Grafts of a Girl

     Bone grafts have helped to fix some of my joint problems associated with my injuries received during my car collision.  It is a small part of a major recovery, but they have made a powerful difference in my progress.

     What exactly is a bone graft? 

      Basically it is transplanting a piece of your bone from one part of your body to another part of your body.  It is beneficial in fixing bones after trauma, joint problems and growing bone around implanted devices. 

     Well, I don't have just one of those, I have all three!  

     My initial bone graft was taken from my left hip.  My right lower leg was crushed and sustained open fractures where my tibia(larger bone) tore through my skin and splintered into many fragments.  My fibula(smaller bone) was crushed, but it is not a weight bearing bone so my trauma surgeon put those pieces back together like a jig saw puzzle, wrapped them in netting and set them back in place. 

     The tibia bone, sadly was splintered so badly he could not identify where they all originally fit together.  He ground them up, along with the piece of bone from my hip and filled the holes in hopes that new bone tissue would grow around the injuries and give me some stability.  

   To date, I have given three bones grafts, one from my right hip and two from my left.  The surgeons have also withdrawn bone marrow from my right hip by inserting a needle into the very center of my bone and pulling out the marrow.   That was integrated with another artificial substance and injected into one of my ankles when the decision was made to fuse it. 

That first bone graft was so large that it did not grow back in my hip.  Running my finger gently across the rim, I can feel a triangular dip that would make anyone shudder.  This scar is so long because my orthopedic took my third bone graft directly below where my first one was taken.  Extending that scar to four inches.  I am undeniably grateful that both of my surgeons really performed a magnificent job on minimizing my scarring. 

My right hip lives with this two inch scar and there is a smaller half inch scar where they removed the marrow.

Each surgeon repeated that enduring the bone grafts would not be pleasant.  I really did not know what to say to them.  There was no way it could be worse than what I had already endured.  It was not pleasant by any means, but felt trivial compared to the pain of the other surgeries.  I have had eleven surgeries and four of those were also accompanied by the surgery of bone grafts.  It all sucked, but look at the progress I have made because of it!

     Of course with that many operations, I was bound to have some kind of counteractive effects.  I seem to like being included in that category of " This only happens to about 3%-5% of patients."  

     After recovering from my right bone graft, I noticed a lump appearing a few weeks after surgery.  Apparently this can happen due to all of my tissue being moved around, it did not find it's originally position and formed something like a hernia.  Now I have a nice bulge on my right lower abdomen.  If I could get some major abs going, I could camouflage it by being ripped & buff, but..............

     During one of my left bone grafts a resident nicked a nerve.  Just a small nick and just one nerve, but now the left side of my pelvis is partially numb. 

      The lasting effects of bone grafts are that they ache just as my ankles do, just not as severely.  I cannot lean against a counter, wear low rise pants or belts around that level of my hips.  A few friends have been so happy to see me that they have tried to pick me up around the waist and nearly lost their arms as I disengaged myself from them. 

     I envision myself with the word, Fragile, stamped all over me because of all of my injuries.  But I would choose those embraces over a little pain every. single. time. 

          I have much to deal with each day, but it seems so small when I visualize my future.  I look at the larger picture and ask what my end game will be.  My disabilities will not keep me from accomplishing my goals, I may have to be more creative about how I'm going to get there.  And maybe, just maybe I will have to learn to accept help from those who wish to give.

 

 

Nightmare on Route 66

     Nightmares. 

      "Do I have them?", is a typical question from inquisitive minds.

     Truthfully, in the four years of my recovery, dreaming of the collision is not a frequent occurrence.  Recalling only a handful of night visions during this season of turmoil is frequent enough for myself.  Each session of my subconscious was emotionally exhausting, but oddly, only my first illusion was an authentic nightmare.

     Nearing three months of my husband and I slumbering in our living room, I introduced the idea of seeking out our bedroom.  Although we held hands between my hospital bed and the sofa, we had not slept beside each other since the collision.  He was beginning to ambulate in an odd fashion as the support from our old couch gave way.  

