Random Sunday Observations

There may be more welcome things on a very hot afternoon that a very cold beer, there MAY be.


The wait for the next book in a series of novels you are hooked on is endless.  And frustrating.

The amount of mental energy available NEVER matches the task at hand.  (At least in my case.  Rarin' to go when it's time to sleep, and worn out when there's stuff to do...)

Some days your optimistic approach to the clearance clothing racks is rewarded.  Other days, you leave convinced that decent clothes may never be obtained at reduced cost. (Today was a good day.  I scored a really nice peasant blouse for $17 at the BX...)

The odds of your voice failing you are directly proportional to how exposed your voice part is in the difficult section of the anthem...

Even before the season officially changes, you can see changes in the quality of light, the color of the sky, the texture of the air... here lately, hints of Autumn are everywhere.

I'm one of the youngest 55 year old ladies I know.  Lou Kohlman is another young one.

Physical therapy is an ongoing process...

The older you get, the more built in barometers you have.

Sometimes I let people think they've convinced me of the truth of  an untruth.  They need to believe it so badly, I just let them go on. Not my job to call them on it.

For all its advances, modern technology still behaves like a two year old when you ask two different manufacturers' products to interact with one another.

For every year you age past 20, time speeds up by a factor of 10 every year, until you are like me, in the 2010's thinking the '80s was only 15 years ago...

The number of things on the "to do" list will always exceed the amount of time available to accomplish them.

Any witty thing you think of will fly right out of your mind the minute you sit down to write it!

It's Been A Month...

Exactly one month ago, on July 10, I fell while out walking and gravely insulted my right hamstring. 
The bruise I got from that fall succeeded in creeping out more people than most zombies do. 
The bruise is completely gone now.  I am almost back to normal.  The leg still tires a little sooner than I'd like, and I am still going to Physical Therapy twice a week, but that may change soon.  Each time I go, I am given more difficult exercises to do. 
My walks are still not up to the length or the speed I want them to be.  I walk about a mile and a half each day now, and I was doing four or five miles before I fell.  I was also managing to maintain a quicker pace than I can right now.  It's getting better, though.  Saturday and today were both longer and faster walks than I've been able to do since the fall.  I am also back to my free weight workouts four times a week, plus a few exercises added by my physical therapist. 

I'll get there, it's just going to take awhile.  I don't want to push it too hard and end up straining the muscle, or God forbid, falling again.

Dribbles of Poetry

Rainy Thoughts
CKArmistead 2015

Today I saw as I passed by
A large rain puddle full of sky.
The majestic clouds and hints of blue
All on the surface of the water flew.
I have to be mindful of the ground I tread,
But Nature still showed me the wonder above my head.

Time Flies
CK Armistead 2015

The young man standing there
So tall of stature
And dignified of mien,
Was only yesterday, I swear,
A sloppy, slouchy,
Happy go lucky teen.
When did he learn to stand so straight?
When appeared that calm confidence?
Time seems to have a galloping gait,
And to have left me behind long since.
Proud I am to see him so,
 Intelligent, and kind
Sure of where he wants to go,
And with a thoughtful turn of mind.
Well I remember the bright young scamp
That asked for a sticker at the desk
Who sat close at reading time,
Said he liked our stories best,
And long ago stole this teacher's heart of mine.

That's what's been rambling around in my head wanting to be written down lately.
Hope you enjoyed them.

Three Weeks Later...

As of Aug 1, three weeks after the fall.

It has actually been a little more than three weeks since I pulled a stupid and went walking in the wrong shoes, thus causing myself to fall and strain my right hamstring.  If you have seen the earlier posts about this misadventure, you have seen the bruise in all its technicolor glory.  This is how it looks this week, almost gone.  The last remaining bits are mostly yellow.

I have had three Physical Therapy sessions, and things are going very well.  Swelling is down, and I am able to do more things, wear the snugger fitting jeans, etc.  Adding activities back to the schedule slowly, being careful not to overdo it.   The medical types said it would take MONTHS for the bruising and discoloration to go away.  Not so.  The PT has done wonders. 

Any of you in the 405, if you ever need physical therapy, I highly recommend R & S Optimal Rehab.  They have an office right here in Moore, so it's very convenient, and they are very good at what they do.  (They also take TriCare, obviously.)

I am working hard to get myself back in shape, because I have a couple of trips coming up, and both will involve a lot of walking.  (Also sitting, which has been a problem until recently...)

In other adventures with my aging self, I am going to get more of the dyed hair cut off today, so we may finally find out just exactly how gray I am.  I will try to post a photo.  I don't know if it'll depress me too much or not.  I just really hate the expense, the smell, and the fuss of dying my hair. 

Back view of the hair with most of the colored part cut off.

Front side view of hair with a lot of the color grown out.  Matt says it's "sparkly".

So far, the gray doesn't look too bad.  I am afraid once the rest of the color grows out at the top it's going to be really white on the one side and dark on the other, but we'll see.  Doesn't bother me at all right now.
Please do excuse the poor selfie.  I am pretty tired after my busy Monday, and not looking forward to TWO fillings at the dentist tomorrow, so I look about as wiped out as I feel. 

That's about all the excitement I can stand for one day.  My leg and I are going to retire to our couch with a good book and a heating pad.

