Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Texting Ma last December at 12:44 am

And then there are those moments, usually late afternoon, or late at night, like now, when I get up from the recliner or from the floor and realize suddenly on the way to the kitchen, hey, I can walk. My legs are back.

And so I pace the upstairs...kitchen to christmas tree...across the cork floors, over the ugly rugs and uneven patches of flooring, past the cat condo, past the couch, the table, the cat toys, the litter box, the backdoor , the recliner,  back and forth, back and forth I pace happily on my easy legs, relax into the fluid motion of walking, trust my legs will hold me up, will walk me and take me effortlessly where I need to go. It feels so good, dreamily good, and I start thinking maybe this is it

Maybe I got my legs back

Maybe it was just a silly fluke

Or virus and now it's done

But then I feel the first pull in my left leg,  then another, and before I know it, it's the same old dance

But I keep going because maybe it will work itself out, go back to the way it was, so I pace backwards, back and forth backwards 

and my entire upright leggy life plays backward before me, in film snippets

Look: there I am walking my dollies up and down the driveway in a stroller

And look at that: Can you see me walking Batiste down to the corner, to Balsam, and back? See how happy I look? And there... that's me, you, and dad walking along the beach in Oregon on the way to Evergreen. See? Eventually I have to stop pacing, forward or backward, 

I have pushed my luck, faced facts,  but I'll do it again tomorrow

               

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—What I Overheard a twenty-something LumberMetroSexual say to a much older woman in line at the Whole Foods in Edina this afternoon...

...after he allowed her to go ahead of him:


"Yes, I'm sure. No, I'm not in a hurry. Nope. I've learned that it works better to not rush. To take my time with everything. It's just better over all to not rush anything. Life's just too short for that."

Writing with Rox WEEKLY—Come weather

Come rain or snow or sun or sleet or 

                winter or summer or fall or ice or spring or fog or snain or wind or rainshine or 

sunstorm or hail or slippery roads or detours or delayed flights or mudslides or broken shovels or wingless snow angels, or trips to Trader Joes, or running out of salt, or wet socks, or bad boots, or Raynaud's, or plantar fasciitis, or power outages, or soggy carpets, or frozen pipes or cracking skin or fear of a falling roof, or fear of falling, or ice damns (damn them!) or lousy take-out or weather related bad hair days or dry ink or empty wells or deep hunger or or  or …..

we’ll write through it.