The Woodshed, So to Speak

It has been some time since I realized that my life as a gimp reminded me of something--or someone. But it took some time for that realization to filter down to my subconscious so that I could recognize exactly who it was. And indeed, it was a bit of a surprise to me who.

Aunt Ada Doom:"I saw something nasty ... I saw something nasty."
Flora:"Aunt Ada--"
Aunt Ada Doom:"Something nasty in the woodshed. Go away girl."
Flora:"How long have you been in there, Aunt Ada."
Aunt Ada Doom:"Ever since my Judith married Amos."
Flora:"Isn't is lonely?"
Aunt Ada Doom:"Lonely? I saw something nasty in the woodshed. "
Flora:"Did you? What?"
Aunt Ada Doom:"I don't remember anymore. I was little. Something terrible."
Flora:"And it was in the woodshed? Are you sure?"
Aunt Ada Doom:"Course I'm sure . . . or maybe the potting shed. Or the bicycle shed."
Flora:"Or the tool shed? All these years: getting five good meals a day, running the farm, ruling the roost. Everyone doing exactly as you say and sacrificing their lives for yours. It's not bad is it. Just for seeing something nasty in the woodshed."

No, I am not an old and "distinguished" lady nor do I check all of our account books--or any of them for that matter. It is really the last bit that reminds me of my situation: the benefit of being waited on since the crutches make it difficult to carry things about myself. And while I don't quite get five meals a day, three meals more or less delivered to my side still makes me feel quite pampered. On top of that in the last few weeks I have been quite reclusive; staying more or less in the house for a variety of reasons (sickness, tiredness, fear of the top step in the garage ...). So if you begin receiving messages of a peculiar nature on your answering machines, now you know why. Personally I favor "There will always be Sorensens in Rochacha!"

On two partially related notes. There are absolutely no pictures of Aunt Ada Doom on the Internet. I looked high and low but was finally forced to take a picture of the movie on my computer screen. So I do apologize for the glare of the camera/screen clash. Secondly, I promised one of my friends that during my convalescence I would undertake a research project on Rufus Sewell's comparative eye droopiness and I have the results. I believe that it is a characterization method to show the relative evilness of his characters--and that's my final word. Thus in Cold Comfort Farm and Amazing Grace it is really not that noticeable as compared to A Knight's Tale, The Illusionist, or even The Holiday where it is much more noticeable. Incontrovertible proof if I do say so myself.

Friendly Family Bonding

I recently noticed a trend in how my family has spent time together this summer. Now I know we are supposed to hold a formal Family Home Evening regularly--but sadly I put paid to that in my Middle School years--and so instead we have another thing which brings us together. I know, it is shocking, this mystery activity is none other than seasonal reality television! Two years ago my brother and I involved the whole family in watching "Project Runway", but the trend seems to have continued and branched out.

On Mondays there is "Legally Blonde The Musical: The Search for Elle Woods." Truthfully three of us began watching this to humor one of the original viewers, but it is oddly compelling. I think it is because it takes me back to my "theatre roots" (whatever those may be). Plus the bonus is we get to laugh at the ridiculous, over the top, melodramatic responses of the theatrical contestants. All in all it is thoroughly amusing.

Then Wednesday and Thursday we come together for "So You Think You Can Dance." I am not a dancer and I am fairly well assured that I never will be; on top of that I have a deep seeded dislike of contemporary dance and I used to have a healthy skepticism for hip hop. That my friends has changed--well not the dislike for contemporary dance. I was genuinely surprised by how interested I became in this show. And while it does seem to affirm that white boys aren't the best dancers since they have all been voted off at this point, I will continue to watch and enjoy. Also I loved the Bollywood dance that they did this week. I would also just like to note that the host of this show, Kat Deeley, comes second in my favorite reality show hosts. The first is Hiedi Klum as the host of Project Runway; I honestly do find her delightful.

Now these are our only steady shows--I can only divide my loyalty so far. But I have also been enjoying reviewing some old favorites since I've been "laid up." My Mom, my younger sister and I have been watching "Joan of Arcadia." Amber Tamblyn does such a good job of making her protagonist true to life. I could just watch this show again and again and again, and I probably will. I have also been enjoying the delightful bantering of that mother daughter duo. I do so love good banter.

Casting About

It's pretty much official; I love my cast. This is not about a group of people with whom I have created a special bond, but rather a particular--if unexpected--affinity for the fiberglass currently encompassing my left leg. Truthfully, I would of course prefer to have my leg back to normal; seeing, however, that laws of time travel are greatly restricted, that is not possible. And so for several weeks I have been working with and around splints with varying degrees of artistic ace bandage wrappings. This was all well and good, but I never seemed to quite get the right fit between the cotton wraps and plaster mouldings it was either too tight or sloughed around and caused other problems. Oh and don't get me started on how the ace bandages held up to my shower cast protector. But what else makes me sing the praises of my cast? How do I love thee? Oh, let me count the ways. (Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

First, my cast is prettier. In a cool cobalt my cast is much more able to coordinate and add to any and all of my costume choices.

Second, my cast is slimmer and therefore gives my left leg a slightly svelter look.

Third, my cast slides much more slickly into and--even more importantly--out of my shower cast protector.

Fourth, my cast with all its slenderness allows me a greater variety in my apparel.

Fifth, my cast is lighter which makes it easier to hold aloft throughout the whole day.

Sixth, my cast allows greater ventilation.

Seventh, let's just face it, my cast is cooler. I not only get more comments, but admiring looks as well.

My cast is one of the better developments from last week, for sure. But there are some other oddities about my life at present. For one, every time I go to put things on or pick things up from the floor I can't but help to feel like a giraffe.

It is a bit disconcerting. Also it is not all that comfortable to sleep on my left side most because of where my cast/split hits. But it is a small price to pay to go about in style.

Over all things seem to be going great. I am assured by the doctors that all the screws now in my leg were indeed necessary (it seemed a bit like overkill to me when I saw the x-ray last week) and that my leg is healing beautifully. I might argue there as my view of my leg looked rather hairier, more swollen, and indeed more colorful than it ought. But then again, I am not a doctor. Did I ever mention my Orthopedic Surgeon is a Dr. Baumhauer which apparently means "tree chopper" in German? How appropriate. And, as this seems a popular question of late, I have practically no pain. This indeed has been a continued blessing only interrupted for a couple of days after the surgery. I like to think that it is perhaps an indication that I have a high pain threshold, but I have no conclusive evidence. If only my companion and I had both broken our ankles we could compare . . . but it was not to be. In the meantime I will continue to contemplate my cast's finer attributes and let you do the same.