I’m home again after spending nearly two weeks in the hospital and a rehab facility recovering from two strokes that put me down on Oct. 28.
I’m actually getting around the house unassisted, but typing is still a major challenge so I’m writing this one carefully-considered key stroke at a time. So, when I complete a word and later decide it’s not the one I wanted, I’m leaving it in anyway because it is too physically difficult to go back and make appropriate changes. Suffice to say that the strokes did nothing to alter my inherent laziness.
I once painted an entire room the wrong color. Loretta had bought over 30 gallons of paint from which one could have made a virtual rainbow. Robin egg blue for one room, mulberry for another, dandelion for yet another. Name any color besides black and it was in the mix. The guy who mixed the paint had put a brush stroke on the lids to indicate what color was in each can. I like blue and figured it would look good in our bedroom so that’s just what I did. I found out later that it was supposed to be key lime pie, thereby ending a budding career in home décor’.
Loretta is also one of those people who believe that anytime you get a Christmas card, you’re obligated to send one back. She gets irked if we get cards delivered on Christmas Eve because she’s out of time to make the turnaround. We have three wide firstfl oor interior entranceways between kitchen, dining room, hallway, living room, etc. She uses Scotch tape to hang Christmas cards on their trim and facings throughout the house. I have yet to see anyone stopping to open the cards so they can yelp, “Hey you got a card from Aunt Maggie. She must have forgot all about me.” In which case Lo would say, “Well, it came on Christmas Eve , but I’ll send her one next year.”
Anyway, I have been getting tons of get-well cards and while I was in Telford Terrace, there in Richmond, I looked forward to mail call almost as much as I did mealtimes. The meals were, in fact, better than I’ve had in many restaurants. Nobody is going to starve to death in Telford. My roommate said he lost weight. I gained it back for him.
So every day I had a stack of cards but I did not hang them on the door face. Loretta had sneaked around and spread Telford’s address to everyone she knows . So I’ll ‘fess up. I’m really glad she did. There’s nothing quite as wonderful as knowing that people care about you just because you’re you. At least that’s what the cards led me to believe.
And I will never again laugh at a baby learning to walk. I will say this though, it’s no fun being an adult toddler because if you fall, you don’t bounce right back up and start all over on the spot. Thanks to the wonderful staff at Telford ,I didn’t fall one time because someone was always hanging onto me as I learned to walk again. And when I graduated from wheelchair to Rotolator, I felt like I had won an Olympic event.
If you don’t know what a Rotolator is, it’s a fancy walker with hand brakes that also has a seat built in. When you get tired you can lock the wheels and sit in it. Thanks to my new friend Lee Ann Adams (too pretty to be kin to me), I cruised the outdoor premises at Telford on it, but I kept calling it a rotor-tiller because it sort of felt like my Troybilt. Lee Ann has promised to come out and run the real thing when it gets dry enough to plow next spring. I told her we could grow sweet corn and now she’s ready to buy a freezer.
And speaking of get well cards, unlike Christmas cards, I don’t believe anybody expects to get one back. However if you sent one and I find out that you’re laid up, I’ll send you one then.