It was a random thing to say, but I later found out that Don had to have his knees replaced. Knees replaced? Really? They wear out? I tried to do as he suggested, and thought warmly about my leg joints, for about thirty seconds. They are kind of remarkable... offering the ability to bend at a moment's notice, yet stable enough to keep me upright without a struggle. Every time I try to set up my quilt stand at a craft show I remember how ridiculously impossible it is to maneuver both of those capabilities simultaneously. I usually flail about for a few minutes before some benevolent person takes pity on me and helps. 

 

It is only after a bout with back pain that I become vigilant in the care and protection of my spine. That too is an incredible physiological masterpiece. Flexibility and strength, working in unison. Who would have thought it up? Humans tried to design a lawn chair that is both flexible in its angle and stable when you lean into it, yet I often find myself in the slide/smack scenario.

 

I try to appreciate John, really I do. When I hear of a woman who was recently widowed, I imagine how it will be when I am alone. The feelings are about as genuine as styrofoam, though. I can remember, barely, how hard it was when he went to Africa for a month. But the signature emotion was mad, not sad, because I knew he was somewhere, having more fun than I was with five cantankerous kids. Still I make the feeble effort to try to appreciate him. I start small.

 

"I appreciate you washing the girls' hair." 

 

"I appreciate you going out for ice cream."

 

"I appreciate you doing most of the driving on the trip."

 

Sometimes the feelings come first, and words follow like a spaniel puppy. Other times it is the other way around. But either direction I look at John's face when I say it. Sometimes it only lasts for a minute. But it is a nice minute. And a passel of nice minutes adds up to a relationship that is both flexible and strong. 

 

Uncle Don would be pleased.