Cemetery Scene / Christ the Redeemer

Featuring visits to not one but TWO rural cemeteries, and a personal tale of disability adjustment. . . .

My husband had an appointment in Pine Grove Mills in the afternoon, and I rode along. I was still having some trouble walking, so I was using a cane. I didn't know if I could do my usual run of things, but I figured I'd try my best and see what came of it. It was a cold day, and getting colder, with fat snow flurries whipped by frigid winds, especially in the afternoon. The skies were gray.

I made a return at Target and bought a clearance item, and then he picked up a few groceries at Giant and tucked them into a cooler in the trunk. From there, we were off to Pine Grove Mills, where he dropped me at the post office. I mailed a few things, and then I was outside for the next 75 minutes or so on my walk around town.

The first thing I saw was a memorial of some kind for a teenage boy, located on the bridge between the post office and the gas station. Surrounded by orange and yellow artificial sunflowers, he smiled out at me from his photograph. I wondered who he was, and what his story was, and I made a note to look it up, but I didn't have any luck at all when I got online later. So I do not know who the boy was but I know this: somebody really loves him, and pays remembrance to him on that bridge.

Crossing the road with my limping leg and my cane posed its own set of challenges and adventures. In fact, I fretted and worried over it. I checked right and left about 20 times, then still had to wait, and make my crossing slowly, taking far more time than usual. And wondered, briefly, if this spot was where the bridge boy had met his untimely fate.

I walked to the larger cemetery down on South Nixon Road, to check for my friend the sunflower. But the sad day I feared has come: she is no longer there. The fence rail was empty. I had brought along some hats and sunglasses and the Moose and Tiny Tiger and some Dancing Girls. They were all ready for a sunflower photo shoot, but alas, there was none. Just an empty hole in the ground where she had stood. She had been so lovely and strong and happy-making, so full of grace.

So I put on the glasses I had brought for her, and I raised my cane into the sky, and we all remembered her with great joy. Whatever sort of Heaven there is for sunflowers, I know she is there now, watching over me. When I got home, the Moose and the Tiger and the Dancing Girls and I put the hats and sunglasses to good use, and did one last tiny photo shoot in her honor.

Here are the Sunflower Bestie photo shoots that have appeared on Blipfoto:
Sunflower Lover, 9/11
My Sunflower Bestie
Along Bald Eagle Creek / Sunflower Besties!
Silly Sunflower Selfie: Thelma & Louise Ride Again

The Dancing Girls wanted to do something fun, since they were out and about, and they are among the last of their kind. So we found a gravestone that had a brass angel on it, and we all pretended it was that famous Christ the Redeemer statue, and the girls posed on top of it. You may see that photo in the extras.

I walked up to my favorite graveyard after that, the one beside St. Albans, and that's where I spent the bulk of my time. By that point, it was cold and windy and the flurries were flying. I realized I should have worn more clothing, but I had on everything I'd brought, including a fleece hooded jacket, a red vest, and bright purple gloves.

Above is a sheltered nook in that cemetery along the church next door, where the wind wasn't too bad, with a bench and tree and pretty tombstones. There I toughed it out and read my book and took pictures until my husband showed up with the car to get me.

As I was getting into the car, a lady and her dog approached me, and she had just been getting ready to ask if I was all right. I'd seen her start out with her dog when I arrived at the cemetery, and I saw her again at the end. She had noticed that I'd been out in the cold all of that time and wanted to check on me to make sure I was okay. I thanked her several times, and hopped in the warm car, thinking kind thoughts about the local neighbors.

A pair of tostadas at the local taco joint just about hit the spot after that. And while there are no public restrooms in Pine Grove Mills (which makes it sorta hard to hang out for any extended period of time and be a walker there), there certainly are at Lupita's, and they provided a welcome rest break on the way home.

Now, I've told you some details about my day, but let me focus for a few minutes and paragraphs on the disability adjustment aspect of it. Being unable to walk normally without lots of pain is a new thing for me, and let me be honest: I hate it. I am a walker. I am accustomed to walking several miles every day. I realize now that I take all of that for granted. To not be able to walk long distances with ease and speed is very upsetting and frustrating to me. But I am trying to be patient, as I suspect this episode will only last a few days. (She said hopefully.)

To be truthful, while lying in bed in the morning, unsure how my knee would do on this day, I didn't look forward to my adventures as much as usual; but I DID look forward to my return to the safety of our home at end of day, and to the fact that there was nothing on our calendar for the following day that we HAD to do. Having NO plans or obligations (not even fun ones) sounded just excellent to me.

I also dropped my cane everywhere I went, because I didn't know what to DO with it, as I did other stuff, or picked up other items. It's hard to carry anything else in your hands when you are using a cane. And anything that requires BOTH hands? Forgetaboutit! In poor weather, I reserve one hand for the camera and one hand for the umbrella; without another hand or two, what would I even DO with the cane? 

A tote bag over the shoulder can help carry stuff if you need one or both hands to hang onto railings and/or a cane. And I've even stuffed a bottle of soda down my (elastic waist) pants at one point to carry it up the stairs while using the cane. Hello, is that a bottle of Diet Pepsi down there, or are you REALLY happy to see me, LOL!

