- The Washington State Democratic Caucus. Glad I missed this one. Jack stood in line for two hours before he got in the middle school where the caucus was held. My left knee would have been furious. She might have gotten up and left after putting up with that abuse.
- Political Rally with Claire Adele. My daughter wanted to attend a political rally this week with one of the Presidential candidates. I didn't want to go (see "Annoying Knee") and Jack was on call. The rally was on the other side of town on a school night. She could have taken the light rail down there, but I didn't want her trying to take the train back home at 10:00 at night in an unfamiliar neighborhood. The trade off was listening to her mope half the night. She was asleep before the main speaker took the stage. Clare Adele would not have made it inside the venue anyway. I had a friend who got there four hours ahead of time and didn't get in.
- The Cool Jazz Hot Java concert at the Paramount Theatre. Jack and the Boy went. I didn't want to sit still that long.
- Rocket Launches. The Boy is in Rocketry Club, and I've missed all of the launches so far. One of the members of my PT team recommended not hanging out in a muddy field for hours.
I did make it to my son's band concert this week. Yay! I ran into a bunch of friends. It was good to get out and be social. One friend asked she could come over. Seriously. Asking a borderline shut-in if she'd like company is a no-brainer. Right now, my best friend is my dog, bless his little heart. (No offense to my human friends.) I wonder if I'd get out more if I didn't have a dog. Would I just be so fed up with hanging out alone that I'd get out? Maybe.
Jack and I got out again last night. We went to the Pacific Northwest Ballet. We had been to the dress rehearsal last week. I am not that much of a shut-in, but thank god for ballet otherwise I might not have an excuse to leave the house ever. I wore my brace and crutch as my insurance policy against the crowds. Crowds actually have a dance and rhythm all of their own. You don't notice it until you can't play along with everyone else, and you stand out. My daughter's high school newspaper had an article about this phenomena. They did an experiment where girls walked down the hall and did not change their trajectory. Usually, girls move out of the way of boys passing in the halls. Boys barrel down the halls like they own the place. No one sees the dance until they tried to change it. Wearing a brace and crutch changes the dance. Not being able to move about freely also changes the dance.
Jack and I got there early so we got a glass of wine and sat down. Three women and a guy were sitting next to us, and we could hear their conversation. The three women were friends from a dance class. They looked at me with my brace and crutch. It was hard not to notice. They sort of looked at my like I was some scary thing they wanted to ward away, as if knee injuries were contagious. I heard them talk about their knees aching, arthritis, and not wanting surgery. One of the women said her daughter had surgery, but we never found out what kind. The other women wouldn't let her finish her story. I am sure they didn't want to hear about torn ACLs, bad ankles, or other maladies.
I settled into the show. Before it started, I took off my brace so I could stretch my leg more. I loved "Little mortal jump" by Alejandro Cerrudo. He is a choreographer from Hubbard Street Dance Chicago. My friend Cork used to work at Hubbard Street, and we used to get tickets to their shows. Seeing this reminded me of my old life back in Chicago.
As I was watching last night, I began to take an inventory of steps I could or could not do, based on my current condition, not based on how well I could do them normally.
I settled into the show. Before it started, I took off my brace so I could stretch my leg more. I loved "Little mortal jump" by Alejandro Cerrudo. He is a choreographer from Hubbard Street Dance Chicago. My friend Cork used to work at Hubbard Street, and we used to get tickets to their shows. Seeing this reminded me of my old life back in Chicago.
As I was watching last night, I began to take an inventory of steps I could or could not do, based on my current condition, not based on how well I could do them normally.
- Stand on my right leg with my left leg in the air: Sure.
- Walk across the stage: More or less, as long they didn't want me there by any specific time
- Jog: Nope
- Turn: Nope
- Leap: Nope
- Walk in slow motion: Sure.
- Jump off the stage into the orchestra pit: Hell no.
Soon enough, I started watching James Moore and forgot about my inventory. Moore is the best contemporary dancer at PNB. He makes it look so effortless, as if he doesn't have to concentrate or strain as he moves. He is like Baryshnikov where I was too busy watching him and not anyone else on the stage. Other dancers look as if they are trying to remember an upcoming sequence or recall an instruction from the director. Dancing looks as if it just flows out of James, no effort required. You can tell he is working hard, though, because he sweats like a pig, bless his heart. To be clear, James does not resemble a pig in any other way. PNB went to New York in 2013 and The New York Times called Moore "hunky." The official paper of record for the U.S. said James Moore is hot. I cannot argue.
At the intermission, Jack and I headed to the lobby, me without my brace. I was going to brave the crowd with just a crutch. People looked at me and whisper "surgery," "arthritis," and "knee pain," trying to avoid my glance. I was mildly paranoid, thinking I was freaking everyone here out.
When we got to the lobby, I saw I woman with two crutches, a leg brace and a bandage around her knee. She was standing by herself. I went up and said hi.
"You only have one crutch!" she said.
At the intermission, Jack and I headed to the lobby, me without my brace. I was going to brave the crowd with just a crutch. People looked at me and whisper "surgery," "arthritis," and "knee pain," trying to avoid my glance. I was mildly paranoid, thinking I was freaking everyone here out.
When we got to the lobby, I saw I woman with two crutches, a leg brace and a bandage around her knee. She was standing by herself. I went up and said hi.
"You only have one crutch!" she said.
"I tore my ACL," I said.
"Me too!" she said. Another member of the club.
"I am four weeks out of my surgery," I said. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell her. What if she were six weeks out? Would I make her feel bad? There is nothing worse than competitive recovery.
"I had my surgery Tuesday," she said. "I am not supposed to be here."
Wow. She was getting out and about, far more than I was. I was impressed.
"Heal well!" she said. "Heal well!" She tried to give me a fist bump, but I had to hobble close enough to her. She was looking a little bleary and wobbled a bit when I realized she was probably still on the oxycodone. But at least she was out. On second thought, maybe the oxycodone is what helped her get out. Not that I want to go back on the oxy, but maybe I would if it improved my social life.
"Me too!" she said. Another member of the club.
"I am four weeks out of my surgery," I said. I wasn't sure I wanted to tell her. What if she were six weeks out? Would I make her feel bad? There is nothing worse than competitive recovery.
"I had my surgery Tuesday," she said. "I am not supposed to be here."
Wow. She was getting out and about, far more than I was. I was impressed.
"Heal well!" she said. "Heal well!" She tried to give me a fist bump, but I had to hobble close enough to her. She was looking a little bleary and wobbled a bit when I realized she was probably still on the oxycodone. But at least she was out. On second thought, maybe the oxycodone is what helped her get out. Not that I want to go back on the oxy, but maybe I would if it improved my social life.
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