Miss You

 I haven't been keeping up with the news sufficiently of late. There has been more work lately, and more physical activity, and more demands on my time to accomplish various tasks. The extra work and activity are beneficial and I am grateful, but there has been a cost, as there is for most things.

I've gotten even further behind with email correspondence, only occasionally able to rise above work-related stuff and communicate with friends. I've also become increasingly unable to keep well informed about current events: I miss a lot of news stories and sometimes only learn about them through others' discussions of the topics.

That's how I missed, and how I learned of, the sad news that Charlie Watts won't be drumming any more, at least not in any venues where I can attend. I just found out a few hours ago that he passed away, and it's hard not to find significance of a superstitious sort in my completely coincidental switch of my stereo playlists the other day from the likes of Dire Straits and Aerosmith to the Rolling Stones. I must have played "Satisfaction" and "Midnight Rambler" a dozen times each in the last week, after a hiatus on Stones music of maybe six months.

If memory serves, "Paint it Black" was the first 45 rpm record I ever bought myself, when I was 16 or 17, and it was either that or the Yardbirds'  "Shapes of Things" being played at excessive volume that damaged the speakers on my Dad's brand-new Magnavox stereo. 

The Rolling Stones provided a lot of the background music for my teen years, and a lot of my memories of those days--and many later years, too--strut and stretch and skip and swagger to the sound of Charlie's drumbeats and cymbal crashes. 

I'm going to miss you, Charlie Watts. 

Changes

 In another week it will have been two years since I was released from a long hospital stay, returned, as it were, to the wild. Neither "set free" nor "let loose" would have been accurate at the time: when I wasn't confined to a wheelchair, I was constrained by a bed. Standing up unassisted was the focus of my determination: just before leaving the rehabilitation hospital I had finally managed to stand up--briefly--with the assistance of a physical therapist.

But there have been changes.

As recently as a year ago I was finally learning how to walk with a walker, although most significant movement was still in the wheelchair.  Rehab proceeded apace, and the staff of the day care/rehab center assured me that my progress was unusually swift. It did not seem so to me; it seemed, if not continental drift slow, at least glacial slow. Reviewing and reflecting on various documents, photos, and video records lately has somewhat persuaded me, however. So has consideration of my current and near-future situation.

I'm driving a loaner sub-compact Suzuki Swift while my Escudo is being inspected and repaired, and the navigation system updated to reflect, especially, all of the new or greatly changed streets and buildings in town. The fact that I'm driving when I could barely stand up not too long ago is certainly a significant change, and there's a considerable difference between commuting to rehab in a wheelchair strapped into a van and driving back and forth myself. Not that long ago, I would probably have been unable to fit into the loaner's driver's seat. Nearly 50 kilos lighter than I was when I started at the day care center, I'm not exactly svelte at 90 kilos or so, but it's not particularly difficult to get in and out and drive the Swift.

It hasn't been that long since nurses were offering to help feed me lunch. I declined despite understanding their concern: my fine motor control wasn't real great after being bed-ridden for months and having muscles atrophy. These days I'm cooking over half of the meals at home, and walking around with heavy pots, sharp knives, and the like has become routine, while stretching up or down to get things, or twisting and maneuvering around tables or chairs while carrying plates of food  is no longer astonishing.

My schedule and activities are soon going to change, too. After just short of two years, I'll be shifting from a six-hour, three times weekly day care schedule with rehab built into it, to a two-and-a-half-hour, four times weekly morning intensive rehab arrangement. The place and the physical/occupational therapists are the same, but the equipment is somewhat different and I'm dispensing with the help that I've been getting with bathing, as well as skipping the center-provided lunch. The actual time devoted to exercise and practice is going to more than double.

There have been, and will continue to be, lots of changes.