Farm to Table

Mile Marker 4007:

If you're going to cook a mushroom, take my advice.  Don't name it.  No matter how cute it is.

It's opening day at the Old City Farmer's Market!

I run into Donna on my way.  She already stopped there, but she does an about-face to walk back with me.  She texts Mike to come along too.  What great walking buddies I have!

The market is small today -- only 6 stands -- but it's bustling.  The whole neighborhood is excited it's back in town.  If the Farmer's Market is here, summer can't be far behind.

Our first stop is a table full of mushrooms.  That's where I find this beauty...

(...along with Mike, the Photobomber!)

It's a mushroom as big as a cauliflower.  And it sits in my hand like a furry white hedgehog.  The farmer at the table calls it a Pom-Pom.

I'm in love.  How have I never seen these before?

"We're not here in the summer," the farmer says.  "The mushrooms don't like the heat."

Ah, I get it.  Mushroom weather and prosthetic weather are one and the same.  Today's cloudy and cool, ideal for both of us.  I knew we were kindred spirits!

I run my finger along the mushroom's ridged surface.  What looks like fur doesn't feel furry at all.  It feels like a mushroom -- but a mushroom that's been sculpted into Donald Trump's hairstyle.  (Only much, much cuter!)

I ask how to cook it.

"Pull it apart gently," the farmer says.  "Sauté it in oil."  He says it'll take on the flavor of whatever I add.

"I'm getting a pet mushroom!"  I tell Donna and Mike.

"Don't name it," Mike says.

We walk home with my treasure in a paper bag.  Unnamed.

I wasn't planning to cook a real dinner tonight.  It's already 6:15, and my socket is rubbing.  But now I've got this mushroom.  And I'm curious.

Plus, I'm energized by the Farmer's Market.  I head out to the balcony, where baby greens are ready to be picked!

I used to have a big garden at my house in South Philly, but after my accident, it became too much to handle.  I've downsized to a tiny balcony.  It has more potential than you'd think.

In just two flower boxes, this year's crops are growing strong:  rosemary, lavender, baby greens, sweet basil, and (hopefully) tomatoes!


Back in the kitchen, the greens go into a salad.  Frozen pesto goes into the microwave.  And that very cute mushroom goes into a cast iron sauté pan.

When I tug it gently, it pulls apart like the cottony tufts of a Dr. Seuss tree.

I stir in coconut oil, lemon verbena, and lemon thyme.  The mushroom gets toasty.  In minutes, it turns a color somewhere between pan-seared scallops and breakfast potatoes.

Now that's Farm to Table!

By now, you're probably wondering what the point of this cooking lesson is.

Usually I learn something new with each mile marker.  Come out with some greater understanding of the world, or myself, or life in general.

Mushroom Shwag!!

So what's the takeaway from Mile 4,007?   I'm not sure...

Try new things?
Appreciate the small?
Find beauty in nature?
Shop local?

Go ahead.  Help yourself.  Take whatever appeals to you.

That cute (and very delicious!) mushroom appealed to me.


Love mushrooms?  Mycopolitan Mushroom Company is a mushroom farm located in a Philadelphia basement!  Check out their website for more info!

Thoughts at 4000

Mile Marker 4000:

My contact lenses are dry.  The lights in the Healing Garden need new batteries.  I could really use an iced green tea...

These are my thoughts -- in no particular order -- on the day I hit Mile 4000.

It's a beautifully uneventful day.  The rain has stopped.  There's a gusty breeze.  The sky is bright blue and the air smells leafy green.

I LOVE NORMAL.

I woke up this morning thinking of a post I wrote way back in the beginning.  Mile Marker 28:  The Usual.   It's about how trauma has its own landscape, and how the ordinary world somehow keeps turning while we're away.

I've found my way back, but I still marvel at the "normal" stuff I used to do.  Now when I make dinner and wash the dishes, my foot aches.  My socket rubs after a workday.  Mail piles up on the table.  The floor gathers crumbs.  I've never been so exhausted.  Yet I can't deny it.  I'm super happy to be here.

This morning, I take my usual walk for coffee.  Drink it on the balcony.  Then I meet with a colleague.  Go to a doctor's appointment.  Tend to the Healing Garden at Jefferson.  On Walnut Street, I sweat out of my socket mid-stride and discover that Peet's Coffee has a spiffy bathroom.   Just a typical day in amputee-land.

When I get home, I'm at Mile 3999.69.  So close!

Leg freshly fastened, I decide to walk around the block.  No fanfare.  Nothing fancy.  I just feel fortunate to make the trip.

