from the porches

rehab wetlands

I walk the path into the wetlands at Shands Rehab.  I keep my eyes wide open for critters, especially long, slinky ones.

Nothing much is happening along the path during February; but it will soon.  The birds were all a-twitter.  Truett told me today, "Boy, those birds are LOUD!"  I thought about trying to imitate the bird sounds; but I just couldn't.  There were so many bird sounds...the hawk...the  pileated woodpecker...the crows...and birds I didn't know.

I can take only so many photographs during this time of year before spring really happens...before mosquitoes flock to my legs and arms.  So I am happy right now just photographing February images of the Rehab Wetlands.

the wind

Yesterday Truett and I took a drive to Lake Butler to find the lake.  I was hoping to take photographs of birds at the lake.  But, along the drive to Lake Butler, I was aware of how strong the wind was.  I literally had to keep both hands gripped onto  the steering wheel in order not to let the wind carry me off the road.

I never paid much mind to the wind until I moved to Fort White in 1973.  Growing up, our children voices were louder than the sound of the wind blowing through the trees.  Living in cities, honking horns and sirens drowned out the sound of the wind.

Yesterday plowed fields were being whisked across the country roads.  I pulled off the road to photograph the wind . . . well, the effects of the wind.  Grasses that usually stand as tall as soldiers waved and bent to the earth.

Spanish moss flew sideways instead of hanging straight down. 

I love the sound of a strong wind.  In 1973 I was sitting on a friend's outside stoop and that was the first time I heard the wind.  I listened that day; and ever since I try to go outside when a strong wind is blowing.  Mom and I sit on the front porch in the afternoons and watch the tree tops swirling and curling, bending and reaching when there are stong winds.  I remind Mom, "Don't talk.  Just to listen."

I love a good wind . . . but not always the effects of the wind.

junkyard hodgepodge

Normally, when Truett and I drive to Lake City, we take Hwy. 47.  Yesterday, I told Truett I wanted to go on Hwy. 41 because I wanted to photograph a junkyard that has always intrigued me.

I don't know who owns this place; but everytime I drove past this junkyard, Truett had to remind me to keep my eyes on the road.  All along my curiosity had gotten the best of me, so yesterday, I pulled off the road to wander among the hodgepodge of items.

These items are not safely locked behind a fence.

 

They are placed right along the right-of-way.

Everything from a wooden horse to . . . 

a purple and gold cow.

A sailor. . .

and a blue gorilla.

Behind the fence, with the rifle on it, I saw more items as far as the eye could see.

I saw no price tags and I saw no people willing to emerge to ask if I wanted to purchase anything . . . or to yell, "Get off of my property!"

I may be assuming this is a junkyard.

It may be a valid business; and if so, where are the price tags?

There is one thing I do know:  A rabbit said I was welcome to browse at the junkyard.

 

ecstasy

I'm posting photographs of my Japanese Magnolias because our "spring weather" here in North Florida is about to take a nose dive.  Our red buds, azaleas, camellias, and tiny white and purple low-to-the-ground living wild flowers are in full bloom.  I saw tiny buds on our dogwood tree that seemed eager to pop open; but I hope they wait because frigid temperatures are on the way for this weekend.

I am making progress in regaining part of my life back. 

Yes, I am. 

Today I played nine holes of golf with a couple of friends.  It has been months since I played golf; and I clearly anticipated me being "the biggest loser".  However, my friends, Lucille and Brenda, and I played best ball.  That really took the pressure off of me because we weren't keeping individual scores.   Therefore, I was relaxed and at ease. 

If you are a golfer, I have a word of advice for you.  After the fifth hole, when your friends compliment you on your fantastic putts or relaxed drives . . . well, stop them before they start the compliments; because that is when your golf game goes to hell in a handbasket. . . just like my game did today. 

But, in the end, it didn't matter.  I got fresh air.  I got exercise.  I was with friends.  And I took deep breaths. 