     Wheeling myself to his side of the bed, because that is the only place my chariot could fit, we quickly realized the bed was too high for my weakened arms to lift my delicate structure up efficiently.  Every action was slow and calculated because every action caused intense pain.  My body was seized into a chair pose, even in the hospital bed.  Positioning my legs to lie above the level of my heart was crucial and I had no tolerance to lie flat on my back.  Twenty-four hours a day, I pushed the buttons on the remote to position the mattress to conform to my tattered body.  Stacking pillows below my legs and upper body we finally lay beside each other.  I smiled back at my husband even though it felt as if I were laying on a stack of plywood.   He lay so close to me, almost as if he were afraid I would disappear if he did not.  After fidgeting with slipping pillows we fell asleep connected by intertwined fingers.  

     Promptly I was launched into a nightmare that reproduced itself unceasingly.  Never-ending it seemed.  The identical three seconds that is the root of my terror during the impact of our vehicles colliding, replayed incessantly in my imagination.  

       A  truck, popping over a small hill, rounding the corner, careening toward us.   I, watching as it's body leaned around the curve and it's tires tried desperately to grasp the pavement.   Crossing the center line, forcefully blocking our paths.  

 It was flying, literally flying!   Whipping back and forth across the yellow lines.  Back and forth, it was erratic.   Good Lord, it's not going to stop!  Panic was coursing through my entire body, creating violent tremors, my mind was screaming in hysteria !  This was happening so fast!   "No!" my mind roared, "No!"   It's too close, we're going to die.

 Enormous round lights, blinded my vision with complete whiteness.   They are in my face!    I screamed so loud my lungs burned,   "Oh My God!!!"

     Again, again, again, again and AGAIN!  Stop! 

      Fifty? Seventy-five times this horror cascaded itself upon me.  Waking in hysteria, my body had reacted as if I had just lived through the impact again.  Finding myself in my home, I felt droplets of sweat running down my skin as I released the sheets of my grip.  They were wet.  Reaching up to my stomach, my shirt was literally soaked with perspiration.  Beating like a war drum in my throat was my anguished heart.  My body was petrified in panic as I pried each one of my shoulders from the hardness  of the mattress.  Slowing my breath, afraid I was hyperventilating, I clutched at reality.

  I know where I am.  I know I am okay.  I know it was a dream.   Steadying my wild eyes to focus, I inhaled and exhaled deeply until twenty minutes later I felt myself drifting into a slumber.

    

A G A I N!!! 

     Immediately catapulted into another fifty episodes of the insanity of the same three seconds that had just molested me, my subconscious stole my sleep until morning light.  Having done nothing but lie in bed for seven hours, I was absolutely exhausted.  Physically and emotionally.  

     I only wanted for my pain to end.  Emotional pain.  My heart ached from it, my mind was consumed by it and my spirit fought diligently against it.  

     Although those same three seconds enter my mind often, that dream has never invaded my sleep since.  It is a horrible scene to translate, but it has taught me to not be afraid to live.  Now I have chosen to use it for a better purpose.

To intentionally inspire others to live each day 

as if it had just begun.

    

Snow Days Mean Something Very Different for Farmers

     Who doesn't love a snow day?  

     It's not that I don't love them, it just means more work In the snow, instead of cuddling on my warm, comfy sofa with my favorite worn in blanket.  There is no all day movie marathons with hot chocolate and cat naps.  It means getting out there in the frigid weather and wind that literally bites ya in the bum and anywhere else it can sneak in under your clothing.  Winter zaps my energy to a point that I move at the pace of a disabled slug.  Farm chores can consume the majority of my day during these cold days.  Eventually I limber up, but I'm entirely too slow for my thirty-nine year old mind. 

     Snow days means our work is doubled or tripled because we do

not just feed or check cows once a day.  If you are afraid your cows will drop a calf on the wet, frigid snow and it is only eight degrees outside with a windchill of negative four, then you check your momma cows many times a day.  Should a calf be born, then we scramble to ensure it has the best chance of surviving.  What a way to come into our world?  Those calves leave the heated, snug cocoon it's mother has grown for them only to be spit out, wet from birth, blasted with glacial temps and then prodded to stand up and start walking almost immediately.  

