This - New Traditions:
You may remember that the Christmas season speaks volumes to the child in me, i.e., I adore it all - the flowers, the gifts, the wrappings, the music, the food, the tree. Name it and I love it. But circumstances change and sometimes one must start some new traditions.
We have lovely plans for Christmas dinner Our friend from South Africa has joined us for several years and will be here again, as well as a young couple from Lebanon. He has been a family friend for years, but she is his brand new bride. With both families currently in Lebanon, they will come to dinner with us. (Hope we don't ruin them forever for American Christmases. They are Druze, so we have no idea what they expect.) Mitchell will do most of the cooking, but he says he will allow me to make a pie and season the pork roast.
With the addition of the harp, we no longer have a place for the "big" Christmas tree. It always went here:
That - It's my Blogaversary!
When I pulled up this screen I saw that this is my 400th post. Thank you for hanging in and reading the drivel. Thanks so much for your support of the past several years, and especially the past two months. Wish I had planned a big party for us, but as part of my decision to get back to normal, here is a commitment to post at least twice a week.
Report from Beowulf*
Rehab is going very well according to Beowulf, my physical therapist. Actually, I can see tiny gains every day. I finally got to the painful part last week but, thanks to miracle of good drugs, even that is bearable. I have nearly 100% of the motion back (passively) and am working on active motion. That means that Beowulf can get my arm all the way up to 170 degrees and external rotation to about 80 degrees (I need 180 and 90, respectively.) I can now reach forward and use a mouse, but can't pick up that cup of tea sitting next to me. I have no strength at all and they want to keep it that way for another month. By January I think things may actually start getting normal again.
* You remember Beowulf ... from English lit. "When that Apryl in its sura sota, the drought of March has pierced to the roote, and bathed every vein in sweet liquor" or some such ... He was the hero of the middle English epic poem who ripped off Grendel's arm in battle and won the day. Call me Grendel.