Camelama

God Jul Och Ett Gott Nytt Ar!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! 

Here are the images from my Christmas card this year...

 

Phoebe in a sunbeam nap, with Christmas bows (not sticky-backed!)

 

Me with a couple of Olympic (Vancouver 2010) Mounties, from my trip to the Olympics!

Freedom

 

What do you see in this photo?

 

You may see a jar of pickles ... but what I see is FREEDOM.  Freedom from dependence upon others. Freedom from relying on tools.

You see, for the first time in about 6 years, I am able to open a jar of pickles all by myself.

About 6 years ago my glorious little red Miata was hit head-on by a massive old pickup, driven by a drunk man who was uninsured and homeless. The truck was his friend's vehicle, and it had bad brakes - so he thought he'd help out by *driving it to the repair shop*.  When it came time to stop for a red light, he couldn't, and instead of rear-ending the large solid van in front of him, instead he swerved across the middle line and into oncoming traffic - specifically, ME in my Miata.  Poor Eloise, my spiffy red sportscar, gave her life for me - she crumpled where she should have, stood firm where she needed to, deployed her airbags, and let me live to see another day.  The paramedics, upon seeing the accident, said "Where's the body?"  When I stood up and walked to them, they couldn't believe it - they expected death or at least massive trauma.

The quirks of the accident just kept adding up, too. 

First the van that he didn't hit, was carrying not just twin newborn boys, but also their parents: two off-duty EMTs. They had immediately started caring for me after the accident, which helped me avoid certain long-term issues from my injuries. 

Then in the traffic backup behind the truck was a van full of Army field nurses and triage staff, who immediately started directing traffic and assisting in my care. Let me tell you - traffic went where it should when it should, when there's a military officer carrying a very large gun, telling commuters what to do!!!

Then, weeks later at a party, I met a stranger - who turned out to have been behind me in traffic, and had stayed to give his witness report to the police, and had been wondering what ever became of the girl in the red car, if she was ok.  It was spooky - we hugged for a long time, he was so happy to hear I was up and doing fine!

The bad parts of the accident are that I still have injuries that plague me - I can predict rain now (well, though, living in Seattle, it's kind of easy to do so anyway!), my already awful knees are even more decrepit, my ankles will never be strong again, and my hands became weak and unable to grasp much. Knitting has helped, as has hand embroidery, physical therapy, and years of doing my exercises. But nothing really seemed to help very much - just made life livable again, leaving me unable to do many things (playing some musical instruments I used to play, for instance) but at least able to type and hold silverware and knitting needles and embroidery needles, and pet the cat and grip a steering wheel & a stick shift.

Opening jars became impossible, even with the old tricks of hot water on the lid, banging the lid on the floor, etc.  Certain tools have helped, especially the tool like a bottle opener, that lifts the lid just enough to break the seal. Doesn't work on peanut butter jars, but at least it works for most everything else. When the tools or thumping wouldn't work, I would walk across the street and ask my neighbor to open the jar. He didn't mind, said it made him feel all manly.  This has been going on for years. I kept trying with bare hands, just in case, but it's been 6 years. Nothing was happening.

But tonight I did not need the tool, or hot water, or thumping it on the kitchen floor, nor did I need the strong arm of my neighbor. Tonight I forgot I couldn't open jars, and I simply grabbed and twisted - only then remembered. Then I felt it - something shifted. I gripped and twisted again, and oh glorious moment, I heard the POP of the seal break, and the lid began to slide easily up and off the jar.  I was so surprised, so not ready, that I spilled pickle brine all over the kitchen floor - but that's ok.  I'm happy to clean it up.  Because spilled pickle brine is the smell of FREEDOM.

I can open my own jars now. My hand hurt afterwards, but not bad - just enough to say "I did some heavy work today!".  Indeed you did, hands. You rocks, hands!  You rock.

This may not seem much to some people - it's just a jar.  But it's the first time in 6 years that I could do something by myself, first time I saw real solid improvement in my hand strength.

Next hurdle is opening the Adam's no-stir crunchy peanut butter jar all by myself. That one still needs the neighbor. It may be years - but now I know it's going to happen!