I’m a little over 14 weeks post-op today; Friday marks exactly 15 weeks since my knee surgery. I see my OS again (for the last time?) next Monday — May 23rd. I haven’t been as diligent about exercise walking regularly as I had been, and would like to get back to getting at least 10 miles of walking and/or hiking in each week. Yesterday, I walked 3.09 miles, averaging 3.84 mph.
This terrific graphic just came to us via email from one of our aviation friends. A quick search turned up the source of the image — an enterprising pilot, with a great sense of humor, has made it available for purchase as a bumper sticker. I wish we’d thought of it! 
By the way, while searching for the origin of the “screaming terror” graphic, I found another blogger’s commentary from Wednesday. Check it out: nosuchblog.
Over the years, Justin and I have each wrestled with the WORK vs. “passion” dilemma. If you’re not familiar with it, it goes something like this — you’re good at something, maybe even great at it. It’s your passion (the word “hobby” doesn’t do it justice!) You’re so good everyone, including your inner guidance counselor, says you should do it professionally. So you do, at least in a part-time capacity. And, suddenly, that which you loved becomes (at least at times) a four letter word — WORK.
I had the oddest experience last night while visiting my parents. I felt absolutely fine, but midway through a movie and our conversation, I was struck with what can best be described as instant drunkenness. I was slurring my speech (and quite aware of that fact), and the world spun when I stood up. I was frustrated, but I still felt physically fine. Of course, that wasn’t much consolation to my Mom, who was insisting on taking me to the E.R. immediately (She suspected I’d just had a stroke.) I’ve never experienced symptoms to that extent before, and it was quite unnerving. Despite lacking the motor skills one needs to speak and move properly, my brain was working perfectly, however. I’m in no hurry to be poked and prodded by anyone other than my OS during routine post-op knee checkups, so I negotiated with my rightfully-concerned parents and brother — “I probably just need some sugar. If that doesn’t help, THEN we’ll see…”
It’s a tiresome rant I’ve never really committed to this journal, merely because to elevate it from “rant” status to “thoughtful discourse” would mean spending significant time properly communicating and documenting it with relevant links and background information. So, this entry should be read knowing full-well it’s a rant, and lacks a level of detail that I’d ordinary put forth when addressing such an important issue. For more detail, please visit the Aircraft Owner’s and Pilot’s Association (AOPA) website, specifically their news section. My husband, Justin, is a member of AOPA, and we both fully support their efforts to educate the public and the U.S. government on the importance and safety of General Aviation.
As is typical of most of my home projects, the whole experience of mounting the 15-foot telescoping pole for our new purple martin house has been an experience.
I’ve had a hole 18 inches deep and about 16 inches wide (about 4 inches too wide, in point of fact) for several weeks now. The delay in mounting the pole has been rigging suitable guylines to temporarily stabilize the pole and house while I mixed and poured concrete into the hole and allowed it to set. Realistically, this is a two person job. And for once, I was being reasonable and waiting until Justin and I could complete the project together.
