by jphilo | Nov 3, 2023 | See Jane Dance!, See Jane Dig!
Swapping out Jane’s dancing for Jane’s digging has been keeping me sane for a few miserable weeks.
The misery began with back pain that I thought was the normal stuff I’ve dealt with for decades. But it turned out to be a pinched nerve that requires bed rest, physical therapy appointments, and exercises simple enough for a kindergartener to zip through with ease, but feel like climbing Mount Everest to me.
The worst misery came with the word that my last living uncle, the one after whom Uncle Tim in the West River Mysteries is modeled, died. We knew it was coming, but it came sooner than we knew it would. That particular misery expanded when I realized driving 3 1/2 hours to attend his funeral was out of the question due to my pinched nerve.
More misery came with the cancelation of a See Jane Dance! speaking engagement at the Onawa Public Library in western Iowa because it was too far to drive. The misery continues gnawing as I wonder whether a speaking engagement on November 9 at the Huxley Public Library will suffer the same fate. And, gasp, what about the See Jane Dance! Book Launch Party on November 11 at Chocolaterie Stam in Ames?
3 hopeful facts and 1 saving grace are keeping the misery at bay. The hopeful facts are:
- The physical therapist says I’m making good progress.
- The PT showed my husband how to help with exercises and massage my sore, pathetic back muscles to speed progress.
- Both venues are just down the road, and my husband is willing to serve as my chauffeur.
The saving grace is this: swapping out Jane’s dancing for Jane’s digging has been keeping me sane. Instead of woe-is-me-ing about the See Jane Dance! stuff I can’t do, I’ve swapped it out for stuff I can do. As in, revising the first draft of See Jane Dig! Not only is it my favorite part of writing a novel, but also I can do it while resting in between doing my wimpy exercises and getting up close and personal with the PT crew. And November 1 was my target date for starting revisions anyway. Hooray!
So you can now see why swapping out Jane’s dancing for Jane’s digging has been keeping me sane. Let’s hope this saving grace, along with the 3 hopeful facts, result in enough healing to avoid more cancelations. With that hope in mind, I’ll sign off with this––see you at The Stam on November 11!
by jphilo | Aug 24, 2012 | Family
Many of you have asked how the man of steel’s recovery from May’s ruptured disk and June’s back surgery is progressing. Obviously, an update is in order, so here goes.
The man of steel:
- Is back to work full time.
- Can now ride in a car for an hour before needing to get out and stretch.
- Puts on his shoes and socks in half the time and half the huffing, puffing, and groaning required before the surgery.
- Mows the lawn again.
- Received an okay from the neuro-surgeon to begin a running program under the guidance of his physical therapists.
- Goes to physical therapy 2 – 3 times a week to build strength, gain flexibility, and work on the above mentioned running program.
- Willingly dons what the physical therapists call “tutu shorts” so he can run on their anti-gravity treadmill.
Having a hard time picturing the man of steel running on a treadmill in tutu shorts? Then take a look at this YouTube video for a better idea.
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x99fPa7RSaU[/youtube]
Pretty cool, huh?
Much as I love the idea of Hiram running in tutu shorts in the comfort of our own home, it’s not gonna happen any time soon. Anti-gravity treadmills cost beaucoup bucks, which we don’t have. So I’ll have to come up with a different photo to adorn this year’s Christmas letter.
Which should make the man of steel sleep easier at night, don’t you think?
by jphilo | Feb 3, 2012 | Church Newsletter Columns
Therefore I run in such a way, as not without aim;
I box in such a way, as not beating the air;
but I buffet my body and make it my slave, lest possibly,
after I have preached to others, I myself should be disqualified.
1 Corinthians 9:26-27
I do not like exercise. At all. Ever. It took me almost two years to learn to walk, three months to get the hang of jumping rope, an entire summer to catch onto playing jacks, and three years to ride a bike. Consequently, I can’t fathom why anyone would willingly engage in painful activities like bending and stretching.
