Spring Signs (a little poem)

In Old City
spring lights up the trees

and fire escapes.

And construction zones.  

And moving vans too.

So watch your step.

It's in the hats and gloves
and the morning chill
as café owners set tables on the sidewalk.

In spring it seems
everyone smiles more.

Even this early.

Even on a Tuesday.

And at OCC (my favorite stop), there's a special drink in the air --
a violet tea latte,
which I'll sample sometime soon

on a warm afternoon.

When you walk the same path every day, 

you notice the smallest changes.

These are mine.

What subtle signs of spring are on your well-traveled route?

A Garden and A Library

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.

-- Marcus Tullius Cicero

This week, I had both!

The Philadelphia Flower Show and the Free Library of Philadelphia -- a perfect combination to kick-off the season.

Here in Philly, the Flower Show curtails the end of winter.  

(Even if disco lives on!)

Stepping from the blustery March sidewalk into the warmth of the Convention Center is a sure sign of greener days to come.

It's a rainbow of scent,

and color,

and inspiration!

But a library -- isn't that for all-seasons?

Technically yes.  But our local branch is only open limited hours these days.  So when I step out of a doctor's appointment which happens to be across the street... 

...I hit the "open-hours' jackpot!

I wander through the library stacks the same way I wandered through the Flower Show just days earlier -- awed by the creativity, the variety, and the pure potential in so many volumes (and so many stems!) all in one place.  

I check out a French documentary called Louvre City.  Anything about France, like reading in general, transports me to a place of hope and renewal!

Winter into spring is always a tough transition. 

I recently began working with a specialized PT to help with digestive issues.  And just today, I started the long process of breaking in a new prosthetic liner.  

I'm trying to walk more.  
Improve my stamina.  
Get back into shape.

It's like pushing up through the frozen soil or -- if you're more of a reader than a gardener -- it's like trying to write a novel, one keystroke at a time.

I finish off the week with a quiche of spring flavors.  Fresh herbs?  A trip to France?

It's like a garden + library in one!

Happy Spring -- and Happy "St. Patti's" Day (as we say in our family)!

May your garden be healthy.
May your library be open and full.

May you have everything you need.

And may you walk safely -- even on the windiest of days!

Gluggavedur

Ever have a moment when you look out the window and everything feels right in the world?

In this case, it's a car window.
In a CVS parking lot.
With a surprisingly good sky.

Little known fact:  I often find good skies here.  

Another little known fact (or widely known if you live in the area):  That field below the sky?  It used to be densely forested land -- before an unexpected tornado swept through it in September 2021.

Maybe that's why the sky is so surprisingly good.

I learned a new word recently:  Gluggavedur

It's an Icelandic concept that translates to "window weather."  

Gluggavedur brings to mind cozy moments curled up by a warmly lit window, looking outside when you're grateful and happy to be inside.

I know, I know.  I'm sitting in a Prius.  In a parking lot.

Stay with me here.  

It's been a challenging couple of days.  My little leg's nerves are buzzing incessantly, and I've got a new skin irritation from the prosthetic socket.  Also, my digestive system seems to be on mid-winter break.  (These may or may not be related -- who really knows?)

Today, sitting is better than standing, so I've chosen to wait in the car while my mom runs into CVS pharmacy for a quick errand.  I've got a podcast playing on the radio and the seat heater is on.  It's not a bad gig.  

Plus, when I look out the window, there it is.  

That surprisingly good sky.

Gluggavedur.

When I came home from the hospital 12+ years ago, my parents came to this CVS to pick up my many prescriptions.  

When I could finally get around again, I accompanied them on crutches.

It was a big outing!

And later, when I started PT for prosthetic training, we came here again -- to this CVS -- to pick out a shiny brand new metallic blue cane.  

None of that is happening today.

No tornadoes.  
No medical emergencies.  
Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Everything isn't right in the world.  Not even in my world.  I totally get that. 

And yet, in this one small moment...

Through this car window,

In this CVS parking lot,

With this surprisingly good sky,

It feels like everything is.

Nature, beauty, peace, gratitude. 

Gluggavedur. 

