Work or Play?

Yesterday was the four month anniversary since my ACL surgery. It was another beautiful early summer day. The June gloom has passed, and my front yard garden was horribly overgrown. The ivy was covering one side of our monster stairs, and a weeping willow type plant was flowing down on the other side. The branches grazed my head as I went down the stairs everyday, and I am the shortest person in my family. I was worried the mailman would stopped delivering our mail because of the hassle. I was surprised no one else in my family complained, but they don't need to clutch the handrail for dear life as they go up and down the stairs like me.

I got out the loppers and hit the steps. I trimmed the ivy and the willow, and swept the seventeen steps on the concrete shoot that serves as the entrance and egress to our home. After that, I deadheaded my rose bushes, and further trimmed the ivy off the front of our concrete wall. (In some parts of the world, people like ivy. In Seattle, it is considered a noxious weed as it crowds out native plants.)

I wondered what my physical therapy team would think of my hobbling up and down the steps with a broom and dustpan. Would they be like, "Way to go, Lauren!" or "WTF? Why are you trying to trim plants on those deadly steps? Why don't you go skiing, play tennis or kick a soccer ball while you are at it? Where are the other three able bodied people in your family. Can't they do it?"

I thought about Carl, the carpenter who works on my house. He tore his patellar tendon while walking down the street. He was laid up and couldn't work for six months. This past week, I spent three days painting the Boy's bedroom and Lego room. Does this count as work? Should I be benched, or should I do as much as I think I can do? I am not painting for a living, so does it count as work, or play? I am not climbing ladders to paint, and I could stop if I got tired or got achy.

I survived painting and gardening. My back was sore after painting, but so was Anita's. Anita is the college student who helps us, and she is in her early twenties. If her back hurt, no doubt mine would, too.

Even though I survived, I wondered beforehand if I would. I long for the day when I can do whatever I want without needing to think about it.