Venturing out in the world a
bit more, I spent 2 hours at the cat shelter on Monday
afternoon petting, brushing, and playing with Beethoven.
He's a whole different cat alone in the office in the
quiet of a late afternoon when we are closed. We had
definite quality time together. I'm hoping that by giving
him plenty of individual attention away from Reebok he'll
become confident enough to approach potential adopters
instead of sitting around like a tense gray lump and
letting everybody else charm the adopters. At least it
makes me feel useful.
Back when I was confined to
quarters and in a lot more pain than I am now I ordered
some new, front-closing, bras online. That was the same
day I ordered A Scottish Naturalist: The Notes and
Sketches of Charles St. John and The Natural
History of Moray. Doesn't everybody buy undergarments
and used books after a shoulder injury? The Natural
History of Moray has to come from the UK so I don't
expect it for awhile. The bras I wanted right away as I
only have one front-closing bra and I managed to rip it -
I'm wearing it with a tear that keeps getting bigger. It
will be months before I can fasten a bra behind my back
again. So Monday's mail brought a postcard from the bra
place saying they were backordered and expected in stock
May 17 and A Scottish Naturalist: The Notes and
Sketches of Charles St. John!
Not happy about the bras but
ecstatic about the book I made a pot of tea and sat down
to see which of my favorite parts of The Natural
History and Wild Sport of the Highlands had made it
into the anthology. I noted with satisfaction the mention
of short-eared owls and rats in the table of contents.
The owl part is intact. However, they've edited the rat
part! Editing the rat part?!? How dare they? It has the
part about their egg-stealing technique but leaves out
the escalating riff on how they raid his larder, eat all
his game, and run over his bread and how inferior the
invasive Hanoverian rats are to the far less vile English
rats. On the plus side, St. John's watercolor sketches of
birds are delightful. The book is a find. The bras are a
no-show.
Tuesday's project was to venture
forth to Walmart in search of front-closing bras. Despite
my inability to steer a shopping cart with one hand, I
manage to score the only 2 front-closing bras in my size.
What's with this bra shortage anyway? I pick up a get
well card for Roy, some chocolate for Barb, and a couple
of other things and checkout pleased with myself for
succeeding at my big shopping outing. I load the stuff
into the car and turn the key. Nothing happens. The
battery is dead. I trudge back across the parking lot to
the pay phone because I have left my cellphone in my
underwear drawer recharging. Who knew I'd need it to buy
underwear? AAA estimates that with the current schedule a
truck will be there to jump start my car in approximately
49 minutes. 49 minutes?
I plunk myself down on a bench and
watch people try to maneuver shopping carts full of
paving blocks, fertilizer, garden tools and other obvious
signs of spring toward their vehicles. Someone asks if
I'm waiting for the bus to downtown Lowell. Nope, just
AAA. A woman pushing two small kids and a lot of
merchandise in her cart passes by. The little girl shouts
loudly enough to be heard in downtown Lowell "Mommy, look
at the big fat clown!" I look up to see a clown and
discover the kid means me! I start laughing hysterically
and respond "Yes, I'm fat and you're not!" The kid
squeals with delight and asks "Are you fat?" "You bet I
am!" say I. The Mom gives me a dirty look and tries to
push the cart faster as the kid keeps asking me
questions. I knew I shouldn't have worn that bright
yellow Hawaiian shirt without a bra! Wonder if I can get
a job in a circus.
The cars starts right up with the
jump. The AAA kid assures me that if I just drive around
for awhile to charge it, the battery will be fine. That
was not to be. It held the charge for a couple more
starts and finally went dead in my parking space at home.
Well, that determined Wednesday's big outing. Boy, this
shut-in is getting out and about. Meanwhile, the
chocolate melted and I lost the get well card.
Apparently Wednesday morning is
less hectic for AAA than Tuesday afternoon 'cause the
truck was here within minutes. As soon as the car started
I drove to a garage where they were able to look at it
right away. That's as opposed to the Honda Barn, which
couldn't squeeze me in until at least Monday. To install
a battery? Sheesh. Anyway, the mechanic I took it to
looked at it immediately and even though he had to
order the battery (evidently not from the same
catalog I ordered the bras from) my car was ready in the
time it took to cross the street to Dunkin Donuts, eat a
bagel, drink a small coffee and cross the street again.
With the whole rest of Wednesday
free and the car running again, it was off to the cat
shelter to pet Beethoven. Suddenly I was on my knees on
the stairs in front of Stacy. Apparently I can't climb
the stairs and look up to talk to Stacy at the same time.
My knee is bruised and I'm embarrassed. My arm hurts,
which I think is what triggered the falling up the stairs
thing in the first place. I don't know what to say. I
claim to be OK and go on up to visit the tense gray lump.
I'm petting him in the main room
with other cats around. He relaxes and even purrs a
little. It's going OK. Suddenly there's a loud noise as
two other cats get in a fight and land together on the
floor. Beethoven tenses up and hisses at me. He needs to
go back into his cage. I realize that I can't lift him
with one arm. I didn't have this problem on Monday
because no other cats were out and he simply wandered
back to his cage on his own when we were done relating.
Chris puts him back for me and I slink off to brood about
how useless I am and to worry about how I probably have
some horrible neurological disease that makes me trip
over nothing. From useful to useless so
quickly!
Today, though, is the red letter
day. I started physical therapy. Of course, I had to make
that into an adventure too. The PT was assessing me for
range of motion, measuring with a protractor, - I think
the last time I saw a protractor was in high school
geometry class - and asked me to clasp my hands together
in front and raise my arms. Owwwww! I turned pale. I
started to sweat profusely. My stomach felt like I would
puke. Yes, folks, I was about to faint! She managed to
get me to lie down and I don't think I actually lost
consciousness but I was pretty woozy. I recovered after a
couple of glasses of water and just lay there with the
ice pack and the electro-stim thing on my shoulder for
the rest of the time. Boy was I embarrassed. The PT says
pain can do that, something to do with the sympathetic
nervous system, but I still feel like a wimp and an
idiot. On the upside, after the electro-stim I felt way
better. I even typed a couple of paragraphs with two
hands before I had to rest my arm again.
Maybe I should rename my journal
"Memoirs of a Pain Wimp" - with horns. Or "How I Trip
Over Nothing and Faint at the Drop of a Hat". Roll over,
Beethoven. Tell Reebok the news. How dare they edit the
rat part!?!
