Cider Press Hill

Decrepit does not mean old!

Saturday, 4:57 pm

By Kate




sunny of this infernal muscular maladjustment. I’m trying to develop a sense of humor about it because being perpetually cranky and petulant isn’t doing anything other than making me cranky and petulant.

I took a little tour of my body today to see what it can do and what it can’t do. Walking is a big problem. So is sitting. Lifting anything? Forget it. But, by cracky, I can bend over and touch my toes. Or the floor. Yes, I can. And it doesn’t hurt to do that.

I can lift my left leg and bring my knee all the way up to my chin and it doesn’t hurt. I can do that with my right leg, too. What kind of weirdness is that, anyway?

When I went outside to get into the car, I gave up and came back in the house. My body won’t fold into the car. I can get one leg and my butt into the car, but the left foot wants to stay on the ground because it just knows lifting 8 inches into the car isn’t going to be fun. And, sure enough, it wasn’t and I didn’t. I’m still grounded.

As I turned to hobble back into the house, I noticed the fence gate was ajar. I didn’t do it. Which means...someone else did. I also noticed that I’ve been gifted with a brand new trash barrel. Someone must have thought that a trash barrel rolling around in the road, after trash day on Thursday, must have been mine and, probably, thought they’d be doing me a favor by returning it to me. Because several of them have noticed that I’m not the picture of sprightly movement this week. But, the trash barrel is not mine. I don’t know who it belongs to. I don’t envision walking around the neighborhood to find out. I just hope that the person to whom it belongs doesn’t think I stole it.

While I gazed at the trash barrel in a haze of befuddlement, my next door neighbor called over to me. “Did you hurt your back?” Well, not my back, exactly, but it didn’t seem necessary to get down to the exact location of the problem.

“Yes,” I said. “About a week ago.”

“Getting old is hell, isn’t it?” he said.


I Am Not Old. Okay?

But I said, “Yeah, it sure is.” He’s older than I am and he meant well. Still. I have a streak of vanity lurking about in there and it was terribly wounded.

This hobbling around and doing little of any purpose is driving me nuts. It’s a beautiful day out there. The grass has been growing wildly. It needs to be mowed. I have a maple tree to whack. It’s growing under my deck and it won’t die. I’ve chopped it off three years in a row and it just keeps coming back with a vengeance. Why is is that the trees I want to grow waste away while the ones I don’t want to grow refuse to die? I need to get out there and chop it down again.

And the fence that I stacked my wood against this year? The fence post is tilting at about a 45° angle. It needs to be yanked out of the ground and the rest of the fence needs to be retired. I’m replacing the whole thing with a living hedge this year. I’d like to get out there and do some fence post yanking and dirt digging.

And deck floor cleaning and resealing. And painting. And more dirt digging and planting. And mulch spreading. And...and...and!!


While I can lift my knees to my chin and bend over to touch my toes, if I lift anything heavier than a two sticks of butter, I collapse in agony. This is for the birds.

On a positive note, the afflicted muscle in my back side has started itching like crazy today. That’s a good sign. It’s healing. I’ve been backing up to the door jamb corners to scratch. Kind of like a bear. You wouldn’t think such a small thing would fill me with such joy. I’m one day closer to yanking that fence post out of the ground. Yay! I am, of course, much less excited about being one day closer to mowing the lawn.