The Ankle, The Arthritic Attack, and A Small World

So, I recently had major surgery on my ankle. Let me back up a bit.

My arthritis—which I now refer to as my uninvited houseguest—decided to make itself known. First, it went after my shoulder. The medication stepped in like a bouncer at a rowdy bar and said, "Not tonight." The shoulder was saved.

Then the arthritis regrouped. It strategized. And it decided to attack my ankle with the kind of determination usually reserved for championship boxing matches. It won that round.

So off to surgery I went, to get the arthritis removed and a piece of metal grafted in to make sure my ankle could still do its job. I could explain the procedure in detail, but I will leave that to the surgeon. Suffice it to say, my ankle now has more hardware than my garage.

Three days in the hospital for the first part of recovery. And I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised by the process and the people.

The morning of the surgery, I took a taxi to the hospital. The driver was a nice young man who was gearing up to watch the "Football Game"—Canada versus Switzerland, I believe—later that day. We had a good chat about the game, which I am sure he enjoyed far more than the taxi fare.

Once at the hospital, I was ushered through reception quickly, almost suspiciously quickly. I wandered down to the surgery waiting room. I sat for about five minutes, just enough time to contemplate the meaning of life and whether I had remembered to turn off the coffee maker, when a nurse came out and introduced herself as the person who would be preparing me for surgery.

We got to talking. And as these things often go, we discovered she was from a town in the East Kootenays of British Columbia, a place where I had lived when I was young. We had lived in the area for about three years, staying with relatives.

It is a small world, is it not? She did not know my relatives, though she has a friend who lives in Lister. I know Lister. And I know Canyon. Both towns have what I would describe as a "unique view of the world." That is my polite way of saying they are a little off the beaten path, and the people there are, shall we say, wonderfully unconventional. But it still made me smile. You never know who you are going to run into.

Then the surgeon came in. She reminded me that we had met before. She seemed surprised that I did not remember her. I had met her about a year and a half ago for about 20 minutes, and today she was wearing a mask. I am sure she is a lovely person, but I am terrible with faces under the best of circumstances. Under a mask? Forget it. I struggle to remember my own face sometimes.

Very professional outlook.

Then came the moment. I walked into the operating room with the nurse and the anesthesiologist. I got on the bed. The last thing I heard was the nurse's voice: "You will fall asleep, and we will take good care of you."

They did.

I woke up in recovery. Spent two and a half hours waiting for my leg to "unfreeze." Then I was off to my room.

For the next three days, the staff was attentive, kind, and professional. The food was, well, hospital food, which I think is a universal language for "we tried." But the nurses? They were wonderful.

When it was time to go home, I failed the stairs test. I could not get up and down stairs, and since I have many stairs in my house, which was a problem. So, I opted for Hospital Transit. They delivered me to my house and took me up the stairs like a VIP.

And now, I am home. For the next eight weeks, I cannot put any weight on my left leg.

So, I will write. I will read. I will watch some sports on TV.

And I will be grateful for the people who took care of me, and for the fact that, at the end of the day, I have a new piece of metal in my ankle and a whole new appreciation for hospital nurses. What was your last hospital stay?

Thoughts on life

 The sun rises, the seasons change, opportunities appear, and challenges arrive. The universe is not sitting somewhere keeping score, handing out rewards to some and hardships to others. Storms come. Gardens grow. People enter our lives and people leave. Some days bring joy, while others bring disappointment. Life unfolds without asking for our permission and often without explaining itself.

Many people spend years wondering why certain things happened to them. Was it bad luck? Was it fate? Was it destiny? Was it meant to be?

Perhaps those questions matter less than we think.

Luck may explain a moment, but it does not explain a lifetime. Fate may make an interesting story, but it does not write our daily habits. Destiny may sound comforting, yet every day we still wake up and make choices.

What truly shapes our lives is often much closer to home.

It begins with our thoughts.

A thought becomes an attitude. An attitude influences actions. Actions repeated become habits. Habits shape character. Character influences the direction of a life.

In that sense, thoughts really do become things.

The person who continually thinks, “I’m too old to learn that” closes doors before even reaching them. The person who thinks, “I wonder what would happen if I tried?” opens possibilities. Both people may face the same circumstances, yet they experience very different lives because they approach those circumstances differently.

