Life in the fast lane...

June 26, 2013 – Wednesday

67 degrees/clear/calm

Pentoga Road

Happy Birthday goes out to Mom. At 86 years of age, Mom is a model superstar of senior citizenry. Ever ready to head out the door in the name of active living, Mom always has her car keys in hand and along with her best friends, Phyllis and Rachael, zooms all over Terre Haute, Indiana, shopping, attending various activities, going to church, or enjoying a meal.

Mom lives in a very nice senior high rise and is quite active in her community. She’s Chair of the Leisure Time Committee, is head of the Decorating Committee for her floor’s lobby, collects and counts the church offerings, checks in library books when they arrive from the county facility, and honestly, who knows what other activities Mom has her fingers in? She’s a shaker and mover and anyone who wants to hang out with Mom better strap on their athletic shoes and be in good shape.

Oh, people ask where I get my energy to hike and walk? Until a heart attack last year, Mom still hoofed two miles daily. Since, she’s cut down a bit, but still walks daily and can otherwise be found in the exercise room working on the Elliptical machine.

Happy Birthday, Mama. We love you!!

Speaking of being in shape, I was in miserable condition on Tuesday. The knee was swollen, red, hurt, stiff, and if someone would have given me a knife and a piece of leather to chew on, I’d have considered freeing it from the rest of my body.

I’m seldom sick, hardly ever hurt, and have always had the tendency to secretly scoff at those who were any less than 100%. I’ve heard that God has a way of teaching us lessons, making us humble…

Boy, have I become humble during the past five weeks with this knee.  I think I assumed that I was some sort of super human, that injuries happened to others but never to me, and if something unforeseen should occur, I’d bounce back as though it never happened.

So, I’m learning a lesson on humility. At age sixty-one, I guess one can say better late than never. The knee should heal and hopefully, I’ll be a bit more humble in the future.

We took Brutus to the veterinarian on Tuesday. He developed a bump on his inner groin that had become the size of a golf ball on steroids. I fretted and worried, both about his health and the cost. In the end, it was fluid caused by an injury of some sort. He probably was running and came down on a stick. Three ounces of water was excised from the growth and the doctor assured us that he will be just fine. He also sent a million dollars worth of antibiotics and other medications home with us.

Brutus had a bath, was brushed, then vacuumed, before going to the vets on Tuesday. He loves all three.

We talked about having Brutus neutered and that will happen in the next few weeks. We were distraught to hear that he’ll have to wear a large collar after for a week. He knocks things over with his huge head WITHOUT a collar, what will he do with while wearing one? We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

The carved tree trunk outside the veteranarian's office

Mark, Sheri, and Sarah, stopped to visit last night. Sarah’s back home for the next month from Wyoming and I’m looking forward to talking with her. She was a student of mine while I taught at Sheldon Jackson College in Alaska and currently teaches fourth grade. She’s a sweetie pie.

Sargie’s back to work today so Brutus and I will be on our own. Other than grade a few assignments, I’m not sure what’s on the agenda. The garden is full of weeds, but I’m not sure I’m up for that chore yet. The contents of the barn need to be put away, but with the knee, even that task seems daunting.  I’m currently reading a book about a young man who paddled the Mississippi River in a canoe from beginning to end. Though I’ve entertained doing the same in a kayak, the more humble part of me dictates that will probably never happen.

Well, whatever, it’s time to grab another cup of coffee and think some deep thoughts. After all, a man’s work is never done.

Brutus was getting impatient to go upstairs to bed last night. He sleeps on the floor at the foot of our bed.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…