I head south toward Market Street, over the bricks and cobblestones, dodging construction zones and crumbling curbs.

Artwork pops up unexpectedly.



Along with Philly-style inspiration...

Yo Adrienne!

Trucks rumble past.  Cars make turns.  From somewhere distant, I hear rap music.  And beyond that, birds.

My feet keep moving and my mind does too.  I've got a shopping list a mile long for CVS.  Up the street, there's a baby gift I need to get.  And across from that, there's a store where I want to order new glasses frames.

It's Mile 4000.  But it's also just a Monday.

No errands today.  I stay focused on each step.  Walking is a privilege, and this lap deserves attention all its own.

These feet have walked 4000 miles!

It's hard to believe how fast it's gone.  My first thousand miles took nearly two years to complete.  This last thousand took only 10 months!

As I round the last corner toward home, I run into my neighbor Faye.  Faye is 81 years old.  She wants me to take her rock climbing.

Welcome to my world.

Here's to normal.
And here's to everything that lies outside of it.

In other words...
Here's to the next thousand!

Hero

Mile Marker 3974:

Backtrack with me 700 miles or so....

One morning last fall, I packed my rollerblades, hockey stick, and pads into the car.  My whole body was jittery with excitement as I drove to the therapy gym.

I was going to skate with Brian Propp!

WHAT?!?!

If you don't know what a big deal that is, you haven't been a Flyers fan as long as I have.

I wanted to shout it to everyone I knew, but I couldn't.

As a hospital, Magee takes patient privacy very seriously.  So there was no camera.  No blog post.  Just two Magee therapists and two Magee patients -- Brian Propp and me -- lacing up our skates and passing the puck around in the basement parking garage (a.k.a. "the skating rink").

No, it wasn't the Spectrum ice.  It was much cooler!

I started going to Flyers games as an infant in my dad's arms.  Growing up, my brothers and I dressed as Flyers players for Halloween.  And for my Sweet Sixteen, I got a real Flyers jersey.

Brian Propp played left wing on the Flyers for 11 seasons.  I watched him from the time I was in elementary school until I went to college.  To a teenage Flyers fan like me, Brian and his teammates always seemed larger than life.

That day we skated in the Magee parking garage was not really the first time we met...

This was the first time!

In his career as a pro athlete, Brian Propp had visited patients at Magee many times.  But last summer, when he suffered a stroke, Brian became a patient himself.  He couldn't move the right side of his body.  He couldn't stand up.  And he couldn't speak more than 3 words.

(And our therapists were
creative to get us there!)

Our situations were much different, but as Magee patients, Brian and I had one thing in common.  We had to relearn to walk before we could ever try to skate!

I admit it.  When I heard Brian Propp was a patient at Magee, I was pretty star-struck.  (Ok, I still am!)   But here's the truth:

Illness and injury can strike anyone.  Even our greatest heroes.

It comes out of nowhere.  It knocks you down when you least expect it.  It levels the playing field, or the skating rink -- OR LIFE -- in ways you never, ever could have imagined.

Fast forward to Mile 3,974.  It's my second year attending Magee's Night of Champions.  At last year's event, I was honored to receive the Believe Award.  This year, I have a different honor.  I'm presenting that award to Brian Propp!

Like most Magee patients, Brian struggled to get his life back.  And in many ways, I understand how that feels.  But is it different when you're in the public eye?  When patients recognize you?  When they're star-struck?  When they're looking to you to continue to be their hero?

Some days, I watched Brian from my mat in the therapy gym.  He was determined, motivated, and persistent.  I'm sure he worked as hard in therapy as he ever played on the ice.  But he also took time to engage with other patients.  (One man with a Flyers tattoo told me proudly how he'd gotten a photo with Brian Propp!)  During Brian's own rehab, he reached out and gave back.

Magee's slogan is BELIEVE, and that's what we learn to do.  We learn it from our therapists, from our doctors and nurses, and from our families and friends.  They all help us find our way back.  But the most powerful support is what we, as patients, give to other.  That's the stuff of heroes.

Surrounded by Brian's therapy team, I pass him the award.  Hand to hand.  Patient to patient.  Flyers fan to Flyer.

I'm still in awe.  And now, more than ever, I BELIEVE.

Be Like Mike

Mile Marker 3800:

Back in February, on Superbowl Sunday, my mom and I attended a show at the Walnut Street Theater.

Who would see a show on Superbowl Sunday, right?

Wrong.  The theater was packed!

Ok, it was a small theater.  Maybe 6 rows front to back, arranged in a horseshoe shape around a floor-level stage.