     Snow days for myself mean that I must take even more precautions than I already do because of my handicaps. The cold steals my energy, strength and seizes my body from bending.  Finding it difficult to walk steadily on a flat landscape and not trip is quadrupled when it comes to frozen uneven terrain. My brows furrowed & my lips curled in distaste upon viewing this scenery on one terribly cold day.  Making my way across this frozen tundra of hoof prints looked like a woman with a fused pelvis and bilaterally fused ankles, worst nightmare.   Finding the best spots to strategically place each foot was a challenge while carrying a five gallon bucket of feed for my little heifers, myself covered in layers of clothes while white flakes fell around me.  

     Snow falling so quickly that by the time I made it to the feed trough, said a good morning to the young females, turned around to walk back, I heard Mother Nature laughing her little bum off as I

stood in flat out bewilderment at my obstacle course ahead of me.  Lips parted in awe, eyes wide with disbelief I gazed at this.

  What I thought was my worst nightmare became my worst nightmare.  Cursing Mother Nature, incredulously, I asked with a voice that got louder with the more words I spat out, " Are You Poopin' Me Right Now? Really?" My eyes rolled to the back of my head like the symbols on a slot machine.  It was laborious enough hiking across that when I could actually see the deep, unyeilding prints in the earth, now I must ambulate across them blind?  Concluding there was not an alternative route, I Found the bird that frequently fly's around our farm the last four years, smiled a small sarcastic smile, took an irritated breath and meticulously made my way over the course a second time.  Many close calls ensued, but I did not fall once.  A balancing act worthy of a circus performer is how I envisioned I looked out in the field trying to through the red gate.  

     This is the silliness that happens almost daily in my life.  It exhausts me and exhilarates me all at the same time. I am sent a lesson each and every day with the absurdity of my situations. 

 What did I learn from a field of deep, frozen hoof prints?

I may fall, but giving up would be my greatest weakness because those challenges can lead to beautiful destinations. 

 That even though the road may look extremely rough to cross, I will always try just one more time to succeed. 

Kaira Lansing:"Danielle's Body" Book Review

     This blog is something new for me, my first ever book review.  "How did that happen?" you may be asking.  Twitter!  

     Kaira Lansing Bio:   
I was born in the Midwestern United States where I grew up and later fell in Love and Married the Official GUY NEXT DOOR.
 (True Story)

I enjoy writing mystery, romance and sometimes throw some paranormal into my adult novels. When I'm not writing, you can find me out on dates with my Husband, scoping out restaurants in search of the best Ultimate Nachos. I also enjoy running; hate doing sit-ups; love to read and can’t stand winter.  Like, really … Can’t. Stand. Winter. I drink way too much soda and am trying to quit, hence my new passion for Brandy and Coke. I am famously known for my practical pranks involving: post-it notes, saran wrap, a toilet cake, and a surprise birthday party that almost burned down my house!

     Her adult novels and short stories concentrate on mystery, romance and crime.  Her young adult series concentrate on mystery, paranormal and romance.  Researching Kaira online, it seems she is rising to new levels each week with great interviews and ever increasing stats on Amazon.  I am excited to see where her adventures roam to next. 

     So how did we encounter each other?  Kaira commented on a few of my blog posts which captured my attention.  Switching to her Twitter account, I perused her feed to see what she was all about.  Becoming intrigued I began a short dialogue with her off and on over the next two weeks, then suggested that I could read a novel of her choice and blog my thoughts regarding it.  She readily agreed and that brings us to today.

     Reading has been a hobby of mine since I was a teen.  As I became a mom and business owner, there were years that I would read only a book or two a year.  That seems crazy to the average individual, but to those of us who have lived that life, you know precisely what I am speaking of.  I still like to go "old school" when diving into a new book.  I enjoy the thick parchment of the paper between my fingers as I physically turn a page, but the convenience of downloading a book, digitally, to receive instant gratification is pretty sweet. 

      Using my iPad as my new "book", I can still swipe the page and I do not have to wait for the hard copy to arrive per UPS.  Kaira's novels are listed on Amazon which links with the Kindle, so how do I download the stories using my iPad.  Well there is an app for everything.  Downloading the Kindle app to my iPad, then downloading the novel from Amazon, the book transfers directly to my Kindle book shelf. (on my iPad) 

     What novel did she choose?  Her most recent,

 "Danielle's Body".

