The Importance of Walking
>> Friday, March 30, 2012
Walking can add minutes to your life. This enables you at 85 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $3,000 per month.
Walking can add minutes to your life. This enables you at 85 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $3,000 per month.
As I read Robin Lee Hatcher’s blog this morning - http://blog.robinleehatcher.com/ - my mind traveled back over my life and my love of books. As a child … not allowed to do anything … reading was my entertainment and escape. In my first marriage I again turned to reading to bring any comfort to my life.
I was told a story about a lady in the hospital who was near death when an area Chaplain came to visit her. This Chaplain was a very young female with long blond hair. She listened to the lady who was ill and then left her a small gift for comfort. It was a tiny ceramic frog.
I learned to sew as a child … on a treadle sewing machine. Thanks to a rescue by my brother, Tony, that machine now resides in my guest bedroom. We had no money for patterns, so I designed my own clothes … at first using material from flour sacks. As a teenager, my wedding dress was sewn on that treadle machine.
We had a long wooden pole (clothes pole) that was used to push the clotheslines up so that longer items (sheets/pants/etc.) didn’t brush the ground and get dirty. You have to be a “certain age” to appreciate this one…..
I didn’t realize I was infected. In over six decades of living, no one mentioned earworms to me … and the affect they had on my life. A few nights ago, my husband played a video for me … describing exactly what occurs in my life … and I discovered I was not the only living human being with earworms.
It’s disquieting to watch the demise of a grand idea.
As I've aged, I've become kinder to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. I have seen too many dear friends leave this world, too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. No matter how legitimate my excuse, I always get the feeling that my boss thinks I'm lying.
On one recent occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway, because the truth was just too darned humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury, and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I reasoned, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on the top of my head.
I tried to care … I really did. Twice I pushed myself out of my cocoon of pillows and covers and walked to my desk … sat at the keyboard … and stared. Guilt washed over me. I had made a promise … of when I would write … and now I was reneging on that. No words were flowing from my fingers … because no words were available in my brain.
If only dogs could talk:
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