On that stage sat a wooden shack.  And attached to that shack was a front porch.  And off that front porch ran a set of rickety stairs.

On those stairs was Michael.

He lumbered down them.  Paced back and forth across the stage.  Plopped himself down to sit on the edge of the porch.

I watched his every move.

Ten minutes into the play, I realized I was holding my breath.

Michael was a brand new amputee.

If you're from Philly, you may have heard of actor Michael Toner.  Last summer he was seriously injured in a hit-and-run on his way home from a rehearsal.  Coincidentally (and fortunately!) he was delivered into the hands of the very same trauma team that saved my life.

Click HERE for a great article!

When his show, Moon for the Misbegotten, opened just months later, Michael returned to the stage to play the part for which he'd been cast before his injury -- Irish farmer Phil Hogan.

He was perfect for it.

But I know a few things about being a new amputee.  (And if you've been following this blog, you probably know them too!)

To put it simply:

1.  Walking with a prosthesis takes balance, planning, practice, strength, courage, and a thousand other things.

2. When you're walking, it's nearly impossible to do anything else!

On his brand new leg, Michael not only walked.  He walked on stage!  He ACTED.  He dodged props.  He climbed rickety steps.  He hugged and slapped other characters.  He poured whiskey!

And he somehow made it all look completely natural!

After the show, my mom and I hovered in the lobby.  Introduced by email a few months before, I couldn't wait to meet Michael in person!

But before I could even congratulate him, he complimented my walking.  "Look at her!" he said to his friends.  "You can't even tell!"

"Are you kidding?"  I answered.  "You walk ON A STAGE!  I'm 5 years ahead of you, and I still avoid walking in front of an audience!"

He smiled with his whole being.  That's Michael's way.

With Michael and his friend,
another "Jefferson patient-alum," Martha!

Michael told me how his PTs helped him face those obstacles on the stage.  How they decided to lock his prosethetic knee for stability.  He wouldn't be able to bend his leg, but he'd be safer.  And luckily, the limp made it more authentic.  In the 1920's, prosthetics were basically wooden legs anyway!

As they say, the show must go on! 

It's taken me a while to write this blog post.  Somewhere in mid-February, my own show slowed to a crawl.  Let's just say I'm still getting used to how much all-consuming ENERGY it takes to be an amputee.

I wanted to get this post up finally.   Because on my most exhausting days, Michael is the one who comes to mind.

Despite his arduous journey, Michael never lost sight of the theater and his own writing projects.  From our emails, I learned how taxing it was, performing for 3 hours nearly every night, sometimes in 2 shows per day.  All of this while struggling with the same issues as anyone who learns to walk on a prosthesis, or attempts to regain their new normal after a life-changing spill.

But I could also sense his excitement and enthusiasm.

Michael EMBRACES life.  He leans into it with all the MIGHT of a hearty Irish farmer.  With every step, he clings PASSIONATELY to the work he loves.

When the road gets rough, inspiration comes in handy.  And I'll share my newest one with you.

BE LIKE MIKE.

(Ok, maybe living in Chicago Bulls territory back in the '90's had its influence too!)

Give it a try...

What do you love? 
What kind of happiness renews your strength? 
What one thing -- however small -- makes getting out of bed worthwhile?

Whatever it is, don't let go of it.
Through hardship, rediscover your JOY.

Superbowl Sunday was 6 weeks ago.  And I should tell you that between then and now, Michael and the cast completed a month-long road tour.  (Yes, he travels too!)

I'm looking forward to details now that Michael's back in town.  But in the end, I'm pretty sure it'll all come down to that determined smile of his...

The show must go on -- the road!


(Thanks to Philly.com and the Walnut Street Theater for the show photos!)

Happy Walking Day 2016!

Mile Marker 3660(?):

It's been 5 YEARS since I took my first steps on a prosthesis!

On February 11, 2011, Prosthetist Tim propped me up between the parallel bars and uttered those words I'll never forget... Big step with the right.  Small step with the left.

I was off!

The road hasn't always been smooth, but I'm grateful every day to be moving.

Today, 5 years later, I'm away at a state educational conference in Hershey, PA.  It's an accomplishment -- traveling here on my own -- but it also means that I'm SITTING most of the day.

By 5 p.m., I'm itching to celebrate.  Just in time for a brilliant sunset, I escape outside TO WALK.

One mile.  24 degrees.  In the parking lot of the convention center.  (There are no sidewalks in sight!)

