Feeling better...

Since my skiing accident, I haven't been able to walk Fox, our dog. We have a lovely neighbor, Heidi, who walks Fox for us midday. She adores Fox, and we are lucky to have her. She is very kind, gentle and loves animals.

Yesterday, she asked how I was doing. Normally, I say I'm fine but I wince and moan and generally act like Debbie Downer and put out by this whole thing, which is in all senses, tiresome.

For the first time since the surgery, I said, "Fine!" and I really meant it. I was feeling better and I was only thinking about my leg 75% of the time instead of 100%, which is good. "I am starting to feel better," I said with a bona fide sense of optimism. Usually people I meet on the sidelines at my son's soccer games or at the grocery store have a very Pollyanna attitude and want me to feel just fabulous. I was feeling happy that I wasn't going to rain on Heidi's parade.

"Oh no!" she said. "Then I won't be able to walk Fox anymore!" 

Just when I thought that being optimistic and cheerful was a good thing...