     This novel is just getting off the ground with being published in December of 2014.  Print or Kindle editions are available.

Description:
Lauren starts having nightly visions of her deceased best friend, Danielle. Lauren confides in her fiance, Mark, who insists her visions are stress related. When Lauren begins having brief mental conversations with Danielle, she seeks out the help of a medium, in hopes of a better understanding in how to further communicate with the deceased.

Lauren begins to piece together her brief mental conversations with Danielle and soon discovers Danielle's death was not accidental. With new evidence, Danielle's case is reopened and makes national headlines when Danielle's grave is exhumed and her casket is empty.

With the clock ticking, and the killer getting closer, Lauren must move quickly before she finds herself an accomplice to her best friends murder.

     Pleasantly surprised that the action started just pages into the story, I sat and read the first six chapters immediately.  Noticing right off, the manner in which the characters spoke was different than other novels I have read.  They spoke like normal people.  Their grammar was not always perfect, they cascaded from drama to being okay with their situation very quickly, ( which I have witnessed from individuals) and the characters were not always politically correct.  

     Admittedly, I did not read the description of the book before leaping into it.  I was caught off guard by the paranormal activity, but remained open minded.  Lauren affected me two very different ways.  I developed sympathy toward her but my conservative side said, "Girl, slow down between relationships!"  The same feelings arose with Miss Danielle.  Kudos to the author for directing me to feel something for her characters.  Drama and action packed scenes are a constant.  You as the reader, are headed one direction with the story line and literally the details take a ninety degree turn in a direction that was unforeseen.  Some scenarios were far fetched, but that is the freedom of fiction that the author holds in her hands and she used it well.  The ending, not what I anticipated and another moment of myself rolling my eyes at Lauren, saying "Slow down, girl!"  

    

If the reader is bored, the book is shelved without finishing and sold at the local flea market, I finished this book quickly and recently I downloaded one of Kaira's short stories: On Deadly Grounds that I will be finishing this week in between practices and doctor appointments.   

     I am interested enough to engage myself into her previous novels just to see where her mind will take me. 

   Kaira can be found on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. 

Her personal web page is KairaLansing.com 

     Good luck to Kaira and happy reading to you!

     

    

Why Can't Catholics Just Sit Down During Mass?

     How many of you Catholics have been asked this question?

      Why do Catholics sit down, stand up AND kneel?  I have been asked this a few times in my youth and some in adulthood.  Unable to recall what my answers have been, I have not thought about this much.  Always being a member of the Catholic faith, I did not care. We have always practiced Mass this way and as a child I thought this was how  everyone participated in church.  Until I was twelve years of age, when I attended a different denomination with a friends family, I was like, "Hey, they get to sit the entire time?"

     Still unable to remember anything specific about why our faith practices this way, I did not think about this again until my third year of recovery after my collision.  At the point where I could begin participating at a slow rate, I was between the stages of "not quite, but almost".  I could not kneel and could not stand but for a few minutes at a time.  Then the congregation would sit and repeat.  Sometime during Mass I asked, "Who... in this world made the rule that Catholics cannot just sit through Mass and listen?  Was it God or some human being that decided on their own and none of us challenged that decision?"  That Sunday morning was quite annoying to myself and I thought it simply silly.  

     Hanging my head, I, of course, knew I was more irritated that I could not perform these actions to what I thought should be in my

capability than at the rules themselves.  There must be significance to all of this otherwise we would not do it.  Giving the thought some quality time, I feel as if I could make a good assumption.  Still I did not research on the reasoning behind this.  I now gauge my recovery progress on how well I can perform them each week.  Participating through the entire Mass is attainable now, I just fidget with how comfortable it is.  Instead of having to genuflect before entering the pew, I am able to kneel and make the sign of the cross.  Almost, I cannot quite get that knee all the way to the ground for fear of making a scene upon returning to full height, but I have that sign of the cross down pat.

     Over the past few months, I have piqued my own interest enough to really research this and discover for my own curiosity, why.  It is my faith and something I practice each week, so it is really a simple fact that I should know and be able to pass on to others as they question me, especially my children.

     Standing and kneeling have significance during our presentation of faith.  If we did not sit, these two actions would not have the significance that it does, so sitting is a kind of "base worship."  

