Monday we took Jeri & Vince to Cooper’s Rock. Since the weather was hazy, hot, and humid, we waited until late afternoon to go, and even so still didn’t stay long.

Despite the heat, it was gorgeous, and we had a good time. The only sad part was that because I’m still limping along, jumping and climbing (even just a teeny bit of climbing) were right out.

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Right now–AS I TYPE THIS–members of the UCF (besides myself) are sitting in my living room.

Here are some pictures from our adventures so far.

Jeri and the Very Small House
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The Declaration of Independence

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,
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As I mentioned to my friend Erin on twitter, I think it is fitting that the death of Senator Byrd has created an extra long Independence Day weekend to West Virginians.

Most who have never lived here do not understand precisely what Senator Robert C. Byrd meant to the state and its residents. They know he was was a member of Congress longer than anyone else ever. They know he was called the King of Pork. They may even know he had been majority leader, minority leader, and President Pro Tem of the Senate. What they don’t understand–can’t understand really–is what all this meant to those of us who lived here.

Senator Byrd had a checkered past in some ways. He was born in a time when racism was accepted and spent the first part of his life believing in those principles. However, he came to discover that outside differences mean nothing, and he came to profoundly regret his earlier beliefs and apologized for his earlier beliefs and actions.

Senator Byrd was the first person in his family to go to school past the second grade. While he was in Washington D.C. representing West Virginia, he got his law degree by taking night classes. But his education was far greater than that. He was a musician, a lover of poetry and verse, and he revered the Constitution and this country.

He went to Washington DC with one objective–to represent his state and to do everything in his power to improve the lives of its citizens. The “King of Pork” wasn’t an insult to him, or to those of us who lived here. He didn’t want to build a bridge to nowhere, he wanted to bring in money to improve the state and its population. He helped us build roads. He helped us build infrastructure. He helped drive government agencies and projects to the state. And he helped build the educational system in the state.

The building in which I work is officially called the Robert C Byrd Health Sciences Center, and within that complex of structures we have one of the top Rural Health programs in the country. The money he brought in did far more than provide jobs–it helped to create an educational system dedicated not just to educating future health professionals but to improve the health of all the citizens of the state by sending its students throughout the state to help provide health care in isolated and impoverished areas.

This is the legacy he left us.

He helped create systems that do more than create a handful of jobs, these systems support and improve the entire state and all its citizens. These systems attempt to reach out to those in isolation and poverty and provide them with the things that most people take for granted: Roads. Education. Health care.

He was a great man, and his like will not be seen again.

That’s right, this was the big one. I’m now 40!

Does it feel any different? Oddly enough, yes. However, that is not due to my age as much as to the life changing experience of breaking my ankle and being off my feet for six very long weeks.

Several years ago I decided that my goal for my 40th birthday was to feel comfortable in my own skin–to like myself for who I am. I’d started on this goal before that (years of therapy will do that to you) but I still had to work myself up to it.

The first big hurdle was accepting my hair. Do I still sometimes wish I had more manageable hair? Of course. But it is what it is, it’s not going to change, so I learned to deal with it, and be happy with what I have.

Once I got past that, everything else seemed pretty easy in comparison.

I already had a regular exercise routine, and I continued with that routine–right up to breaking my ankle–but by taking care of myself physically, I take care of not just my physical health, but my mental health as well.

I also came to the conclusion that enjoying life was far more important that worrying about stupid stuff, such as my weight. If I want to eat a ridiculously high fat calorie laden dessert because it looks really really really delicious, then it doesn’t make sense to deny myself the occasional treat.

Of course that circles around to accepting myself for who I am. I am never going to have the skinny body I had at 18, but that’s a good thing. Because I’m not a teenager anymore and I feel far more comfortable in my curves than I did when I felt as if I was all bony elbows and knees.

Interestingly, my injury made me realize that I am in really good shape. I’ve always felt that because I don’t run or partake in more assertive forms of exercise that I’ve been cheating myself somehow. After discovering how quickly I am bouncing back from my injury I realized that what I have been doing is just fine for my–I don’t have to be able to run marathons I simply need to keep myself in shape and healthy. I’ve done that, so no more guilt about running or anything like that.

The hardest part has been accepting my screw-ups–and believing that not everything is my fault. Everyone messes up. When I do, it’s my job to own up to it and move on. It does me no good to beat myself up over what is past. I can hope that I won’t make the same mistakes, but I also know that my mouth often works faster than my brain, and so stupidity WILL occur. It just isn’t the end of the world.

The last thing I learned is that it’s okay to do things for myself. It is important to me to care for others, but I cannot do that if I’m a wreck myself.

Mind you, this doesn’t mean I think I’m perfect and done growing. Because I’m not (on both counts). But I am who I am. I accept that. I other people don’t like me–that’s their problem, not mine.

So happy birthday to me! I can’t believe I’ve made it 40 years!

Also, Happy Birthday to Cathy, and to Phiala as well.

This week’s word is: Senator

Today I had my first PT appointment since being able to put weight on my foot. Six weeks and three days after breaking my ankle, I’m cleared to walk without crutches.

Things aren’t perfect–I’m still rolling a bit to the outside of my foot when I’m tired, and I have a lot of strength to regain, but I am doing really well–in fact, Corrie (the PT) was shocked at how well I was doing.

So yeah, I still have swelling, and yeah I still have aching, but those can be easily treated and getting back to normal is probably the best way to put that behind me.

So, yay me!

Here it is, the first flower pr0n since I broke my ankle!

I missed a lot of flowers: peonies, bearded irises, dutch irises, and a lot of my day lilies, though most of them still seem to have buds.

(as always, click through to see the expanded set on Flickr)

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…and that’s just what I’m doing.

Friday I was allowed for the first time since my accident to put weight on my foot–I’d come prepared to the doctor’s appointment and actually had a shoe with me, so I walked out of the office–albeit with two crutches.

Once back at the house, I quickly abandoned both crutches, determining I didn’t need them in the house, however, when we’ve gone out, I’ve taken one crutch, just to be safe. After all, this is Morgantown, and we are not known for flat, even ground.

I’m still taking pain-killers. My ankle is still swollen, and and it’s still a little achey, as are the muscles I haven’t used in a month and a half. Not only does the tylenol allow me to remain comfortable, but when the aches recede into the background it is easier for me to make sure I am walking correctly–not limping or using a strange gait that would place strain upon my knees or hips.

I have to admit I’m a bit worried about how long I’ve been taking the pain-killers, but being able to walk normally without picking up an bad habits is important.

If you haven’t already seen it, go read today’s Non Sequitur comic.

Got it?

Now read this news article I came across this morning.

No, I didn’t watch the video. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I broke my ankle.

Today, I’m back on two feet and walking!

HUZZAH!

Today’s word is: multifaceted

For those who don’t follow me on Twitter, Grandmom had her surgery yesterday afternoon, and came through fine.

She’d broken her femur near the hip, but did not break her hip. They put a rod through the hip and into the femur, and apparently she is supposed to be up and walking today. There was a great deal of discussion prior to the surgery with the anesthesiologist: the surgery had to be delayed because she is on coumidin and they had to thicken her blood, and they got her OK for the surgery, however, it was too thin for them to use spinal anesthesia, which meant they needed to intubate her, except that because of her goiter, her trachea is deformed.

I do not envy the anesthesiologist the job he had yesterday.

Michael & I went down Friday night and got to see her Saturday morning. She of course lectured me for coming down, but I didn’t care.

She’ll be in VA for rehab and then we’ll see what happens from there.