It's been 15 months since my knee surgery. They corrected the muscle that kept my knee cap off track, they cleaned out the torn cartilage and smoothed things out, but they couldn't correct the arthritis. After a year of pain, I experimented, based on a book I read called "Saving my Knees". For the last few months I have been biking only with almost no resistance. No hiking, no long walks, no quad building, no PT exercises, and for the first time in 15 months my knees do not hurt every time I move. I'm not limping. I am walking straight up the stairs, and straight down the stairs. I know they are not healed, but what can be going on inside if they are no longer giving me constant reminders of advancing age? If I run for the train, I know that I shouldn't have. But I think I can ski again. I have begun falling asleep to the memory of standing on the top of the world. All around me is powder soft snow. I slip over the edge and silently turning my way down the mountain.
Unlike my dreamy winter gliding, however, autumn is wide awake and is in a full free fall. The squirrels have returned to their pre-winter kamakazi launches from the nut strewn curbside to the white center line. I have no idea why it is they don't look both ways when the the temperature dips, but they don't, sending me skidding on wet leaves.
Fall is also hurricane season, and today there is a hurricane brewing. I brought in the feeders and moved the bench from the bottom of the yard to the garage wall where it is more protected. Last night I received nine text messages and a phone call from work. For the first time in memory they have closed the offices from Virginia through New York. The roads are closing, no public transportation anywhere, and from my kitchen table I can hear the wind building. We have large, century old trees all around us. The Norway spruces tower above us, and the ash, maple, linden, and sycamore trees are in close second. They are healthy and hopefully can withstand the storm. No where to go and no way to get there if you wanted. The probability of lanterns, popcorn, and board games hangs in the morning grey.
