It will soon be six months since I had my life changing hip replacement surgery. If you were to see me jumping around now, you’d never imagine that the day after surgery I could only move my toes.
One of the reasons I had such a good recovery was yoga. On the morning of my surgery, I got onto my yoga mat and did a farewell yoga practice. I knew I wouldn’t be able to practice yoga for a long time. I cried as I thanked and said goodbye to my unaltered body; soon there would be a titanium and ceramic prosthesis inside of me. I said good bye to certain poses I would never be able to do again, like the child’s pose, one of the most basic, delicious poses in yoga. Apparently, a new hip doesn’t like the geometry of this pose.
Lately I’ve been saying this too much: “I ordered the wrong thing,” as I watch my fellow diners enjoying their meals.
Does this ever happen to you?
“Let’s go out!” Those magical words elicit sparkly expectations of delight and deliciousness. Dining well when you eat in a restaurant is quite tricky; it’s an art actually. Two diners at the same table can have entirely different experiences.
Last week I enjoyed a Friday afternoon movie with an old friend of mine who I don’t see too often. Recently widowed, he hasn’t been going out much, plus, not so many great adult movies to see these days.
After the movie, I had a dinner to attend. As we parted, I asked him, “So what are you going to do now?” He thought and then perked up. “It’s champagne Friday! I get to drink champagne today.”
I tend to staycation in August because I like to travel off season when prices drop and kiddies are in school. (Bucket list trip coming up in September!) However, as I click through Instagram, enjoying the photos of people enjoying their glam vacations, I do feel the occasional stab of envy.
Tropica is like France in August: the locals disappear, mostly to their beach homes. The streets of Meriland are left to tourists, wandering blindly in the inhospitable, suffocating heat.
Whoa! If it’s one thing I’ve learned from blogging…people love a whiff of misery. I’m expecting a tsunami of hits on this post. It’s human nature: people like to read about those who are worse off than they are so they can feel better about themselves. Or, we like to read about someone who has the same problem, so we feel we’re in the same boat.
Well, no misery here except, very simply: At this august moment in my life, I can look back and say: I have never been properly, truly loved by a man.
So, imagine my surprisedismay shock! disgust! when I walked into my bathroom, which is the furthest room away from the walled-in garden of my house it could possibly be, to find a f***ing toloc hanging out behind the toilet. [Read more…]
I can hear the followers of Camp Liza canceling their subscriptions as I write. Because who wants to read about death? The fact is, if you think about death, like the Buddhists do, you will live ever so much a more beautiful, rich life. And we all want that.
So today, let’s think about death.
This post is inspired by the accidental death of a friend last week. It was a day like any other. An artist, he went to work. A big machine fell on him. Yup.