As much as I love a spontaneous change of plans, a slip in the mud and a bum shoulder to follow felt too much like a road trip getting canceled while literally sitting in your packed car, backed into the driveway and ready to go. My first thought while trying to maneuver my way out of the mud, and the thought that seemed to predispose all others for the next several days, was what was my summer was NOW going to look like now that I had injured myself; an injury that would likely result in handing over some of my independence in the months ahead. THIS was certainly not what I had planned. This was my first summer of owning a mountain place and I had visions of staying there most of the summer, with a few trips back to Kansas for some scheduled commitments and a whole lot of garden watering. What I didn’t count on was a few helpless weeks of mainlining “Breaking Bad,” (which by they way I finished and am still having dreams about drug lords and blue ice…), wearing the same shirt day after day after day and asking anyone close by to please put my hair up in a pony tail. Life happens and plans change and it’s not all bad…. it can even be a good thing.
One of my friends and blog follower, LaMont Eanes, commented on one of my original “Oh poor me, I fell in the mud and broke my shoulder” posts and said,
“All experiences are good, although they may not feel like it at the time.”
Thank you for that, LaMont. With those words in mind, I suppose you could say I’ve been searching high and low for the silver lining that I was just sure was hiding somewhere under my now fading bruises. I’ve discovered, yet again, if I just let go, of both the search and the expectation, that the little gem of a silver lining will somehow find you but it helps if you’re keeping an eye out for it. Watchful eye or not, I’m simply not a very patient patient.
Yesterday, while on an urban walk with Thomas and Brooke, that silver lining was so big that I had to exercise caution not trip over it (I’m much more thoughtful with my gait these days…). I was spending the day with Thomas and Brooke, which was a gift in itself and something I’ve only enjoyed on my visits to Portland the past 3 years or for the brief and scheduled moments over Christmas. A few months ago, they made the decision to move back to Kansas after Thomas’ law school graduation in Portland. A little over a week ago, the two weary travelers and their travel tired kitties landed on my door step in the middle of the night after 37 hours of traveling. They are staying with me until they find their own space in the city, which sadly and selfishly for me has already happened and moving day is right around the corner. Emery and Miles had made their move out of Kansas a short 2 weeks ago and still feeling their absence, I was thrilled with the idea of refilling of my now conspicuously large nest.
I knew of these relocation plans before I took my shoulder dip into the mud and had made my own plans around them. I’d return from CO after getting Emery and Miles settled in, get Thomas and Brooke settled into my house, and would high tail it back to CO as soon as it felt right, where I’d await their visit to see me in the mountains. That was the plan and from where I was sitting at the time, it sounded pretty good. But life happens and plans change and I’m learning, albeit slowly, that it’s a whole lot easier to roll with it and see what it has to offer rather than wasting time bemoaning the fact that the plans got changed in the first place. One would think I would have mastered this lesson by now given my many aborted plans that have magically given way to decisions that have given me some of my greatest joys in life Case in point, my purchasing a mountain home when last summer’s mountain plans fell apart.
For the past week or so, I’ve gotten to simply hang with my son and his wife, without the rush that holiday visits always bring. I’ve been able to sit on my porch every morning in my jammies and drink coffee with Brooke and talk or not talk, but always appreciative of the company. I’m blessed. I’ve also been able to, by necessity, let Brooke cook for me, clean for me and remind me to take it easy, go lay down and can I get you anything? If that isn’t a little piece of heaven, I’m not sure what is. Again, I’m blessed beyond words at the nurturing she’s given me… an ongoing hug with a spoonful of love. What an unplanned joy having them both in my house has brought me and with a duration that’s long enough that we’ve got the time to do all sorts of things or do nothing at all… both good choices.
My broken shoulder has kept me in Kansas as I’m not able to grip a steering wheel with two hands yet, and those I-70 winds around Russell, KS are near impossible to maneuver one-handed. I’m beginning to see the terrible timing of all of this as the universe’s impeccable and perfect timing and a gift to me that presented itself in the nontraditional wrappings of a navy blue cloth sling that currently supports my arm. You are so right, Lamont, it is all good, although it didn’t necessarily feel like it at the time. I’m also convinced that good cooking, a lot of nurturing and a very full heart are integral to the healing of a broken shoulder, or a broken anything for that matter.
|Screened in porch time…|
|Kansas City urban walk about with these two…|
|These two in my kitchen… it just feels right.|
|Homemade tortilla soup… good for the soul… and the shoulder…|