Hi Darling Ones.
Last night I finished the Catghan for my nephew-in-law.
This is a momentous occasion for many reasons.
- His birthday was in April.
- It is, according to my semi-reliable record keeping, the 30th blanket I’ve made.
- It is the FIRST thing I’ve finished since my stroke.
- I started this before my stroke and worked so hard on it the night before my stroke I wrote off my right-arm weakness as a crochet injury.
- It’s super cute (full blanket pics to come when my mom & Sister #4 are here and can hold it up for me).
My reward for meeting my deadline has been a semi-lazy day spent not crocheting. As someone who is basically homebound it would seem all my days are semi-lazy, but they’re not. It takes a lot of energy to think about all the things you used to be able to do, you could be doing, and the ones you’re avoiding. It’s exhausting.
To celebrate my semi-lazy day I put on an 80s pop playlist and got work crushing candy, looking up broccoli salad recipes, blitzing emojis, and cleaning & dicing peppers. It’s been nice.
While mindlessly going about my business Taylor Dayne’s “Tell it to My Heart” came on. I was, of course, singing along out loud when I had the thought, Why did I lose my ability to walk unassisted and retain this song?
Nothing against Ms. Dayne. It’s a fine song. My brain loves it, clearly. But I bet plenty of people lead full and fulfilling lives without the ability to recall those lyrics.
As I’m writing this I realize millions of people live full & fulfilling lives without the ability to walk. Just another case of my inherent ableism coming out to bite me in the ass. That shit goes deep, doesn’t it?
My daydreamy, ableist little thought experiment went this way: what would I trade to be able to walk “normally” again?
For some reason I decided it would probably be some kind of pop culture effluvia stuck in brain that I could do without.
In my magical thinking it was a tradeoff. The part of my brain filled with “Ferris Bueller” quotes for regained balance. It made sense in the moments as I was dicing orange peppers.
Being able to recite e.e. cummings or Edna St. Vincent Millay has never gotten me laid. Having every line of “High Fidelity” and “Almost Famous” has never gotten me a job.
“Livin’ on a Prayer” just came on. Does anyone care I know Tommy used to work on the docks, and the union’s been on strike?
A bit ago Steve Winwood’s “Higher Love” played. I hate that fucking song. I’d trade knowing the lyrics to that for just about anything. Never stubbing my toe again or my glasses never falling down my nose.
Just some aimless rambling on a Saturday afternoon.
I could rise above on a higher love,
Jodi