A Long, Cold, Frustrating Fall and Winter

My very best intentions for continuing this blog during the fall and then winter of 2017 did not work out that way. I had hardly gotten home from New Life Hiking Spa the end of September when two things happened. First, I got what I believe to have been true blue influenza rather than a simple cold. Second, my very dearest friend Grethe Petersen, my "adopted" Danish sister came for her first visit in many year. 

Thankfully Jim was able to take the long walks with Grethe I had envisioned. There is digging deep when you are sick and then there is how I felt. We did, however, make it back to Woodstock, VT. That was a fun trip! I had not gotten gas before we left York, believing we could get off the highway at the intersection of I-93 and I-89. But we didn't.

 We stopped at the State Park at Quechee Gorge, VT  to visit the Cabot Cheese Shop and have lunch in an old diner before walking the trails of the Gorge. Jim and Grethe could go a lot further than I could, even with my recent sojourn at New Life.The weather was lovely and I know they enjoyed going the entire way to the Gorge, while I got lost and wound up in an entirely different spot on the opposite side of the road from where we started! 

Then it was off to visit  Sugarbush Farm, specializing in making cheese and maple syrup. We were using a tourist map that showed the farm to be four or five miles from Quechee. It turned out to be more than 10 miles away. About half way there the "running out of gas" bell began to ring every minute or so.

So we turned around, went to Woodstock, found a gas station, and filled up. Grethe suggested we forget the farm, but by then Jim, who was driving, was on a mission. So back to Sugarbush we went! 

By the time we reached Sugarbush we were definitely in rural Vermont. With every sign pointing to Sugarbush the road got narrower--and bumpier. The trip was definitely worth it, though. Grethe and Jim followed the permanent tap connections from one maple syrup bush to the next for a nice walk.

And then it was on to the cheddar cheese. Sugarbush gathers milk from a variety of farms throughout Vermont to make cheddar that ranges in age from 2-8 years. There were also some flavored with horseradish or other substances. Lots of fun, and grilled cheese sandwiches for home.

My health, and thus my travels with sticks and spokes, did not improve after Grethe went home. My bout with infuenza improved, but not the cough. It lasted until February, and kept me from singing with my chorus, the church choir, and cut off singing at York's Lesson's and Carols" just before my favorite piece. Christmas Eve saw me leaving in the middle of the Gospel. 

And then I went to Florida to spend a couple of weeks with my good friend Liz--and bike and walk lots of steps. I got the rental bike on Friday and on my maiden voyage fell, landing on my right arm. I had asked my orthopedic surgeon what would happen if I fell off my bike and landed on that arm 13 months after having my right shoulder replaced. He predicted--and he was right--that I would fracture my humerus right below the prosthesis. Falling was a result of foolishness. I was turning back toward Liz's house so I could go to the bike shop and buy a rear view mirror. But I didn't want to get off the bike, and lost control while making a U turn. I spent my first week in Florida in the Ocala Regional Medical Center--a Level 1 trauma facility who had 3 surgeons on staff--if only they weren't so busy--who knew how to do the difficult repair required of this fracture. The staff was marvelous, and when I was allowed to eat the food was pretty good. 

 The medical cautions of my humerus repair kept me from walking much for the following six weeks.  It was a typically disgusting March in Maine, but worse than that, the precautions my doctor placed on me included no using hiking poles to walk. 

Jim and Karen, in particular, tried to convince me not to bike again--or at least until I do some serious time in the gym. I convinced that an electric assist adult trike would work, and my orthopedic surgeon agreed. 

NOT! On my first ride, the trike went into a ditch 50 feet from out house and threw me onto my left side. (This is the short version of the story.)  Road rash and a broken rib. I have finally agreed to stay off the bike, perhaps forever. It makes me sad. It is difficult to consider that I may never get back on a bike again. I have done lots of walking and hiking in my life, but much prefer biking. I know it is not unreasonable for me, at 71, to end my love affair with biking, especially since I have so many replaced joints, which have probably diminished my balance. But in my mind I am only 51. Maybe even younger. 

Our dear friend Don Lippoth, who passed away in April shortly before his 88th birthday, once told me he thought I was aging badly. I hope he was wrong.

In my downtime I've been doing a lot of reading and writing. I dislike the rude political arguments on Facebook. Instead I have decided to start a second blog I'm going to call "Tuesdays with Donald" in Don's memory. We had dinner together almost every Tuesday for six years. Don and I could really get into political discussions, especially since he was very good at baiting me, and I almost always responded--until Jim would start kicking me under the table while we were eating dinner. 😏

But I am still hoping for a few adventures with sticks, even if I should change the name of this blog.