TeamReedBlog.2020

There will come a day when I will complain about the Captain again. But it should not be soon. Six days ago, he and I got up at 5:30 a.m. and headed down to Methodist Hospital where a few hours later, I had my left hip ripped out of my body and replaced with something better. I haven't had the guts to really examine what went in there; how, exactly, the original parts were removed; and what exactly went in in its place. All I know is the diagnosis of severe arthritis I got earlier in the year had gone from what I thought physical therapy could improve to rapidly worse and, as it turns out, bad enough that the consultation I went in for turned into surgery two weeks later. I'm not the surgery type. I mean, I don't like hospitals and I don't like the idea of having my parts messed with. It just seems like an invitation for additional activity. And my surgeon, in a very surgeon-like delivery said, "You'll have to do the other side, too."  As if he understood

Every parent fights the unending flow of precious art created by their progeny. At first, you save every scrap of paper with a scribble, every malformed piece of clay that for the life of you, you can't figure out what it's supposed to be. Every pasta bracelet and necklace. It'll bury you faster than a silo full of shelled field corn if you're not careful. I don't know how parents of multiples keep up with it. Wiley parents find ways to get rid of some of the materials that come home in reams from school without the little tykes finding out. Most of us get caught at least once. Once caught,  you're back in the thick of wading through construction paper and quizzes marked with stickers. But this weekend, my kid gave me some art that'll be on my wall for the rest of my life. I recently went to Newfields to take in the Van Gogh exhibit, so clearly I know good art when I see it, and the art that Ali gave me for my birthday is good art.  It's a mashup of our

 The Black-Eyed Susans have taken over my yard and every year I think I should take some serious measures to fight back, but I never do. They're just so happy, and they last so long. I love them. They are my signal that summer is fully entrenched and I should stop to soak it in. This is my current view: Oh, but wait: there's more! When Ali was little, this patch was full of ground cover and her plastic house where she first had tea parties (once I'd cleared out the spiders and debris from its dormant, winter time, and later climbed on and used as a perch.)  Thanks to my sister Deb for the metal flowers that will bloom even in the snow. The hydrangeas are new, and the middle one is shy, but they'll come along. The pots are newish, too: reclaimed and waiting for inspiration. The lilac tree outside my kitchen window is coming along, and was pretty this spring but I didn't get a great picture. Here's the current  view from my kitchen window and a cameo from the spri