Similarly, I never understood why anyone would consult a physical therapist until a sore knee landed me in physical therapy. Where the therapist, who must be a direct descendent of Attila the Hun, decided my weak glutes cause my gait to alter which stresses my knee and makes it sore. So week after week. she assigns new, torturous glute-strengthening exercises to make my mornings miserable.
And every morning after exercising and “feeling a burn” I lived without quite happily for 55 years, an image of Paul training forms in my mind. I picture him wrestling in prayer after God struck him blind. Defending Gentile freedom from Hebrew law during the Jerusalem Council. Attacking spiritual strongholds in city after city, taking the gospel to far countries floundering in darkness. Sparring with with Felix and King Agrippa in Caesarea.
How did he develop the spiritual muscle to engage in such spiritual sport? Perhaps it has something do with the three years he spent in Damascus after his conversion, but before beginning his missionary work. I sure would like to know what happened in Damascus. Was he under the tutelage of a spiritual therapist who revealed the apostle’s weak spots and prescribed spiritual strengthening exercises? Did Paul have to bend in ways he’d never bent before? Was he stretched to show compassion to those he once despised? Did the stretching and bending hurt? Did he ever want to quit? What motivated him to keep going, day after day, until he gained muscle and aim and purpose for the race set before him?
Still thinking about Paul, I pick up my Bible, journal, and pen. My muscles ache. My glutes burn as I ask God to reveal my lack of spiritual muscle and make me strong in him. I open the Bible and with pen in hand, start studying God’s word. Each day he stretches me in ways I’ve never stretched before. Sometimes it hurts. Most mornings I want to quit. But the passages about Jesus healing the sick, raising the dead, hanging on the cross, and finally released from the tomb are the motivation needed to keep going.
With my eyes upon Christ, I press on.
by jphilo | Jan 17, 2012 | Reflections on the Past
In the mid-1960s, my mom enlisted Debbie Drake, the female counterpart to Jack Lalanne, to make me fit and trim. I was on the chubby side back then, sedentary and clumsy. More inclined to grab a glass of milk and a handful of cookies before curling up with a Little House book than going for a bike ride in the fresh air.
Mom must have been really concerned about her couch potato middle child. Why else did this woman, who never bought anything without much deliberation and angst, purchase a non-necessary item at full price? Especially something as frivolous as a record album.
For those of you too young to know, record albums look like this.
And the records spun on machines like these to make the music play.
But she bought Feel Good! Look Great! Exercise Along with Debbie Drake, brought it home, and sat down to plan my daily exercise regiment. At first I was pretty gun-ho. Debbie Drake’s leotard with it’s crisp, white collar was a little dated. But it was pink. And secretly, I loved pink. And the title’s liberal use of exclamation points matched the exclamatory level of pre-teen girls everywhere!
Even though our English teachers said to use them sparingly or not at all!
Debbie Drake’s title was proof that the times, they were a-changing!
Unfortunately, the title was a lie!
The exercise routine Mom created, ala Debbie Drake, did not feel good!
Nor did it make me look great!
It just made me sore!
And the music!
Well, let’s just say the tunes Noel Regney and his sappy orchestra played to accompany the stretches and knee bends, and contortions were embarrassingly out of date!
At least for preteen girls in love with pink leotards and exclamation points!
I think I made it through all the exercises once. Then I buried the album at the bottom of a dresser drawer and forgot about Debbie Drake. Until a month or two ago when my knee started hurting and I went for physical therapy.
The therapist was named Katie, not Debbie.
She wore street clothes, not a pink leotard with a crisp, white collar.
No orchestra played sappy background music.
Exclamation points were not lurking in corners or lying on treadmills.
Still, I suspect Katie is a Debbie-Drake-and-my-mother throwback. Why? Because she planned an exercise regime to strengthen my glutes to correct my stride so my knee will feel better. But so far, all it’s done is make me ache in places I didn’t know had muscles. It has not made me feel great or look good.
So much for making me feel great Debbie, Mom, and Katie!
You should be glad I gave up on looking good ages ago!
Though if I had a pink leotard with a crisp, white collar, you could talk me into trying again!
