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April 14, 2006
Sip of spring eases symptoms of aging, crackling knees, wrists
The Easter holiday break affords us time to stop and smell the roses as well as other fresh and fragrant aromas of spring. We can enjoy happy songs of nesting birds and bursts of pastel adorning gardens and trees. Can you tell that I've come to a point in my life when I truly appreciate the youthful ambiance of spring? As a matter of fact, the older I get, the more I crave spring. I drink in springtime with all my senses as if it was water from the Fountain of Youth. I started to feel this way several years ago when my knees decided to age faster than the rest of my body. Two cortisone shots, one surgery and a few months of physical therapy later, my knees became more accurate at predicting weather than the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Back then, I had to slow down and appreciate the joys of the season because I was hobbling through spring on crutches. Although I recovered well, the fact that I could predict thunderstorms, snow, ice, fog and season changes by merely attempting to bend my knees in the morning instilled a stronger appreciation for that which is fresh, new and young. As a result, I actually expanded my gardening from some veggies and herbs to perennial flowers and plants. Watching as they came up each spring, new, healthy and beautiful, brought me much joy. Unfortunately, as the years kept passing, other body parts decided to join my knees in a quest for middle-age status. I wear contact lenses. Occasionally, the contacts get dry. Dry contacts result in fuzzy, out-of-focus vision. It's hard to read, write or watch television with dry contacts. My remedy is a squirt of saline solution. A few drops will quickly restore my visual acuity. But one evening, as I sat at my desk working diligently on something that must have been important because I was working on it at 11:15 p.m. when I should have been snuggled next to Hubby under our down comforter, the fuzzy vision returned. I wasn't surprised, considering the time. A few squirts later, I looked around the room and was pleased at my ability to see everything clearly. I sat back down, looked at my papers and blinked. I blinked again. I squirted more drops and blinked a few more times. The fuzziness remained. Just then, Hubby entered the room. I looked up. He was clear. So were the guitars hanging on the far wall. What was going on with my eyes? I took my contacts out, stored them in saline, and reached for my glasses. Looking at the paperwork through my glasses, the tiny words remained unclear. Then I tipped my glasses up and looked at the papers without the glasses. Wonderful! That was much better. No, wait, what? That was the moment I realized my eye doctor would soon be fitting me with bifocals. Not a happy moment. Suddenly springtime seemed even more wondrous and inspiring than ever before. Though I began enjoying the distant blooms with my contacts intact and appreciating the freshly picked bouquet with my contacts soaking and my glasses pushed out of the way. This year, other joints are joining the revolt. My knees must have convinced my wrists, elbows and shoulders that they put in enough work over the years and it was now time to be heard. And I do mean heard. There is so much popping and cracking going on that I often sound like I'm microwaving a bag of kettle corn. To be honest, I didn't notice how bad the joint problem was until I was recording my radio commentary just a couple of weeks ago. After recording, I have to edit out mistakes as well as extra time during a pause that lingered a little too long. However, as I was playing back this particular recording, I noticed a cracking sound at the end. I vaguely remembered my wrist cracking when I lifted my hand to click on "stop recording" with my computer mouse. I actually had to edit the sound of my wrist cracking out of my commentary. I don't dare ask, "What next?" But this is why I'll spend much of the Easter break sitting on the front porch with my stiff knees propped up, appreciating the brilliance of spring through my glasses or with my glasses pushed up, and listening to happy birds sing over the crackling of my joints. Bare is a columnist for the Arkansas News Bureau and the Courier-Tribune in Asheboro, N.C., and author of the book, "Relative Expressions." She lives in Asheboro with her husband and three children. Her e-mail address is mickibare@earthlink.net. |
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