It's too cold to check my Fitbit, and my face nearly freezes off, but I'm determined to capture the day.  And to take you -- my friends, family, blog followers, support team, and pit crew -- along with me!

Here's what I come up with...

I'll never be a "vlogger," but I do have fun :)

Happy Walking Day!
Thanks for 5 years and so much more!

Overcoming

Mile Marker 3640:

At 4:35 a.m. I wake up bewildered.  Ripped from sleep.  My heart spasms with panic.

A loud horn blasts through my bedroom.  Flashing orange lights blink through the closed blinds.

Is it a fire alarm??  Do I have time to put my leg on??  Where is it coming from??

In a rush of adrenaline, my body knows the drill...

EMERGENCY!
FIGHT!  FLIGHT!
DANGER!
GO!!!

It's not the fire alarm.

Within seconds, I realize the noise is coming from the street outside, where a line of giant bulldozers idle like army tanks below my window.

I should have known.

For the past few months, my apartment has been surrounded by construction zones.  Dishes rattle in the kitchen cabinets.  My windows are coated with dust.

But in the predawn darkness, the piercing noise sends me careening into high alert.

I leave the light on, but I can't go back to sleep.  Gradually, my heartbeat slows to a dull flutter.  I curl under the covers, trying to relax my muscles.  Hours later, dressed and ready for work, I'm shaken and angry but not afraid anymore.

What does it mean to "overcome" a trauma?

To me, it's like bobbing in the middle of a vast ocean.  There are periods of calm water, spurts of confidence.  Stability.  Independence.  Direction.  Joy.

Then another wave hits.  The water gets rough, but I've learned what to do.  Aim forward.  Focus on the here and now.  Breathe.  Work my way through it.  From the outside, you might not even notice the struggle.  We might be walking together as a car turns in the street behind us.  Or talking as a truck thunders off a nearby curb.

There are waves everywhere, but I've become a decent swimmer.  Most of the time, I stay afloat.

I seek out predictable currents and stay on guard, yet some waves still take me by surprise -- when they're bigger, or stronger, or LOUDER than I'm ready for.  Their force pulls me under when I least expect it, like a line of bulldozers at 4 a.m.

Oversimplified, but you get the idea...

Trauma changes one's innermost workings.  There's something about that shock and pain, our own powerlessness in the face of adversity.  It runs so deep it rewires us from head to toe.

I wonder about that word I hear so often:  OVERCOMING.  We use it to mean "putting something difficult behind us," but does it really ever happen that way?

OVER can mean above or surpassed.  But it can also mean repeating, as in over and over again...

And COMING?  Well, I guess that implies we're not quite there yet.

(Interestingly, I almost never hear the word used in the past tense:  She overcame many obstacles.)

That's because overcoming is an ongoing, moment-to-moment process.  It takes purpose, and concentration, and lots and lots of energy.  Paddle hard and fast.  Keep your head up.  Plant your feet whenever you can.  Push through the next wave, and believe that calmer waters are ahead.

As a wise fish once learned...

And when all else fails, leave the bedroom light on.

California Dreamin'

Mile Marker 3600:

I've dreamed of traveling freely like I used to.

At long last, I decide to give it a try.  In just 5 hours, I travel nearly 3,000 miles!

The trip is both a celebration and a challenge.

It's a celebration because I cashed in a flight credit from a trip I had to cancel last summer.  Remember Mile 2988?  (Broken foot, wheelchair, etc.)   After that ordeal, traveling on my own feels like a pretty big accomplishment.

It's also a challenge though.  As the trip approaches, I experience chest-squeezing anxiety.  Threatening abdominal pain.  A tiredness I can't seem to kick.  Socket rubs in the most miserable places.

A mini-vacation seems good in theory, but there are so many things to worry about... How will I survive such a long airplane flight?   What equipment should I bring?  What medications?  What emergency measures should I put in place, just in case?

I never dreamed the trip would go off without a hitch.

My flight departs Philly just minutes before a blizzard.  To add to the luck, I'm having an incredibly "good leg day."   It's rare for the forces to come together like that.  In my 5 years as an amputee, this is definitely the most well-timed trip ever!

When I land in Los Angeles, my college roommate Keats scoops me from the airport with hugs, chatter, and an iced coffee waiting in the car.  It's been 15 years since we've seen each other, yet watching us, you'd think we were just catching up after winter break!

Before we even hit the freeway, I know this trip will be worth the planning.

It is.

Courtesy of east coast jet lag!

The next morning, I watch the hazy sunrise from my hotel balcony.

That's West Hollywood for
all you non-locals!

We eat brunch at a French Cafe in WeHo.







