been a very busy girl. Last night I slept for twelve straight hours. I wonder if there is a correlation.

What a difference a day (or night) makes. I feel like a new person. I hope this feeling will last. My reality is – I can’t blame everything on the last forty-eight hours. This summer has kicked my butt. To use the cliché, I burned the candle at both ends, is not an understatement. My grueling summer was a result of necessity, choice, and circumstances beyond my control.

It was necessary to get up and go to work everyday, it was necessary to put in nine or ten hour days, it was necessary to work some six-day weeks, and it was necessary to do work beyond my physical capabilities in one-hundred degree weather. It was also necessary to keep my house in some semblance of order. I had to clean and do laundry and grocery shop and cook. I had to run errands and pay bills and balance my checkbook. I had to do the things necessary to maintain life as I know it.

It was my choice to put in a home garden which required me to get up a little earlier to tend. It was my choice to “have a life” – to spend evenings out with friends, to entertain, to attempt to be a good wife, mother and friend. It was my choice to say up too late reading and to get up too early to write. I chose to make some I-don’t-really-have-time-to-go trips to the lake cabin. And, most regrettably, I chose to waste time on facebook and in front of the television.

Then there were some things I had no control over. I had no control over others who unintentionally (or not) invaded my time or space. Well-meaning friends/neighbors whose “Do you have a minute?” or “Let me just tell you this one thing” sucked the life out of an entire evening. I have no control over my obligation to those I love. I am hard-wired that way. My one-hundred-three year old grandmother has been my closest friend since we were roommates in 1977 and this summer there were things out of my control because she is, well, because she is one-hundred-three years old. I have no control over the economy which has added a strain on my personal finances and added an impossible workload to my nonprofit organization. I have no control over the insane politics of the wackos who tire my patience daily. But perhaps the thing most out of my control is me. I can’t control that I am growing older. I am not twenty-one (or even 40) anymore. There are some things I can’t or shouldn’t do anymore. I shouldn’t lift an eighty pound bin of squash at the farm. I can’t stay up all night anymore (and still expect to be productive the next day). I can’t drink of fifth of tequila anymore – okay I never did that (no matter what anyone says), but you get my drift; age has changed the things I can and can’t do.

Twelve hours of sleep has made a dent in the damage done by the last forty-eight hours and by the summer. I feel so good I think I’ll take a nap!

Too Much of a Good thing

I love good company, good food, and good drink, but there comes a time when enough is enough. My daughter, my son-in-law, my baby brother, his wife, their four children (my lovely nephews and niece), my big brother and his wife have all been visiting. A visit from family typically means too much food and too much wine – this visit was no exception. After three weeks of company and food and drink I am ready for an early bedtime, some yogurt for breakfast (and perhaps lunch), and a dinner which is limited to one course (preferably a vegetable course). I love my family dearly, but I am really looking forward to a bit of normalcy – at least for a couple of days.