A Bit of A Book Review : Go Set A Watchman by Harper Lee

There has been much controversy about this book, about whether Harper Lee ever really intended to let it be published, or whether she is being taken advantage of. 
I don't know about that, but I do know that the book does not seem to be an earlier draft of To Kill A Mockingbird.  It is very much its own story.

Mockingbird gives us a good foundation for this story.  This one is, perhaps, not as compelling, not as much of a strong statement about justice, but it is the story of a young woman coming to terms with her past, her heritage, and her hero worship of her father.  It is an uncomfortable story, about a very uncomfortable time and place, and a lot of uncomfortable realizations for this young woman whom we met as Scout, when she was but a child.
Scout's a young woman now, 26, I believe we are told.  This book fills in a few details about how she grew up.  It also shows us her struggle to realize that the father she idolizes is a human being.  Most children get this message early on, but Atticus being who he is, she never sees the feet of clay.  Until now.  Until an ugly issue threatens to tear the whole town apart, and she sees her father doing things she doesn't understand and will not condone.

I think perhaps the decision to publish this book was taken because the issue of race is STILL divisive in this country, and this book invites conversation about just what is the best way to deal with the undoubted injustices that have been done against African Americans.  The book doesn't argue a case for one way or another, but suggests that people on all sides be willing to listen to one another, really HEAR each other, and try to find the best way forward for EVERYONE. 

That is what I got from reading this book.  I, too, was sickened to think Attticus Finch would ever join a "citizen's council" or sit quietly while a racist idiot speaks, but there's a method to his seeming madness, and he will ALWAYS do what he thinks is in the best interest of the ENTIRE community, not just others like himself.  Perhaps, like Scout, we all have to be willing to let Atticus be a human being.  A person who does not always make the right decisions, who does not unfailingly take the difficult and controversial stance so publicly as he did in Mockingbird.  None of us is perfect.  We are all, in fact, human, and that very humanity is what we need in order to really understand each other.

I have heard the arguments Atticus makes for the "Yankee" approach to desegregation being wrong headed and too sudden.  (Things in the South have to happen slowly, or hatred and resentment just distill and get stronger yet.  I think we are seeing some of that today...)  My own father made that argument while observing the debacle in Little Rock.  In Fayetteville, where he grew up, desegregation started with the kindergarteners, and each year added another "generation" of integrated classes.  There was none of the violence or protest you saw in Little Rock.  Perhaps because Fayetteville is a university town, perhaps more enlightened people were living there, I don't know, but Pop said Coach Blossom, who had become superintendent of schools, said it worked because the kids got to know each other, liked each other, and worked and played together despite their parents. Kindergarteners are still young enough to realize that a kid is just a kid, somebody to play with.
I do not know.  Every school I ever attended was integrated, except the high school I graduated from.  There were perhaps two black faces in  our senior class, but lots of brown ones.  It made me a little nervous at first, coming from Compton as I did, to see almost no black faces in class.  Most of my friends had been black, including Nadine, who moved out before we did.  (Her father pleading with my Pop to please move, "because it just isn't safe here anymore for anybody, and my family and I really like and respect your family, and we just don't want to see you hurt.") Nadine was smarter in math than me, could run faster, jump higher, and look better doing it.  I loved her and I envied her.  We sang together in glee club, played handclap games on the playground, and pretended to be all sorts of things many afternoons in the old neighborhood.  We completely lost track of her after they moved, and I have mourned that loss a long time. 
(Nadine, if you happen to read this, I STILL have stupid hair.  It won't do a thing ANYBODY tells it, and so I have cut most of it off!)
 Perhaps I should say here that my Pop was one of the whites who stood up to the block busting real estate practices in Compton.  He talked to the frightened neighbors who were hell bent on selling and moving out before the "place was overrun".  Pop told them that these were good people who bought the first two houses in our neighborhood that sold to black families.  He told them that these folks just wanted all the same things you want.  A safe place with decent schools to raise their kids and live in peace.  He said that if they could afford to buy a home in the neighborhood, you could bet they'd take care of it, probably better than a lot of the white families did.  He was awfully disappointed in our neighbors who "white flighted" out of there.  He was right, because the first two families contained my friend Kathy, and my friend Nadine.  Both families were hard-working, kept the house and yard beautiful, and those kids were well behaved and SMART in school.  We had some good times before the whole place just crumbled. Perhaps others who were older than I at the time will remember it differently, but these are my memories, clouded by time and distance as they are.

Compton didn't suffer from racial unrest so much as from an influx of gang activity that was greater than the local police force could handle.  The danger wasn't because of race, but because of crime.  (I realize in some minds the two go together, and perhaps race was a factor, but for the first few integrated years, there were no such problems. )

The above are all just my opinions, based entirely on my own admittedly limited experience, but I do think that this book is rather timely given the fact that problems between black Americans and white Americans are STILL an issue today, when we SHOULD be doing much better at getting along than we are.
The book is uncomfortable, the subject is uncomfortable, and perhaps that means we all need to look long and hard at our cherished attitudes and do a lot more listening, real listening, and less talking at each other. I for one believe that love is required. Love is difficult sometimes, but always worth the effort. 
As I said above, Your Mileage May Vary.