Tomorrow I will volunteer at Fort White Elementary School in a fourth grade classroom teaching writing. 

And I will call this ecstasty!

 

my therapeutic walk

I awoke this morning, and as I climbed out of bed, I realized my feet hurt.  My legs hurt.  My body felt like I had been run over by a semi. 

And then I remembered yesterday's walk at rehab.  My therapeutic walk.  This is how it started:

Craig opened the rehab door and called Truett's name.  "Good-bye," I said and gave Truett a quick peck on the cheek.  Then I exited out the automatic sliding doors. . . irritating doors that open with the whisper of a breath if you are close enough.

I looked to the wetland area next to rehab and thought about grabbing my camera from the back seat of the car and scanning the wetlands for hawks or creatures.  But then I thought, "No.  Use this time for a therapeutic walk. . . and then reward yourself with a mocha from Starbucks."

So I headed to the city block, as I call it, and decided to walk.  It would be good for my mental and physical health I rationalized.  In the meantime, I saw a man walking on the path towards me, so I decided to walk against the grain. . . I decided to walk in the opposite direction.

Slap! Slap! Slap! 

Pound! Pound! Pound!

My feet  beat a path around the city block. 

But then I realized the man was approaching me on his walk around the city block.  "What do I do?  Do I keep my head down?  Do I say 'hello'?  Darn.  I should have gone his direction and then I wouldn't have any anxiety.

Lap one complete.  I didn't look up at the man.

Lap two.  He smiled and I smiled.

Lap three.  He said,  "It can't get any better than this." 

"Yeah," I answered and thought, "Oh, yes it can.  I can be drinking a mocha about now."

I know this sounds ridiculous, but I did not want this stranger to think I was a wimp . . . a pretender. . . so I sped up my pace to match his.  I estimated where we would next meet.  Either by the cordoned-off live oak tree, or by the park bench, maybe even by the trash cans across from Starbucks. 

I don't know.  Crazy things cross your mind when you are exercising.  I mean really exercising.  I mean really pounding the pavement to keep up with some stranger pounding the pavement in the opposite direction in a city block.  

I felt this man was pushing me.  "I can't quit,"  I thought.  "He will know I am an imposter.  He will know I'm a novice.  He will just know who I am."

So I kept on clipping.  (I like that word.  Truett said how was your stroll and I almost slapped him).

In the end, my time was up.  I got no Starbucks Mocha.  I collapsed in a chair in front of those stupid doors at rehab and I exhaled.

Ahhhh!  That felt good.  

"Was that GOD walking opposite me? " I wondered. 

go away

I've been looking forward to Truett's first out-patient rehab appointment at Shands at Magnolia Parke in Gainesville.  I will no longer stay in the gym with him.  I will no longer push his wheelchair as the physical therapist walks Truett.

I told Craig, the PT, of my new plan. . . my plan to set aside at least forty-five minutes for myself.  Craig was very understanding.  Then he told me to have fun and I left.

I wandered down into the swampy area behind the rehab center.  I noticed animal paths emerging from one side of the water, crossing the human footpath, then leading to the water on the opposite bank.

I took deep breaths . . . and exhaled. Yet, in the back of my mind, guilt was weighing heavily on me.  So, after fifteen minutes, I walked back to the rehab gym.  Craig asked, "What are you doing here?  Go away and don't come back for twenty more minutes!"  Then he gave me a big, old, caregiver hug. 

"Thanks, Craig!"

Now I just have to get used to having time for me once again.

 

tippy

For months Mom and I have watched this squirrel, Tippy, bounding across the driveway, up the trees, onto the fence in front of our house.  We first noticed Tippy when he was just a baby squirrel.  Tippy stood out from all the rest of the squirrels because of his tail.  One day Mama said, "Let's name that squirrel Tippy.  So we did.  We worry about Tippy because of Molly, our yard cat.  (Once again, "Thanks, Sherry!  Now I don't only worry about the birds.  I worry that Molly will pounce on Tippy).  It's fun, though, to be sitting on the front porch and hear my mama screech, "Oh!  There's Tippy!"  It doesn't take much to make us happy around here!

sunday morning solitude

During my therapy session last week, my therapist asked what made me happy.  Of course, one thing came to mind.  Taking photographs in nature.  We discussed a plan for me to set aside time to do the thing I love the most. 

