55 - Thanksgiving Indians

In a seasonal spirit, my husband and I

gave a local buffet a try.

Tandoori turkey, biryani and daal...

everything was delicious. We tried it all!

Later, as we considered the day,

we saw we'd behaved quite the wrong way.

We ate like Indians, this is true,

but the wrong continent, and wrong era, too!

We didn't feel like fighting the cat for the turkey this year, so we went to the Thanksgiving buffet at Kiran's.  Any day is a good day for Indian food!

Have you written a story in exactly 55 words? Give thanks for your talent by sharing it with the G-Man!

Thursday Thirteen - Things I'm Thankful For

I don't usually play Thursday Thirteen, but Alice Audrey inspired me, and today is, after all, a day for counting one's blessings. Here are thirteen of mine:

1. I like my job and feel challenged in a good way.
2. I'm able to give opportunities to colleagues who might not have had them otherwise. 
3. I have enough money. More would be helpful, but it's enough.
4. I have a cute home in a pleasant community where I know (and like) my neighbors, and have no work commute.
5. I'm healthy and mobile, in spite of recent setbacks. If I play this right, I'll return to dancing and running as a fitter, stronger person.
6. I have a broad variety of competencies. I'm beginning to think this is more useful than being a standout talent, even though it's not as sexy.
7. I have family, spouse and friends who respect my need for down time.
8. I have plenty of stuff. More than I need, actually. Anyone want some stuff?
9. I've lived long enough to see the bigger picture.
10. I've let things go that needed to be let go.
11. I've reconnected where I should've long ago, and it wasn't scary.
12. What I thought were setbacks turned out to be opportunities.
13. Life consistently gives me more than I ask for, less than I want, and always exactly what I need.

This was written for Thursday Thirteen.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others’ comments. It’s easy, and fun! Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

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Black Box

I am curious to know
what happens on the inside.
Are we busy
making progress,
or are we lacking,
going backwards?
Is there something that we need?

Though I watch with wary eyes,
I see no clues.
Pictures avail me nothing,
and the card I draw is blank.
Healing is inevitable,
but I want it fixed today.

I dare not hold my breath
or count the minutes.
Scratches on a calendar
only whet my appetite:
today, tomorrow, next week...

So I sit here, still in ignorance,
(wishing, guessing, hoping),
curiosity left unsatisfied
about what goes on inside.

This is a Three Word Wednesday post.

55 - Fashionista

There's nothing like an injury to ruin one's look. It isn't stylish to hobble, and orthopedic boots match nothing in a well-dressed woman's closet. The medical profession is abysmally focused on practicality, with no thought for a style-conscious lady's vanity. If one must purchase new accessories, need they be ugly?

What's a fashionista to do?

NOTE: I ordered this cane from fashionablecanes.com. My first follow-up with the orthopedist is next week. Got my fingers crossed that my foot is healing on schedule. Some days are great, and other times it's hard to tell.


Got a story you can tell in 55 words? Share it with the G-Man!

Haiku: Broken Bones

I took a Sharpie

and drew an x where the bone broke.

I'm such a geek.

 Note: This isn't as illogical as it sounds. I've started doing e-stim and need to know where to place the electrodes. It looks funny, though, to have a big black X on my foot.

Disability

You get a new perspective

when you're not getting around so well.

Each outing is a dance

on a razor's edge of danger.

Stairs turn into mountains,

puddles become lakes,

each little patch of soft ground

is a marsh that can capture

a boot or the tip of a cane.

Things that were easy

now leave me befuddled:

doors,

curbs,

shopping baskets,

all require a new approach,

or at least a little thought.

Children now terrify me,

with their lanky, darting movements,

and murky understanding

of other people's needs.

Adults are little better

as they race through their errands,

too hurried to see,

too rushed to care,

whether drunk on whiskey
(or themselves)

I do not know.

So I'm glad enough

to isolate at home,

where I remove the painful

torture-boot

that is supposed to help

but only hurts.

Here I can surround myself

with silky softness,

take a deep breath,

wipe my hand across my mouth,

and shake my head in amazement

of how thoughtless the world is,

how thoughtless I was,

and I plot how to make

our society

a kinder

place.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl. I meant to write this as a prose essay, but caught myself getting pedantic. No matter how observant you think you are, being disabled, even temporarily, makes you see every space and every interaction in a whole new way. I am fortunate to have the type of job where I can take some immediate action and maybe help someone who is also struggling with doors, blind corners, and how they're supposed to get across a big college campus when they can barely get from their bed to the bathroom. I have gone from ballerina to crusader!

55 - Gratitude

It's the little victories that make my day:

• fitting a shoe on my broken foot
• the first deep rush of air into my lungs as I begin to exercise again.

Sometimes I wish I was a Hindu because singing the praises of just one god feels inadequate. I want to thank a pantheon.

NOTE: I'm still coping pretty well, for someone who went from 60 to zero in an instant. Coping better than I ever imagined I would, actually. Not sure what I'm talking about? Check out last week's 55.

Got a story you can tell in 55 words? If you share it with the G-Man, I bet he'll be grateful!

Ballerina Down

This was how I imagined myself:

we all have fantasies

I did my first double pirouette,

and I was the only one

to easily execute 

the new sequence:

pas de bourrée,

chassé (twice),

pas jeté en arrière.

But it was that side jeté

point your toes

that did me in.

One wrong landing

turns graceful ballerina

into hunched lady with a cane.

Note: Full recovery estimated at twelve weeks. I can do non-weight bearing activities anytime it doesn't hurt.

This was written for Magpie Tales.

To Fight Time

It is easy when you're young

to say that you'll accept

the passage of the years

with grace and dignity.

You'll take it in your stride, 

(of course)

the way you wear your youth

with nonchalant pride,

humming through your days

with no more care

than a butterfly.

Reality is something else again,

and though you faithfully navigate

Sephora's aisles

seeking an instant cure,

nothing in a bottle gains you

what you seek.

And though you drill a little deeper

through forums and estheticians' wiles,

at best you stop the clock

for a little while.

Nothing takes you back.

So do you buckle on your armor

and fight this losing war,

or surrender early,

to forever wonder

if you missed

that final chance?

Nourish your needy soul

while you still can,

lest late-night visions

of who you were

creep out in the dark

and devour you.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.

55 - Boots

Whether high heels or low,

made for ankle or calf,

all people know

they're too stylish by half.

They protect dainty feet

in all kinds of weather.

They look a la mode

in rubber, vinyl or leather.

Yes, boots can be fashionable.

Boots can be fun!

And most boots are stylish,

but not...this one.

Note:  Avulsion fracture of the fifth metatarsal, also known as a "dancer's fracture."  Recovery time, 8-12 weeks, although transition out of the boot can begin at two weeks. That's 12 more days.

Got a story you can tell in 55 words? You don't have to break anything to play! Just write your tale and share it with the G-Man!

Self-Imposed

Edge of madness,

edge of life,

infinite need,

stronger than any guidance

from your heart.

first impressions are correct

From dire impulse

and bottomless desire

you have made

a fine creation

with cardboard,

paste,

and glitter,

precise in all calculations

except the one that measures

the distance
of your heart
from your soul.

you cannot seek on the outside

what emits from within

Each new hit of validation

leaves you hungrier than before,

but you cannot stop;
the rhythm of this dance must go on,

even though late at night

the whisperings of invisible angels

remind you of what you cannot be.

Turn away and laugh.
Affix your mask just so.

Too many omissions leave us blind,

so kneel and pray

for salvation

from yourself.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.