And that sound you heard - at the post office, and at Lupita's - was the clatter of me dropping my cane YET AGAIN because I am so poor at managing it. And everyone looked UP because it made such a racket! I felt like a fool! I shrugged, gave apologetic nonverbals: Sorry for the racket, I'm newly disabled, I'm very poor at it. Oh, and for sure, I totally SUCK at this cane thing. . . .

I have also been leaving the cane in odd places; I hung it on a door knob at home and neither of us could find it. Also, when you wash your hands at a bathroom sink, what are you supposed to do with the CANE while your hands are soaking wet? I tried hanging it on my camera bag. Clatter-clatter! There it goes - down again!

My new disability also made me think of distances much differently. For instance, the night before, my husband and I went to watch a DVD in the bedroom. We'd been in the living room before that, and as we left the living room, my brain went, "Well, see ya later, living room; I won't be back out HERE tonight!" The 30 feet it took to walk to the bedroom felt like ETERNITY. And you should have seen me try to climb up on the bed! Oy vey!

The day before this, before I began using the cane, I had found myself almost completely unable to walk at one point in my day. I'd taken a short local walk around the neighborhood in the morning, and I did all right with that. And then my husband and I stopped at Miles Hollow to visit Julian Wetland, which is just a short walk. I was taking the photo of the tree and bench, when I turned around, twisted my knee, and cried out in genuine anguish. 

My husband, well ahead of me on the trail, saw my grimace as I caught up to him: "If you didn't want to walk, you should have told me!" he said in frustration, as I told him I was in pain. Well, the truth is this: I DID want to walk. I just didn't know when I set out to do it that I was not able; I somehow just took it for granted that I COULD. How humbling.

For the first time ever, I looked helplessly at the trail, and thought, "I can't do this." But I DID it anyway, which probably displayed poor judgment on my part. For my photo of the tree and bench from yesterday, my tag line was almost: "You have no idea how much this photo cost me." No, I'm not one who says art has to hurt. But sometimes it DOES. Sometimes art comes out of pain: sometimes because of the pain, sometimes in spite of it, because the art is what you make to try to get through it all.

I also swallowed my pride and asked my husband to do a few things for me: to bring me a cold drink in the evening as we watched a marvelous James Bond movie, to start my cup of hot tea for me in the morning. If you are someone who hates to ask for help, this sort of thing can be quite difficult; also, there's the waiting for the person you've asked to actually DO what you've asked. If you are an impatient sort *raises hand* the new asking for help part and the new waiting part may seem totally annoying. But I tell myself: ease up; try to be patient, with yourself, and with others.

But standing in the graveyard in Pine Grove Mills celebrating my sunflower friend, I felt like my cane made me fierce. I grabbed it and gesticulated with it. I twirled it at the sky. You know what. Whatever else you say about me, let's be clear on one thing: Whatever I am, whatever happens to me, no matter the occasional degree of difficulty, I am out there EVERY DAY, slaying it! I am also not afraid to celebrate my own particular brand of ridiculosity, and I embrace the oddity that is me. For better, or for worse.

In case you had not noticed, music helps me cope. Sometimes, if you want to feel strong, it helps if you play songs that make you FEEL strong. Music can be a powerful motivator. I have certain songs on my playlist that I put on repeat when I need to feel like a better, stronger version of ME. I hope you can find something that does that for you, too.

Also, in my past life as a Penn State employee, I worked in disability services. If you are someone who has a disability or pain on a permanent or semi-permanent basis, my hat's off to you. You have my respect and my sympathy. Having days when one is pretty much completely UNable is a bummer. I also began to think to myself: this is the story in which I get my just desserts. Picture me, learning it all anew at a grassroots level.

I have always considered myself a very capable person, and this problem challenged my image of myself as competent. I just can't imagine dealing with this sort of thing on a daily basis, and the experience has been eye-opening, which is one of the reasons why I am sharing my story in this level of detail.

My recent injury is to the back of my right knee, which means that I can bend my knee easily, but straightening it hurts. Going UP stairs or uphill is fine. Going DOWN stairs or downhill sucks. I have discovered that I can go down stairs backwards, holding onto a railing, and if I take my time, I do just fine. I am learning strategies to cope: when you are more able, do more. When you are less able, do less (and PLAN less). And oh, allow more TIME for just about everything! 

For instance, the 15 minutes I'd allotted at Target only got me my return and access to ONE single clearance rack. I could have used at least 5 or 10 more minutes. And all of those carts all mooshed together by the checkouts? They were a roadblock I could barely get through! What a learning experience I have been having. . . .

I have two photos, so here are two soundtrack songs. First, for the photo of the most sheltered nook in the tiny cemetery, where I took refuge, here is Gordon Lightfoot, with Cold on the Shoulder. Second, for the photo of some of the last of the Dancing Girls resting on the shoulders of our tiny brass Christ the Redeemer statue, I've got Josh Groban, with You Lift Me Up. (Sheesh! We covered a lot of ground on THIS one, LOL!)