Stroll through the gardens at the Getty.

Photos can't quite capture the beauty --
or the FUN!

Long time, no see!

Catch up with my cousin Adam in Playa Del Rey.

Ever see a sky like that??

And watch the evening roll on to Venice Beach.





We talk the whole time.  A lot.  Not about the world as it is, but about how it should be.  These are my friends and family, but they're also "idea" people.  Doers.  DREAMERS.  They start their own businesses.  They build and write.  They create new things where nothing was before.  And as the weekend goes on, I start to dream like that too.

Anything is possible in California!

Now that's a
well-designed shower!

The parts of this trip I imagined would be most difficult -- like the hotel bathroom and shower -- turn out to be easy.  There's still leg and digestive stuff to deal with, but I face it the same way I do at home.  As it comes.  I seem to have left my anxiety back east!

I feel energized.
Refreshed.
Encouraged.
Happy.
Victorious.

Traveling is different now, but I finally rediscover that long lost love.  It feels great.  I don't want to go home!

My return flight lands exactly on schedule amidst the snow drifts of Philly.  It's late at night and my leg has shifted awkwardly during the flight.  When I exit the plane, there's no wheelchair, so I limp past empty gates and pretzel stands toward the moving walkway.

On the escalator down to baggage claim, an airport employee strikes up conversation.

"Where are you coming in from?" he asks.

"California," I say, still smiling.

"Why're you here?"  he says.  The tone of his voice implies I might be crazy.

"I live here,"  I answer.  At this very moment, I agree with him.  Why do I live here anyway?

Then I reach the baggage carousel, and this is what I see:

It is such a warm (and hilarious!) welcome, that I forget about the snow and the ice and the weeks of winter ahead!

Why do I live here?

Well, these guys are a good start :)

My friends and neighbors are reason enough.  We laugh all the way home.

Truth be told, I kinda like it here.
Of course, it would be nice if the snow melted.

For now, I know California's out there, and I can return any time I want.  It never hurts to dream...

Great big thanks to Keats, Paul, Ed, Jonathan, and Adam for all the sun and fun, and for a short vacation I'll dream about for a very long time!  xo

Morning Light

When you realize nothing is lacking, the whole world belongs to you.
--Lao Tzu

Mile Marker 3500:

The morning after the fireworks, my neighborhood is quiet.

Birds chirp above 3rd Street, yet when I look up, all I can see are cast iron balconies.  The french doors are dark.  Shades are pulled closed.  The city's still asleep, but the birds wake up early.  It's a good way to start the year.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again...

...I love my morning walks!

I treasure them.  Protect them.  Savor those steps over the cobblestone alleys, those glances upward into a just-lightening sky.

I set my alarm an hour earlier to have time to walk around the block.  It's a testing ground for comfort and fit.  Is my socket too tight or too loose?   Is my leg too turned-in or turned-out?  Is my liner chafing?   Do these shoes toss me forward?

It's a simple plan.  With one small step after another, I get ready to face the day.  Or week.  Or year.

Bet you didn't know she drives
a Honda Fit!

In those last moments before the sun,  I'm ahead of the game.  Museums and shops are closed.  Even Betsy Ross is still in bed.  A tiny car snores in her flagstone courtyard.


In morning light, the day holds potential.  Coffee brews.  Dogs wear sweaters.  Neighbors nod hello.

Paper snowflakes glow from within.  I don't care if it's rainy or cold.  At least it's not snowing!  Each walk means one day down.  One step closer to spring.


On morning walks, things aren't good or bad, they just ARE.  I don't worry, or hurry, or run behind.  I notice the sky.  I listen to the birds.  I stop to take photos.

A hydrant makes a good
coffee holder!

Of course there are missteps along the way.  Sometimes I trip on the sidewalk.  Sometimes I have to stop to rest.  Sometimes I spill coffee down my sleeve.  And sometimes I barely make it to the back gate of my building.

Still, each time I finish, it feels like a JOB WELL DONE.

It's New Year's Resolution time.  There are a lot of things I want to do this year.  I thrive on structure -- plans, promises, and lists.  But resolutions can stretch out like long days ahead.  So much to do, so little time.  Or...

So many obstacles, how will I ever make it through?

I think morning is key.  In the hustle of each day, I'm going to try to hold on to that small PEACE.   Those moments when I feel most courageous, and hopeful, and maybe even a tiny bit graceful.

Those first steps into the morning light, when birds chirp overhead.

From my neighborhood to yours, wishing you a NEW YEAR filled peace, potential, and all the moments you love.

Happy 2016!