     Standing is required when the priest proceeds to the alter.  The Gospel book and cross are also brought to the front of the church.  This shows the amount of respect we have for those three things as well as when the Gospel is read.  The Gospel is the words and actions of Jesus Christ.  All important things I would say.

     Kneeling is the ultimate gesture of showing our humility as humans.  We are not on the same level as God, we are his servants to help spread his kindness.  This also shows our obedience and commitment to Him and his visions for us here on earth.  

     Now ultimately all of this is up to the parishioner.  Each one of us has the right to sit the entire Mass.  Those with injuries, disabilities or old age are not required either.  I suppose at some juncture if a healthy individual attended Mass on a regular basis, but did not participate in standing or kneeling, curiosity as to "why" would get the better of us.  As far as I know, God just wants our attention any way He can get it and He does not care if you are lying on the ground looking at the sky or kneeling in church.

     Catholics are still extremely traditional.  A few things have been challenged and updated,but for the most part the faith still remains as it did when in its original venture.  This does not bother me so much.  I am somewhat of a feminist and do have disagreements about some parishes not allowing female servants near the alter, forms of birth control and female priests.  I alone will not change any of that.  Continuing to believe in Gods vision for us and myself, grasping the meaning of His words and genuinely doing my part is what I am more concerned about.  

     I will say that He is the only One I would ever kneel before, which show how much respect and belief I have in Him.

      

Winter Blues: Overcoming the Negativity

     January.  Blah.  Nothing happens in January.  The last quarter of the year is filled with activities, parties and lots of food and then it just comes to a complete halt.  Deadness.  January is statistically the most depressive month of the year.  Not much to celebrate, no parties and we have gained ten pounds from always stating, "one more chocolate ball won't hurt."

  Last January, yours truly came down with a case of  the winter blues.  Again, I found myself in that all too familiar place after surgery.  That two week slump I could see coming, yet somehow managed to slip into each time.  I can say I never wallowed around in it, but I was partially coated in that dreary muck that lived in that slump I was speaking of. The anxiety I feel each time I pull myself down from the pain meds, the frustration of repeatedly losing the ability to walk and my coveted independence.
  

     To make matters worse there must have been a beacon over my home for negative individuals to come cast their spell of pessimism.  My goodness, I know by now that each person we come into contact with teaches us something about life, but why at that singular crossroad did they have to be sent?  I was already down and why send a couple of those gloomy souls so close together in time?  Those people need to be spaced out some.

     Near the end of my two week despondency, lying in bed around eleven thirty at night, feeling so low, so tired of going through this, so fed up with counteractive personalities, yet not willing to give up, words of my own began controlling my attention.  Those words met up and assembled themselves into an oppressive poem.  Writing poetry had been a past time, before kids, before a career, before my life became so entangled into the business of making a living that it came as a surprise to me that my mind conjured this up.

 Distrust in the Darkness

The stress is killing me

softly as I sleep

The stress is eating at me

slowly as I weep

It's there every night and every day

I beg. Please, please...please go away

Do I let it consume me

or do I keep fighting til the end?

I'm tired, so tired

do I have anything left to defend?

I do, I know this to be true

I'm tired, what more do I have to prove?

To myself, to others?

They don't realize I can be weak

I can do no right

so I turn the other cheek

Do I stand and fight

or do I give in?

I know the answer

I just don't know if I can.

     You can view above the exact conversation I was having with myself that night, only I did not talk to myself in a rhyming fashion.  Why were those gloomy souls introduced into my life at that crossroad?  Exactly that, because I was at a crossroads.  They were going to push me toward one side or the other.  It was up to me which way I let them push me.  Do I wade into the cold waters of misery with the group of cynics that dwelled there or do I grip the muddy sides of my slump, get a little dirty and claw my way out?   I knew the answer to my question, I believe most of us do, it's just do we have the strength to keep doing it? 

     Telling myself that everything is seen better by the morning light, I  promised that I would awake with a strong determination and a renewal of faith in my person.  

What did I learn from those prophets of doom?

They taught me to believe in myself the most, that life is always my choice and that inspiration can even come from them.  It sparked me to fight against their dismal outlook, to shut out the nay sayers and they motivated  me to write this poem that will now be published twice.  