Climb Mount Fuji

My friend Kim is climbing Mount Fuji.

For real!

I'm following her journey as I recite the 9's times tables.

No, it's not a dream.  Although it definitely sounds like one.

On the same morning Kim starts her climb -- or more accurately the night after (It's 9:30 PM in Japan!) -- I start my usual walk around the block. 

It's cool and drizzly here in Philly.  The sidewalks are flat and mostly "hike-able," except for a construction zone or two.

And thankfully, the coffee is hot!

I have never been to Japan, except if you count 3rd grade.

We studied Japan that year.

Our classroom had a bulletin board displaying a mountain of blue-gray construction paper, surrounded by clouds.  In the sky above the scene, the board proclaimed:

CLIMB MT. FUJI

That was also the year we learned multiplication.

Each day, we took a one-minute speed quiz.  

First the 1's,
Then the 2's,
Then the 3's,
And so on...

As we "passed" each times table, our names would hike up a notch along the slope of Mt. Fuji.  Day after day, we raced our classmates toward the summit.  In those days, rote memorization (and healthy competition) were par for the course!

I climbed steadily till I hit the 9's. 

The 9's were my nemesis.

It's been years since I've thought about that challenge, but when Kim messages me from Japan, it all comes rushing back.  

For me, climbing Mount Fuji will forever be associated with the times tables.

It's like a short circuit, or a trapdoor of memory.  

Fun to jump through... but why??

In the unlikely event I ever DO climb Mount Fuji, I'm pretty sure I'll have other things on my mind.  You know... real, useful things.

Like sweat in my prosthetic liner.

Pressure points on my skin.
My prosthesis coming loose.

Stress on my right foot.

And trying not to fall.

But for now, this strange link is a fun diversion on an otherwise unremarkable day.  

It's a way keep up with my friends.  To travel, in space and time, without all the fuss!

No need to take time off.  
No packing necessary.  
No health issues to worry about at all.

So as I take my short walk, I imagine myself trudging up Mount Fuji alongside Kim in Japan.

9x5 = 45

9x6 = 54

9x7 = 63...

(Happy to report I now have the 9's down pat.)

Thanks for the inspo, Kim!

I'm right there with ya!

My Favorite Kind of Snow

...Is this kind.

The kind that settles lightly on car windshields, but leaves the sidewalks bare.  The kind that's soft and powdery, like the dust of sugar on cookies.  

Like someone decorated the city just for me.  (And maybe they did!)

GRACIAS :)

As a solo traveler and above-knee amputee, I'm especially cautious in the winter.  I fear snow, ice, wind, and all the hazards that come along with them.  

Really, anything could take me down.  

And, if I go down, my independence goes down with me.  (This gets complicated when you live on your own!)

Snow makes everything more difficult.  It lingers in the city, restricting my ability to run errands, step off curbs, and even park my car.

Long after it's clear enough for "most people," snow continues to confine me at home.

But not this kind!

Today the pavement is drying.  The puddles in the street are liquid, not ice.  

And bonus -- as I start down the sidewalk, a familiar voice calls out my name.

Running into Donna makes even the smallest walk BIG FUN.

Go Eagles!  Go Flyers!

Good vibes, Philly!

For me, this kind of snow is an unexpected win.

Remember This Moment

January 26, 2023.
5:02 PM.

This moment, I'll remember.

The first sign of more daylight,
later sunsets, and longer days to come!

It's the first time since late November that I notice the sky is still light when I get out of work.  

I head east as usual, driving the 14 city blocks home because (1) it's too far for me to walk, and (2) after working all day, my leg isn't predictable enough to take the bus.

I snap a photo so I'll remember this moment.

(No worries, Mom. I'm at a red light!)

This pic might be forgotten by the time I get home, buried 20,000 deep in the "recent photos" album on my phone, like so many others. 

So instead of just snapping it and moving on -- as I usually would -- I deliberately decide... 

To remember this moment.

It's January 26 -- the (many years') anniversary of my brother Mark's Bar Mitzvah.

It's 5:02 --

the number of my 2nd grade Brownie troop,
of which my mom was the leader. :)

Numbers often stick in my mind.  But even without them, it's not hard to engrave a moment in memory!  