Even though I may not be out in nature at this very moment, I have edited photographs I took yesterday at Oleno State Park.  Just the mere editing of photographs and reflecting on what I captured with my camera lens, gives me that sense of solitude on this Sunday morning.

You see, I have dishes waiting to be washed.  Laundry ready to be done.  Beds to be made and office work to be dealt with.  But, instead.  I have decided to set aside this time to look at my photographs, edit them, and share them with you.  

altered moments

I would invite you to spend a day with me and Truett; but I must warn you.  Any plans I make for us just might be altered a tad.

Today was one of those altered moments.  Around 11:30 a.m., I told Truett I wanted to go to CVS drugstore in High Springs.  Of course, he wanted to go, so we packed him in the Acadia and left. 

"Bye, Mom.  We're going to High Springs to the drug store and we'll be back soon!"

"Don't worry about me  The puppies and I will be fine,"  Mom answered.

Well, Truett and I didn't even hit the only stop light in Fort White, when Truett suggested we go to the only Florida State Park we have not visited in our forty years of living in Florida.

"What the heck!" I thought.   "There's got to be a CVS along the way!" 

Ha! 

After snaking along winding roads on Hwy. 137, we finally ended up at the Suwanee River State Park, after almost an hour's drive. 

I don't know why I thought the Suwanee River near Live Oak, Florida would have more water in it than it does fifteen miles away at Branford, Florida.  I was so disappointed.  It was a State Park; but the view was not State Park worthy.  (It had nothing to do with the park . . . only the low levels of the Suwanee River.)

In the meantime,I noticed a sign to Falmouth Springs near Suwanee State Park.  So on the way home, I whipped in the parking lot and explored the spring via my camera.  (Truett kept watch for wildlife in and around the parking lot from the car).

I winded my way down a narrow wooden boardwalk to see one of the Florida Springs I hadn't seen before.

 And there it was: Falmouth Springs.

I was a little disappointed that the springs was not emitting clear, crystal blue water like the Ichetucknee Springs.  However, I can now say I have visited Falmouth Springs. 

Then I ascended my way back up the boardwalk.

I can now check off Falmouth Springs on my list of Florida Springs.

So, today was one of those "altered moments".

CVS will have to wait until tomorrow!

 

not a bill

This afternoon after visiting Truett, I stopped at the Fort White Post Office on my way home.  My post office box was crammed full of mail.  I tugged and tugged until I finally yanked all the evelopes out and thought, "Wow!  That's a lot of mail!"

Now, if you are like me, we don't like surprises in the mail.  Especially, bills! 

So as I sat at the dining room table this afternoon, I began opening twenty-three envelopes.  Mom was with me as I delicately used a knife to partially tear under the envelope flap; but that didn't last long.  No.  Then I just injected my index finger under the partially torn flap and ripped for all it was worth.

"Not a bill! . . . Not a bill! . . . Not a bill!" 

"Ooops!  A bill!"  So I layed that one aside.

"Not a bill!  Not a bill!  Not a bill!"

Mom was mystified. She didn't leave the dining room table because curiosity got the best of her. "Not a bill!  Not a bill!  Not a bill!"

"Not a bill! . . .Not a bill! . . .Not a bill!  Not a bill! . . .Not a bill!" 

Thank goodness all these envelopes didn't harbor a bill!  Thank goodness!

So tell me.  How long do I have to keep these "This is not a bill!" correspondence from Blue Cross Blue Shield of Florida? 

My filing cabinet is overflowing as I type!