Ninety-nine percent of the time I take the high road, but there are times you just want to look at those wishing for your failure, stick out your tongue and say, "Watch me" and maybe

 

 

                                                My
 

Amazon Shopping: Butter Bell Crock and Norpro Garlic Keeper

     If you do not shop on Amazon.com you are missing out.  Any product you can think of is listed there and some products are a unique surprise.

     I have two products that I would like to share with you that I use and enjoy.  My son watches "How it's Made" quite often.  One particular day I watched with him and now understand how margarine is manufactured.  We both decided if a fly refuses to eat it then we probably should also.  Instead we use stick butter, but to the dismay of our daughter, and I agree, it is difficult to spread right out of the frig.  Who has time to let it soften on a school day?  Over the Christmas holiday my SIL introduced me to the Butter Bell Crock  and I immediately surfed Amazon for this product. 

     The crock holds one stick of butter(1/2 cup) and it is soft at all times.  How does it stay fresh?  Here's the kicker, you put 1/3 cup cold water in the bottom of the crock, pack the softened butter in the bell shaped lid, turn the lid over into the water and it creates an airtight seal around the butter!  You must keep it out of sunlight and change the water every few days.  There are many colors and designs, I chose this one because as it sits on my counter at all times, it also becomes part of my kitchen decor.

     Now I kept perusing the site in the crock category and came across this next product that also works perfectly for me.  Amazon is too interesting to just order the one product you need and exit, right?   Coming into my search feed was this Norpro Garlic Keeper.  I cook all of the time and use garlic quite frequently.  So much that I purchase the big bag of garlic at the grocery store that includes about ten to twelve bulbs.

     This do dad can also hold mushrooms, ginger, chili peppers and onions.  I loved this idea because I was tossing my onions and garlic in the same bin in my pantry and I am thinking this is not the

correct way to store them.  Also available in many colors and designs I chose a simple white crock with a garlic design on the front.  It has vents to keep the items fresh for weeks and also became part of my kitchen decor.  

     My kitchen has shelving above my sink for knick knacks and such, which I dislike because I do not enjoy dusting around them or dusting at all, really.  I did add this to my shelf since it looks nice and it is a large item that is easily moved for dusting and within reach of my cooking space. 

     So here are two items to add to your kitchen decor that are actually functional at the same time.  Enjoy!
                                                               

                                                                  Butter Bell Crock

 Norpro Garlic Keeper

Revelations from a Tractor Cab

      Tractor Time.

       Listening to the BS stories in the feed store, I hear many "good ole time" stories about driving the tractor down by the river, in the fields, hauling hay or the tractor unintentionally ending up in a location not normally meant for large machinery.  Then there are others that view it as a place they must spend time while they finish yet another task on their To-Do list.

     There are so many things that little space does for me.  It can be an escape from the daily grind.  From house chores, whom no woman/man thoroughly enjoys, I don't care how much you say you do, we know you are fibbing.  It is time alone to think or not to think at all.   Most of the time there is minimal signal on my phone, therefore, the calls asking or telling me what I must do when I leave my voluntary confinement, have to wait until I end my day and drive up the hills when the cell signal will reach me.

     My husband had a fit when I started attempting farm chores directly after finishing my time in a wheelchair of sixteen months.  He also noticed the determined set of my jaw.  He closed his eyes so he could hide how he rolled them all the way to the back of his skull and sat down with me to form a safe plan.  We now have a tractor with a cab(thank you!), one that the clutch is easily pushed to the floor, easily shifted into a new gear, has heat/air and an air cushioned seat.  I did not ask for all of these amenities, but if this is what my husband concludes is safe for me, then by all means I will accept.

     Because I did not walk much until my third year of recovery, my time in the tractor was limited.  Once I got there, I could only climb in and out two or three times before my ankles would collapse.  We practice rotational grazing on our home farm, so this was a challenge as I would have to open and close gates to reach my destination.  Many of my adventures were me sitting, looking out the back window, then at the cows, estimating if I could complete my duty before any cows found the opening, which meant I could mark one climb out of the cab off my list if I did not close the gate.  There was a time when I estimated every length of a walk and how many steps it would take to get there, so saving any amount of extra effort was mulled over.