Consider two retirees. Both leave careers they enjoyed. One sees retirement as an ending. The other sees it as a beginning. One focuses on what has been lost. The other focuses on what can still be gained. Within a few years, their lives may look remarkably different, not because fate chose favorites, but because their thoughts guided their actions.

This does not mean positive thinking magically removes every obstacle. Bills still arrive. Health challenges still occur. Relationships still require effort. Thinking alone is not enough.

But thinking is where everything starts.

Every invention began as a thought. Every friendship began as a thought. Every volunteer project, business, book, garden, and community organization began as a thought in someone's mind before it became a reality.

The wonderful news is that our thoughts are one of the few things completely within our control.

We cannot control the weather.

We cannot control the economy.

We cannot control what other people say or do.

But we can choose what we focus on, what meaning we assign to events, and what actions we take next.

That is a tremendous power.

In fact, it may be the greatest power any of us possess.

Better than winning the lottery, you have the ability to choose your response to life every single day. A lottery ticket can change your bank account. A changed mindset can change your future.

One offers a chance.

The other offers a choice.

And choice is far more valuable.

Every morning you can choose curiosity over fear. Gratitude over complaint. Action over procrastination. Hope over resignation. You can decide to learn something new, meet someone new, help someone else, or take one small step toward a goal that matters to you.

Those choices may seem insignificant in the moment, but over time they accumulate. They become the story of your life.

Life is not giving you a test.

Life is not withholding a break.

Life is simply presenting possibilities.

The question is not what life has planned for you.

The question is: What are you planning for yourself?

Because when your thoughts guide your actions, and your actions shape your future, you discover something remarkable:

You may not control everything that happens to you, but you have enormous influence over what happens next.

And that is better than luck.

Better than fate.

Better than destiny.

It is the power to create a life that reflects the thoughts, values, and dreams you choose to nurture every day.

The Joy of Being Grandma and Grandpa

Let's be honest. We (Baby Boomers) have never been great at admitting we are aging. From the moment we arrived on the scene, we had a mission, a vision, and a stubborn refusal to do things the way our parents did. We changed society so thoroughly that life today barely resembles the 1950s, and honestly, thank goodness for that.

But here we are. The first boomers are turning 80, and we are celebrating it. And somehow, miraculously, we still seem to think we are perpetually young. Denial is a powerful thing.

One role we never planned for? Grandparent.

As parents, we were determined to do things differently. More hands-on. More interactive. More "let's be friends" than "because I said so." The results were mixed,  some kids got great listeners, others got parents who never learned to say no, but one thing is clear: family unity mattered. Parenting wasn't just a job.To us, it was a mission.

Now, with the kids grown and the house quieter, we get to redefine what it means to be grandma and grandpa.

That word, grandparent, has always been a hard sell for a generation that spent decades fighting adulthood, let alone old age. But here's the secret: it's actually fantastic.

Children see grandparents differently. Not as rule-enforcers or homework-checkers. As the people who always have cookies, always have time, and always think they're wonderful, even when they're being ridiculous.

Sitting on granddad's lap, hearing his stories, or just enjoying his terrible jokes is the kind of memory that sticks for life. Grandkids don't care if you've slowed down a little. They care if you show up.

There was a book a while back called "If I Knew Being a Grandparent Was This Much Fun; I Would Have Done It First." That about sums it up.

Here's what grandchildren intuitively understand: we know things. Not because we are smarter. Because we have lived longer. We have made mistakes, survived heartbreaks, and figured out what actually matters. And somehow, coming from grandma or grandpa, that wisdom lands differently than from mom or dad.

Parents have to be teachers, disciplinarians, and rule-makers. We just get to be fountains of love with occasional good advice.

So yes, let us embrace the role. Bring the same passion we brought to everything else, the same commitment, the same love of family, the same refusal to sit quietly in a rocking chair. Our grandkids don't need us  to be young. They need us to be present.

And maybe bring cookies. That never hurts.