Take a typical Sunday afternoon...

My parents and I are in the den watching New Amsterdam, Season 4, Episode 22.  (Yes, we're a little behind.)

In my hands is a mug of hot cinnamon spice tea, a gift from our friend Becca.  And I'm nibbling a piece of dark chocolate from my friend Cécile.  

My mom is curled up in the corner of the couch closest to the television.  She's eating a mini-scone that I baked a while ago, then froze, then defrosted.  

My dad is in his big recliner next to us, commenting back and forth with me on the unlikely scenarios of our show, while simultaneously watching the Flyers game on his Kindle.

I'll remember this moment too.

You don't always need a camera to make a moment memorable.

One of my favorite podcasts, By the Book, did an interview recently with Meik Wiking.  

He's the founder and CEO of the Happiness Research Institute in Denmark, and author of The Art of Making Memories and The Little Book of Hygge. 

In the interview, he talks about this exact thing -- how to turn ordinary moments into memories we won't forget, simply by noticing them. 

And how that can make us happy.  

Even on a very small scale.

If -- like me -- you're on a journey that often stays within 14 blocks of home, it's a good skill to take along!

What will you remember?

P.S.  When "real travel" isn't possible, I often escape into podcasts and books. If you're interested, you can listen to the By the Book interview here or learn more about Meik Wiking's books here.

What's In Your Backpack?

At Mile Marker 9,950...

I carry a backpack.  Always.

The hike to Hawksbill Summit is no different.

As an amputee, I learned early on that backpacks were the way to go.  

Carrying anything while walking was a challenge.  I could do more, handle more, be more when I shouldered the weight squarely on my back.  

With a backpack, I returned to work.  Walked around the city on my own.

Lugged laundry down the basement stairs.

I believed that if I could just CARRY everything, I'd be able to balance whatever life handed me.  

It's like I always carried HOPE in the front pocket of the bag.

But there's something else about backpacks too...

Cultivate Your Garden

Salut from Mile Marker 9,425...

...at Merion Botanical Park!

I'm here with mon amie Cécile - and we have nothing planned except to walk the garden.  

(And maybe find a bench long enough to share a snack from 6 feet apart.)

I cancelled our walk last week.  I was exhausted and overwhelmed.  Maybe it was raining too.  Honestly, I don't remember. 

Be There

Hello from Mile 9,422...

... on Kelly Drive! 

It's the most crowded place I've been in a year.  But with Rocco and Susan, I feel safe.  

That's why we call them my Secret Service :)

Long before the accident, we skated and biked together -- many times on this exact path.  We always watched out for each other.  Made sure none of us got hurt or left behind.

After my accident, they watched out for me even more...

Walk Until Your Day Becomes Interesting

Mile Marker 9393:

What's interesting about your walk?

Ok, go.

Got nothing?  

Nope.  Me either...

Opt Outside

 

Mile Marker 8755: 

What would you do if you weren't afraid? 

Long before this pandemic - and even before Mile 1 -- there was a day I decided to opt outside.  

(Of my comfort zone.)  

True North

Mile Marker 7525:

Pause.  Rewind.

Remember a time when you knew exactly where you were going?  

Inside Out

Mile Marker 7650:

I'm on one foot, balancing my hip along the edge of a boulder.

My backpack is sprawled on the rock next to me, its insides spewing out everywhere:  harness, climbing leg, shoes, socks, towels, liner, alcohol spray, and more.  It's all I can do to keep from dropping my Allen wrench into the ravine 100 feet below.  

19 for 2019

Mile Marker 7000:

It's New Year's Eve and I can't sleep.

Actually, it's 3 A.M.  The fireworks are finished, my friends have gone home, and the streets below my windows are eerily silent.  Yet I'm wide awake, restless, pacing around the apartment with my leg still on.

Why?

Mountain Time

Mile Marker 5400:

Halfway between Woodstock and Thornton is a place that runs on mountain time.

When the sun rises, I'm awakened by real birds, not the artificial "birdsong" of my iPhone alarm.  And instead of walking to get coffee, I drive 9 miles.