And now something scary.

From NASA, Earth’s temp progression:



I can write any word you give me backwards and in cursive.  With a couple seconds of extra thought, I can almost always do it upside down and backwards, too.  That is why I love the girl in this video so much – instead of writing, though, she’s speaking the words backwards.  Very impressive!

There is no try.

It is almost February and Postaday2012 has not exactly gotten off to a smooth start.  I’d like to say that as of today I will put something up every day, but I’m not sure that is a promise I can keep!  There is a lot going on right now: the girls’ birthdays are this week and next, my parents will be visiting, I just spent a long and glorious weekend with my best 10 friends from college, we’re getting our upstairs bedrooms painted, and well, it’s already time to start planning for summer and oh, so much more.

We’ll give it a try, though…even though Yoda tells me I can do better than that.

Hell in my heel.

Today I had two appointments back to back: physical therapy and my follow up appt. with the podiatrist.  PT was great, as always.  Heel stretches, jumping and hopping, strengthening and stability exercises, with the regular final touch of eight minutes of deep heat ultrasound. Over the past month or so, the pain has moved from the ankle/tendon area to a pretty localized area on my heel.  I told Dr. K. this and he poked and prodded a bit, then told me I have “graduated” from Achilles Tendonitis to Plantar Fascia pain.  Happy graduation! The next step, which I was not expecting, was injection therapy – a long needle filled with numbing solution and cortisone (I think).

Holy heel, did that needle hurt.  I think I winced outloud. When it was over, I put my shoe back on and walked out of that office pain free.  Amazing.

And here is your lanyard, I replied.

I found this poem yesterday on Susan Cain’s wonderful website.

The Lanyard (by Billy Collins)

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

January. At last.

As much as I love the Christmas season and all that goes with it, when we are finally settled back home at the beginning of January, I feel an almost overwhelming sense of relief.  Granted, winter is still new and there’s a lot more of it to come, but January lacks the rush of life that seems to start shortly after Halloween.  It’s a trade off, really…the dreariness of January and February in exchange for the planning, travelling, buying, making, worrying, cooking and cleaning that the holiday season usually means.  Even for the most organized planners among us, even when everything is taken care of ahead of time, there is still…so…much…to…do.

January still brings with it much to do, but at a less frenetic pace.   I don’t think about resolutions that much anymore, but if I were to get specific, I would say:

  • Get my foot/ankle/heel/Achilles tendon healed and back in working order.  This has been a disappointingly slow process, especially when I feel I’ve been doing everything right.
  • Meet – no, stay ahead of – my writing deadlines.  Look for more freelance writing opportunities.
  • Read from a real book every day.
  • Purge the unnecessaries from this house.
  • Arrange for all the rooms to be painted and the upstairs bathroom to be finished by May 1st. There.  I set a date.

The gate is wide open and there’s a light over my shoulder.  Time to heal the foot and get some s#$@ done this year.