Rituals by Diane Burton

Are there certain things you always do or don’t do? Like not wearing white until Memorial Day or after Labor Day. Hey, who cares anymore? What about putting up the Christmas tree before Thanksgiving? Dress in costume for Halloween?

One of mine is not to turn on the furnace until November. Broke that one this week when Hubs looked at the thermostat and said, “It’s 60 degrees in here.” Until then, we’d been layering up—a sweater, sweatshirt, long pants, socks, wrapping up in an ultra-soft throw. Gray skies and rain had a lot to do with turning on the furnace besides the inside temp.

In the spring, I don’t turn on the air conditioning until I’m sweating. Hubs tolerates heat better than I do (while I can put up with more cold). Besides, you can only take off so much. We have great cross-ventilation and ceiling fans so I can wait on the AC, hopefully until June. My rationale with the furnace/AC thing is economics. As newlyweds, we saved wherever we could until we could buy our first house. I guess my Great Depression-era parents had a lot to do with my penny pinching. Waste not, want not was Mom's mantra. All those years of saving are now paying off in retirement.

Another of my rituals is reading before I go to sleep. Before I started writing, I used to read everywhere and any time. It's different now. I have too many stories to write to take the time to read. Still, I love to read, even if it's only a few pages at night.

Grabbing a cup of coffee in the morning before I begin writing is more habit than ritual. Does the caffeine help? Maybe it wakes up my Muse. She’s a lazy thing in the morning. But when she’s in the zone, so am I. Funny how that works.

One of my new rituals—done under protest—was prescribed by my physical therapist. Get up and move every hour. In theory, this is good. Sitting too long stiffens the joints and muscles. It also interrupts my Muse, who then takes off and goofs around. Like my old dogs, she doesn’t come when called. Obviously, my therapist is not a writer. He doesn’t realize how long it takes to get back in the groove. Is he satisfied if I get up, go to the bathroom, grab another cup of coffee,  then get back to work? Of course not. He wants me to do exercises! That’s guaranteed to make the Muse disappear for hours. But I guess if I want to walk without pain, I’ll have to adhere to this new ritual.

How about you? Any rituals?

Diane Burton writes science fiction romance, romantic suspense, and mysteries. She's currently working on the 3rd book in her Alex O'Hara mystery series,The Case of the Meddling Mama. Diane blogs here on the 30^th of each month, with Paranormal Romantics on the 13^th, and on her own blog on Mondays.

Learning To Go Backward In Order To Go Forward by Margo Hoornstra

Something remarkable happened to me the other day. I walked into the grocery store. Plus, once I got inside, I walked all around as well.

 

Not that big a deal, you say? It was to me.

For the better part of last year, I wasn’t able to do that. Walk, I mean. Not without a tremendous amount of pain in both knees. Even those times when I decided to grin and bear it, my right knee had developed a tendency to collapse out from under me.

My trips to the grocery store, that most basic of activities, changed drastically. I used to walk behind the cart, pause here and there, pick up items to buy – or not – and move on. Suddenly, instead of walking behind the cart, I was in it, rather on the attached bench type seat with my husband doing the pushing and, lucky guy, all the walking. A minor inconvenience to be sure. More important, I have to tell you, never had I felt so out of control. So powerless. All I could do as we moved along the aisle was sit and watch everything slide by, and call out when I wanted to stop to look at something. Occasionally, I’d hobble over to the shelf myself, but not often.

For a number of years, my husband and I would get home from work, change our clothes, grab the dog-a kid or two if they were interested-and go. Running, jogging, hiking, walking three, four or five miles, more on week ends. Rain, snow or sunshine, the weather didn’t matter. The miles did. Yeah. We were those people, I’m afraid.

 

Such a basic function, walking. Now I couldn’t do it anymore.

Enter the wonders of medical science. I won’t bore you with the details. My doctor prescribed physical therapy among other things, and I was all over it. Cumbersome braces one for each knee, exercises, taping procedures I learned to do myself, a series of weekly shots to replace cartilage type fluids.

Which brings me to the theme of our Roses of Prose essays this month.

Part of my PT regimen is walking backward on a treadmill up to a half hour at a time, three or four days a week. Turned out, among other things, my derriere was underdeveloped. Yeah. Never thought I’d hear that one in my lifetime, but there it was.

From a muscular standpoint my physical therapist was quick to explain.


Oh.

Such a basic function, walking. One we take for granted, I certainly did. Until I couldn’t do it anymore.


This is not to say there weren't setbacks and frustrations. Baby step advances and giant step retreats. Rare, okay not so rare, bouts of whining to those who would listen. It would be nice to report all the pain is gone. However, I'm old (ahem) enough to know that isn't going to happen. Doesn't matter. I will take what I can get.

 

Thank goodness doing something as simple as going backward would help me be able to go forward again.


Happy New Year. All!
Margo



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