Interesting how life imitates art (or would if this were anything more than artifice). Adam (one of) my brothers yesterday recounted his preparations for participating in a half-marathon in April by running ten miles Sunday morning. I admire his strength of purpose and dedication to a cause and envy him his mobility though I worry his years behind the plate during softball season are starting to catch up with him.
I'm more than familiar with the seasons' passage as it was a year ago, today, though I was dead to the world when we circumnavigated the hourglass, when I had total knee replacement (TKR) surgery for my left knee. After about a decade of pain from life as a contact sport, I had degenerative arthritis in both knees-a uni-compartmental (inside part of my right knee) three years earlier had brought some relief but I had delayed the inevitable because I didn't want to ruin my chances for that career as a parcel delivery guy (you gotta have the legs for those shorts they wear in the summer. I could see me telling some secretary signing for a delivery, 'Hey sister, my eyes are up here').
I'm lying, of course, but not about the location of my eyes. I was terrified, even though by the time we arrived at the landing zone and the jump master checked the rigging, I was an expert on the operation. It was, believe me, NOT a fear of the unknown, but rather the consequences of the known that had me in a cold sweat as we counted down the days. I also hate the orange gelatin they give you in the hospital-close your eyes, put a spoonful in your mouth, and try to guess what it is. You'll never even get close.
I got out of the hospital on my wife's birthday which just proves the world is a giant knock-knock joke with us as the punchlines. I imagine the novelty of having me wish her a happy birthday when I was not skittering sideways like a crab (or Axl Rose, now that I think about it) wore off long ago and there I was with a cane, but no top hat, being just the kind of guy you want to share your birthday with.
I expect to be considerably more mobile this Friday for her birthday than I was last year (because I cannot be less mobile, I hope) and I'm thinking okay, so I missed Dancing with the Stars (again), why not take her ballroom dancing and trip the light fantastic, or at least the first part? I'll do a two-step, quick-step bossa nova, a little Victor Sylvester and some Rudy Valentino. You should see me movin', right across the floor. Hand me down my tuxedo, next week I'm coming back for more. I'm hoping, push comes to shove, to apply a cold orange Jell-O compress to get the swelling down (from where she brains me).