As I open my computer to begin a new post on this poorly neglected blog, Roman and Nola are in the kitchen engaged in a pancake-making competition.
They're taking turns at the stove, making batches to share with the family, while teasingly putting down each other's attempts.
Hot, delicious pancakes are being enjoyed by all, as a well-earned lunch, after spending the morning outside plowing and shoveling our way out of the snow.
We went to bed last night to a howling blizzard. But upon waking this morning I immediately noticed a serene silence had fallen around us.
I realized I hadn't heard the plow trucks out my bedroom window. A noise I am accustomed to waking up to on dark, winter mornings.
I shuffled to the kitchen for my coffee, then settled down on the front room couch for my daily morning readings. The scene outside was still and quiet. The blizzard had left a deep covering of snow, even up over our picket fence in some spots. Are the plow trucks not running today? I couldn't help but wonder. That familiar sound of their long, hard scrape across the icy road had been missing.
But then I saw one pass by. Completely silent. Ah, I remembered. Snow creates silence. Sound waves get absorbed and trapped by fresh snow, making a tranquil winter atmosphere.
After a furious storm, that silence is just so enchanting.
The kids slowly awoke, and one by one made their way down the stairs. One of them pointed to a snow covered window and remarked, "Jack Frost paid us a visit! Look at his artwork."
It's endearing to me that even as the kids grow older, they still seem to remember some of the whimsy and folklore I taught them when they were little.
But the cat couldn't engage in his morning bird-watching routine, so the frosty artwork wasn't appreciated by everyone.
On beautiful and gentle winter mornings like this I wish I could get outside for an invigorating nature walk, like I used to do. But I still am not well enough to trudge through hills and ice on our trails. I am only just recently and somewhat comfortably walking around the house.
6 weeks post-op from my hip arthroscopy surgery (that I had on December 1st) has found me doing well enough to be at home performing small, short tasks, but I still cannot partake in much above or beyond that. Activities such as driving and shopping, for instance, I still cannot do.
But I am thankful that I am recovering, even if it seems to be at a snail's pace.
The first four weeks were the roughest, and quite frankly an experience I hope to never repeat. But I feel as though I turned the corner around the four-week mark. Part of what contributed to that, I believe, was the start of physical therapy.
I'm fortunate to have been assigned an excellent therapist. He is knowledgable and encouraging. He pushes me but never hurts me. The exercises he's given me to do at home I take very seriously and perform them as best as I can. They make me feel great! Like all the soreness and stiffness from surgery is being stretched and worked out of my body.
There is an element of recovery that nobody talks about and I didn't know to expect... and that is the fact that surgery completely erases all strength and stamina. Even if my hip's not hurting, but I'm on my feet trying to work, I only have a few minutes before I am out of breath and need to sit down.
So not only do we have the surgical pain to heal from, there's also the endurance aspect that needs time to come back.
My therapist has been talking me through how to discern between good pain that will push me to recover, and bad pain that will injure me.
Making myself stand, walk, and do a little work here and there is good therapy, and I'm already noticing my strength returning.
Last night I actually set the table and cooked a nice dinner, just like I used to be able to do! And it felt like a great accomplishment!
In between these bursts of movement and activity, I take plenty of breaks. I rest with good books and interesting documentaries. A lifestyle that would seem overly indulgent to a person who was 100%. But hip arthroscopy recovery is 3-6 months. I am dreaming and hoping to be digging around in my garden at full strength this spring, but until then I've accepted, and my family has as well, that this will have to be gentle winter for me.
Why does the cat always manage to find his way into my photos? Maybe it's because cats are connoisseurs of comfort and experts at the slow, gentle life.
😉
"Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart; and you will find rest for your souls." Matthew 11:29
💐
~ Courtney
