In applause and support of Fourthborn’s ongoing efforts in her home and studio [as well as my own], I give you this. Having spent an hour or so analyzing, comparison shopping, purchasing containers, and then actually corralling most of my crochet thread on Saturday, I can attest to this. I would be 100% done with that task, were it not for the fact that JoAnn’s was closed when I thought I would pop in at the last minute. Apparently the last minute had come and gone without bothering to inform me. Rude! But just the anticipation of checking this task off my list was enough to inspire me to brainstorm a better storage solution for my button collection.
I’ll get the makings for that soon, possibly after the massage I thought I would be getting last night, but then she called to say that we were locked out of the building, and could we reschedule? It was a blessing in disguise, because it gave me more time to tackle Mount Washmore, and also time for a leisurely stroll through the produce department. I brought home bananas, strawberries, grapes, carrots, and spinach, plus divided storage containers and a couple of new dish wands. Once I got home last night, carefully not stepping on the new part of my sidewalk[!] or the new end of my driveway[!!], I sliced up a generous portion of strawberries and enjoyed them with a sprinkling of Demerara sugar and a splash of goat’s milk.
I weighed myself at work yesterday. I’ve lost another five pounds, making it eleven since I went off cow’s milk less than two weeks ago. I’m not dieting. I’m not starving myself. I eat when I’m hungry, and I don’t when I’m not. It’s working out to four or five small meals a day plus the odd snack, plus I am like unto the proverbial racehorse every couple of hours. I no longer feel like weeping when I drive by a Braum’s, I’m not craving chocolate (which I can have), and I haven’t had a Cherry Coke in over ten days. Haven’t needed one.
I can’t wait to see what my massage therapist has to say when she works on me tonight. She asked me last time if I had lost weight, and I told her no. Turns out she was right!
The chiropractor says that the problem with my right hip is the hip flexor. I have exercises to do before bedtime (three gentle stretches with each leg), and when I wake, and whenever I get the chance during the day. He’s not sure if it’s related to that 5,000 mile drive when Dad died, or to my broken femur five years ago, or to something unknown, but my right leg is shorter than my left because all of the muscles in that thigh have shortened. Essentially, they have their arms folded and their backs turned and are pointedly not speaking to one another.
My theory? It’s rust. Some of it physical, and probably most of it psychological. Definitely something I’ll talk over with my massage therapist. She is amazingly intuitive. And in the meantime, there are grapes which are calling my name. And bananas. And good stuff like that.
Those exercises? I thought they would be easy-peasy. I have two variations: one standing in a doorway, and one where I lie on my back and try to insert my kneecap into my nose. Surprisingly, that one is easier. I managed three reps with each leg before getting out of bed this morning. And I won’t stop trying to do the other, which will raise fewer eyebrows if I stand and do it in my cubicle at work.
Parting thought? A blouse I love, which would gap in front were there not two buttons spaced closely in the danger zone, is flowing primly over my pulchritude this morning.
I think that calls for some celebratory knitting!
- Five years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!