Wind Woes

The wind blew here in Western Oklahoma last week. Actually that is an understatement; it was an all-out atmospheric assault. The wind screeched around corners, rattled doors and windows, uprooted trees, and yanked shingles from roofs. Children and small animals were in serious danger of being swept away. The opening scenes in The Wizard of Oz appeared like gentle breezes in comparison to the pounding gusts we endured.

One would think that such a day would necessitate a cessation of activity since semi-trucks were being toppled like Tonka toys. Incredibly we hardy Western Oklahomans just soldiered on. Of course we exclaimed and complained over the wind, but staying home and calling off scheduled events never occurred to us. This is the Great Plains, after all. We just drove down the highways with a death grip on the steering wheel and lowerd our heads and leaned into the wind. A little piece of nasty weather is just the price we pay for wide-open spaces and sparkling-clean air. We will take those blustery days over claustophobia-inducing mountains or lung-polluting smog any day.

Prairie Spring

Landscapes scarred by

Predatory flames,

Tender plants

Withered on windy plains,

Dust and desolation.

Hopes rise on cloud banks.

For liquid life

we offer thanks.

Rain.

Aches and Pains

When I was younger, I remember being impatient with slow-moving older people. I bore them no ill will; it's just that I had places to go and things to accomplish. There was no time in my life for dawdling. I even recall noting with interest the sort-of lopsided walk of the elderly. While that slow, favor-one-side shuffle looked painful, I never took the time to truly empathize.

One of the English textbooks I used to teach from had a story about a journalist who tried to live the life of an elderly woman so she could experience first hand the travails of having an aging body that no longer worked the way it once had. She bound her knees to simulate stiff joints, making it almost impossible do things like step off of curbs with any agility. I remember admiring the journalist for her tenacity in getting the story right, but the hardships the elderly she was writing about did not really register with me.

Well, the tables have turned. Although I am not elderly, I can see senior citizenry on the not-so-distant horizon. And as everyone of a certain age knows, a body that has functioned for decades without a major glitch can suddenly turn on its owner. In short, I have sciatica, and believe me, it is more than a hitch in my get-along. As someone who has born babies without the benefit of anesthesia, I know pain when I feel it. Sciatica qualifies as genuine, take-your-breath-away pain. Fortunately, according to WebMD and the neurosurgeon I saw a couple of years ago, it is not particularly serious. Apparently serious pain does not always equal a serious problem. In fact, the problem goes away eventually with some very benign intervention. But here's the catch; it sometimes returns when you least expect it. That is what happened to me. I am now suffering with my second bout of this plague.

So as I lounge on my ice pack, I know more pain-free days are on the way. I just fear to contemplate what other age-related inconveniences lie in wait for me down the road. One thing is for sure though: I have greater respect for all sufferers of pain and disability. I can now say, "I have been there, done that, and I feel their pain."