Heat Exhaustion and Heat Stroke – The Big Two (And How to Stay Out of the ER)

Alright, friends. We’ve talked about the small stuff: wobbly standing, cranky muscles, puffy ankles, itchy rashes, and sunburns that make you look like a tomato. Now we need to talk about the two villains that actually deserve your fear. Not panic, fear is useful. Panic is not.

Heat exhaustion and heat stroke are the heavy hitters of the Dog Days. One is a serious warning. The other is a life-threatening emergency. Knowing the difference, and what to do about each, could save your life or your neighbor’s.

Heat Exhaustion (The Warning Shot)

Heat exhaustion is your body screaming, “I am NOT okay!” It’s the stage right before things get really bad. The symptoms are hard to ignore, but we’re stubborn creatures, aren’t we? We tell ourselves, “I just need to finish this one thing.” Don’t.

Signs of heat exhaustion:

• Heavy sweating (but the skin may feel cool and clammy)
• Weakness or fatigue that feels extreme
• Dizziness or feeling like you might faint
• Nausea or an upset stomach
• Headache that won’t quit
• Fast, weak pulse
• Muscle cramps (hello, old friend)
• Dark urine (you’re dehydrated)

What to do immediately (and I mean immediately):

1. Get out of the heat. Go inside. Find air conditioning. If you can’t get inside, find deep shade, under a tree or a covered porch.
2. Lie down and put your feet up slightly.
3. Drink cool water or a sports drink. Sip, don’t chug. Chugging can upset your stomach more.
4. Apply cool cloths to your neck, armpits, and groin. That’s where large blood vessels live, so cooling those spots cools your whole body faster.
5. Take off any extra clothing (do this in private or don’t, I’m not here to judge).

Here’s the crucial part: You should start feeling better within 30 minutes. If you don’t, or if you start vomiting, call your doctor or go to urgent care. Heat exhaustion that doesn’t resolve can slip into heat stroke, and that’s where we stop messing around.

Heat Stroke (The 911 Emergency)

Heat stroke is not a joke. It is not a “tough it out” situation. It is your body’s cooling system failing completely. You stop sweating. Your internal temperature climbs above 103°F or 104°F. And your brain starts to get cooked, literally.

Signs of heat stroke:

• Hot, dry, red skin (no sweating, even though you’re burning up)
• Confusion, slurred speech, or agitation (person seems drunk or not making sense)
• Throbbing headache that’s worse than any migraine
• Loss of consciousness (passing out and not waking up quickly)
• Rapid, strong pulse (feels like your heart is trying to escape)
• Seizures (this is very, very bad)

What to do if you suspect heat stroke (in yourself or someone else):

1. Call 911 immediately. Do not wait. Do not “see if it gets better.” Do not drive yourself to the hospital unless there is literally no other option. Call an ambulance.
2. Move the person to a cooler place while waiting.
3. Cool them by any means possible. Ice packs on the neck, armpits, and groin. Cool water sprayed on the skin with fans blowing. If they’re alert enough to drink, give cool water, but if they’re confused or unconscious, do NOT give anything by mouth, they could choke.
4. Do not give fever medication like Tylenol or ibuprofen. This isn’t a fever; it’s environmental overheating. Those pills won’t work and can hurt the kidneys.

The best news? Heat stroke is almost entirely preventable. And prevention looks exactly like everything we’ve talked about all week:

• Hydrate before, during, and after being outside.
• Take breaks in the shade or air conditioning every 20-30 minutes.
• Wear light-colored, loose clothing.
• Avoid the hottest part of the day (10 AM to 4 PM).
• Check on neighbors, especially if they live alone and don’t have good AC.
• Know your limits. The person you were at 40 is not the person you are at 75. That’s not a failure. That’s wisdom.

A final Dog Days blessing:

May your water glass always be full. May your air conditioner hum like a happy bee. May you remember to put your feet up, wear your silly wide-brimmed hat, and laugh at Sirius from the comfort of your shaded porch. The ancient Romans thought the dog star would drive them mad. You know better. You’ll drink your pickle juice, wiggle your toes, and come inside before the world starts spinning.

And if you forget? If you overdo it? Call for help. That’s not weakness. That’s surviving the Dog Days like the seasoned, clever, wonderfully weathered human you are.

Stay cool, friends. The dog star will move on. And so will you.