|Mortar-less flint walls are everywhere|
Last weekend, we had Summer’s first mini-vacation. We drove to the Flint Hills of Kansas for my nephew’s high school graduation gathering at my brother’s lake cabin, and to spend a couple of lazy days on the water – a treat, since we’re fairly land-locked in our corner of the prairie.
|Girl & Chessie share hair color gene|
I was a little worried about such a long (it’s a 7-hour drive), high-stimulation trip, but I did surprisingly well. The visit was excellent physical therapy—hauling stuff from the car to the cabin, walking up and down the small hill from cabin to dock and back, climbing into and out of a large jet ski tube tied to the dock, etc. There were 7 adult-ish people (plus one extra on the last night) and 3 dogs (a small poodle and two very large Chessies) in the 2-bedroom cabin, which seems like potential disaster, but it worked out fine. We spent lots of time outdoors, which is the point of a lake cabin anyway. And my sister-in-love brought her espresso machine to the cabin and made us lattes every morning. And my brother strung blue sparkly lights absolutely everywhere. A wee slice of paradise.
Lest you think it was picture-perfect, though, BS (my brainsplosion) did toss a couple of minor monkey wrenches in the works:
|Supermom jets off|
(1) New Circuits/Misfires – Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve had occasional, sudden intense pain in my left big toe, shooting up my leg, but only when barefoot. One day, I had fleeting jolts of fire, as if someone was jabbing my left shoulder blade with a fork (testing for doneness, perhaps). Another day, my left eye twitched sporadically. These sensations are momentary and come & go with no pattern or regularity. So either random nerves are waking up, clicking back online & off again, or someone has a voodoo doll made from my old socks.
(2) Not-Drowning – Last Sunday, I’d been sunning on the tube and decided to roll off into the water for a swim. Quell surprise! Apparently, in my post-stroke brain, the proper sequence of holding one’s breath BEFORE going under water is no longer instinctual. Fortunately, the tube blocked me from everyone’s view, so there will be no FoolTube video of the uncoordinated chubby redhead gasping, choking, and flailing for the dock ladder.
This non-swimming revelation kept me from riding my brother’s new jet ski, but my 77-year-old mom braved it and looked positively sporty & fetching cruising around the lake. I think Mom is secretly sneaking up on my 80-ish aunt’s para sailing record, to which I say (in begging, whiny tone), “Please please please let these genes be in me too.”
|lake at dusk|
When we got home, Ray’s sister, who’d been house/pet sitting, had cleaned, weeded, pruned houseplants, tended to our dog’s sore nose, and left us an old wooden ladder she’d painted and turned into a work of art. It’s now a gorgeous garden trellis. It was like coming home after the shoemaker’s elves had been there.
|ladder trellis art|
The trip was fun, but it also tested my recovery progress and zapped me good. (When I get tired, I transform from a seemingly normal woman to a lame, stammering, Kwasimoto with advanced dementia.) So I’ve been recuperating for the past week—physical therapy, low-stim days, lots and lots of rest. Mom and I are planning a short trip in June to Louisiana to see her new great-grandchildren, so for the next couple of weeks, I’ll be perfecting my 15-minute power nap. Beautiful bayou, Pain perdu and café au lait...here I come!