Wrinkly Bits
Originally posted 11/16/25
A few days ago, the Cowboy called me “perky.” After five weeks in a cast on my foot and two more weeks wearing a black boot with more Velcro than I had known existed, believe me, I was happy to be called Perky. This morning, we went to church, walking all by myself, standing tall and proud. No wheelchair, no walker, and no cane. Just using the feet and legs I was born with, albeit, German legs and feet, which allowed my ancestors to plow fields all day (in dresses, of course) while eight months pregnant, fix a full dinner (without a microwave oven) for the seven hungry field hands, hang the clothes on the clothesline, and plan for a better day tomorrow.
Seven weeks was long enough to convalesce, and I’m glad to be out of the cast, boot, and especially the lovely compression stockings, and now it’s time to do something else. For those seven weeks, I was glad to have the support of those assistive devices, but I’m done! If I ever mention foot surgery again, send me to a psychiatrist.
In one of my favorite Stephen King stories, Shawshank Redemption, Andy Dufresne laments “I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying.” I thought about that a lot while I was convalescing and It’s time to act. It is easy to sit back and get on with life. Cowboy and I are not getting younger and not getting healthier, so it’s time to recon what we haven’t done or seen and go for it.
I’m still skeptical about these new-fangled spring-loaded staples in my foot and as I set my eyes on the jacuzzi, I still keep an icepack handy, watch for obstacles that might trip me up, and am on the lookout for handholds to keep me from doing the splits. But, equally important, the Cowboy says I am perky. And, Cody, stay out of my path.