     My farm pardners are inexplicably patient with my injuries and amount of time it takes me to complete my endeavors.  They are also patient when it doesn't work out so well and I send them a picture of my "Oh shit, this happened today".  Amusement at my texts while they are in meetings, me questioning why I simply cannot figure out how to hook certain machinery together or understand why it will not start because a particular lever must be in a certain position beforehand.  I have flipped off every piece of farm machinery we use.  When you have been performing these functions for much of your life, you take for granted the elementary check list you go through each of these times, but for someone like me who is in the field alone and I remind you, very little signal ( no "how to" YouTube videos) it can be purely exasperating!  I grew up with a 1936 Continental tricycle tractor, then to my husbands 1970's John Deere and I was always deemed the driver not the hooker upper.  

     Today though, I can almost always figure things out and am at the point that I can utilize my hours to rid my mind of any conflicts or use it to interpret those conflicts.  There are days when I just

want to sit in the silence of the cab, let the drone of the engine or swish of the tedder, take my thoughts to nowhere specific.  Plugging in my iPod, I may sing anything from Alabama to Nelly to White Snake, inadvertently conducting my own concert right here in rural America.  I do not know what the cows think of me or my singing, namely because I do not speak cow, but they say the same dang thing every time they talk anyway, so who really knows.  

     Those other days, I speak to myself from the time I enter to the time I leave that tiny space.  Working through my personal struggles, praying for peace and understanding and hoping my life continues in the wonderful direction it is traveling.  Society conveys that we must look to others to be the hero in our life, while I agree that life is made easier with the support of others, I believe we can all be heroes in our own lives.  We, as individuals, are at the helm, right?  We ultimately decide what direction we are going to take, whether we will get up and make it a great day or drown in the sorrows of our dark thoughts.  Hardships are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.  Our character is always up to us.  As I sit in the middle of a field, I smile at once again having a focus besides recovering from my injuries.  There is one thing that I crave the most from these times, one thing that I must have in my life to survive and that is accomplishment.  I cannot live without it, I must have a purpose.


    
      Whether I have a grand revelation or not, at the end of my farm day, I always appreciate that I am going to be A-Okay.  If there is one piece of advice that I will  pass on to every farmer, man, woman or child, it is:

Always. Close. the Gate.

    

Four Years in the Making

     Never has four years moved so slow and so fast at the same time.  Turning around to look back at my life during those years, it has sped by.  How can four years have passed so quickly?  Breaking the years down into each of eleven surgeries, those days passed at a crawl.

      Reflecting often during my days working on the farm, I ask myself, " Now that you are at the end of your recovery, what would you change regarding your experience?"  This is not a quick answer to be spat out, it requires digging deep within, to a place usually reserved for those few times in our lives when something rocks us to our core.  So I sit and get real with myself.  

     Would I change anything?   Of course I wish the collision would not have happened, but that was not in my control.  I am well educated in pain, but it keeps me humble.  The journey was long and hard, but look at the life lessons I have reaped.   My family has endured this time with me as I healed my broken body, but they have learned how to pull together when times are tough.  This one single event has caused incredible amounts of pain for many, but for myself,  it has given me a better home in life.  

      Physically I am handicapped, but emotionally and spiritually, I am in a area that I have never been before.  God is not one to pass up opportunity.  He has given us freedom to choose so he could not stop the collision, but he took the time to present to me an opportunity to work on myself, my relationship with others and my relationship with Him.  Again, it was my choice to accept this convenience, but I know He tugged at me diligently to walk in His direction.  

     The year has closed and a new year has just begun.  I have no idea how I will write this next segment of my life and for once I am not going to plan it out.  I will live and learn as I go.  I will appreciate the gift of my own life and I will believe in myself.  Not having an outline will be a contrast for me as I am letting Him lead me, but I do feel a bit of excitement at the unknown.  With Him as my escort, I am no longer afraid.  I guess my answer is, no.  Even I shake my head at that conclusion, but this is what I feel.

      Although I have never asked the question, "Why?" this happened to me, while recovering I did not understand why the path had to be so difficult.  Until now.   

We would never listen unless it was.