Only someone who has had to spend two months using a walker can understand the excitement of graduating to a cane. Don’t get me wrong — today’s walker is an engineering marvel. They not only fold in seconds for car rides but can be flipped into service at the blink of an eye. But contrary to what I thought, people do not put tennis balls on the back support legs in an attempt to make a fashion statement. The rubber feet the walkers come with will wear out, fall off, scratch floors, etc. Definitely replace them with tennis balls asap.

Of course my first cane will be one of those medically approved jobbers and I will have to prove to the therapist that I know how to use it correctly. (Who knew there was a right way and a wrong way to use a cane? Ah, the things you learn in rehab!) But once I’ve mastered that skill, I’m moving onto the posh canes. Maybe I’ll even get one that serves a purpose other than to steady my pace.

I’m not a magic nanny, a mad scientist or a fighting Irishman. The only writer I can think of who used a cane was Oscar Wilde.

Oh dear. All these canes have a back story or a purpose. What shall mine be? Gored by a rhino during a safari? Fell off the cliff while climbing Everest? Certainly it can’t be tripped over my own feet and face planted on a slate floor! That hardly warrants a fancy walking stick now does it?

*** Photos are from Bing Images

Here in California we’ve got storms lined up for at least the rest of the month and so it’s time to hibernate.

So far we’re okay but many streets in our small town are blocked by mudslides and creeks are overflowing. In other parts of the San Francisco Bay Area, trees are down, wharves have been washed away and coastal areas are flooded.

Still haven’t put away the Christmas tree, such that it is.

I’m still attempting to draw on those days when walking around is too painful. This poor little kitty also has a sore leg. I’m with you, Stormy, hanging on for dear life.

I rarely showcase other bloggers because you’re all wonderful but I did particularly enjoy Snow’s photos from Finland where they know how to enjoy the winter. Boy could I go for a sauna today!

If I had to categorize 2022 I would have to say it was a year during which very little made sense.

The year started out with such beautiful weather (at least here in California) that I found myself lured onto a Pickleball court by supposed friends. If you insist on following the rules, as my friends did, this game makes no sense at all. Don’t go in the kitchen unless … only hit the ball if it bounces unless …. Ah heck. It’s a nice day. Let’s get an ice cream cone and chat!

In February the unthinkable happened. Russia invaded Ukraine. Why Putin is still in power doesn’t make any sense. Why so many Republicans (or should I call them Trumplicans?) are opposed to stopping him doesn’t make any sense either. It’s certainly not the Republican party of my father and grandparents, that’s for sure.

April and May I took a lot of walks around town. My excuse — to check out murals that were popping up on the sides of buildings and on utility boxes and watch the artists at work. Now that, made sense.

In June we drove down to visit family in San Diego and took a side trip Santa Catalina Island. On the island, electric golf carts have taken the place of cars. Now that makes sense. As do the many ceramic murals around the town.

July’s highlight has always been our small town parade. This year it was marred by a mass shooting at another small town parade. Of course, it wasn’t the only mass shooting this year. According to the NRA, the solution to gun violence is more guns. That’s like saying the cure for cancer is more cancer. Does that make sense to you?

In August, for only the second time in six years, Drimia Maritima re-emerged. This time with a child! Because it first blossomed after my mother’s death, seeing it gives me hope that death is not the ending. Doesn’t make any sense I know.

In October we published Duke Miller’s fourth book, Willem Dafoe Comes to Town. Miller writes brutally about things in this world that make no sense but he does so beautifully.

November I was glued to the television watching the election results when I sprung from the chair to check on the laundry. Too late I realized that my left leg had completely fallen asleep. Next thing I knew I was sprawled out across the floor. There went our holiday plans.

As to whether next year will make sense or not, I do not know. Let’s hope so!

I guess I’m lucky in that my parents never made a big deal out of holidays or birthdays and so I generally approach them with lowered expectations. There was a time when my children were young that I went a little crazy during the holidays with the baking and the decorating and the quest for the perfect gifts and stocking stuffers and generally spent Christmas day exhausted and sick with whatever crud was going around. This year I had to cancel all plans to attend family events and “stay off my feet” per doctor’s orders. And so I’ve been reading and watching television a lot more than usual.

I can’t just watch television. I have to be doing something else. The above head was sculpted from a fifty pound block of clay probably while binging on Masterpiece Theater. However my wrists gave out a few years back. When Michelangelo’s wrists gave out, he had an army of assistants. Alas I only have the cat. And so this year I went back to sketching.

My first was an attempt at a digital Christmas card. For inspiration I used an old photo taken by my father which always seemed to capture the magic of childhood.

But it seemed a little dark for Christmas so I added some color.

Whoops – the little girl doesn’t look too happy, does she? I decided she didn’t like babysitting and so I gave her a peacock only the damn thing jumped onto her head. Then I found a glittery glue stick one of the grand kids left behind and went a little crazy.

That’s supposed to be a strawberry ice cream cone she’s holding but the glue and glitter came out in a blob and bubble and made quite a mess. Ah well, that was Christmas for me. But … it could have been worse. My original holiday plans were to fly home from San Diego today via a Southwest Airlines jet!

On to 2023, God help us one and all. We’re gonna need it.

Election day I tripped and fell over onto a slate floor. Chipped the right kneecap and sprained the left ankle. Luckily I still had my mother’s walker. And so now I hobble about the house trying not to put too much weight on either of my legs.

In order to spend as little time as possible on my feet, I’ve moved my base of operations out to the kitchen. Toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo and condition, towels and washcloths, computer and iPhone. Kleenex, Nuprin and … other crap. It’s not the most comfortable room in the house. No big comfy sofa and it’s on the shady side of the house. Brrr. But that’s where the food it. I was bedridden once with double pneumonia and my dear sweet hubby decided that meant I didn’t need any food or drink. And he couldn’t hear my cries because the kitchen is on the opposite end of the house.

I meant to post this link on Veteran’s Day. My friend Duke Miller’s latest collection of prose poems. He’s a veteran of unknown wars whose victims aren’t often counted. I edited the book and designed the cover. Click here to win a copy.

Anyway, I will miss long shuffles through the falling leaves. But I might actually get to my long list of TBRs.

I went to drop my ballet in the ballet box yesterday and this group of election deniers, aka poll watchers, was waiting for me.

Luckily, they were too wrapped up in themselves to bother me. I suppose that’s because the ballet box is right outside the police station in my small town. And California is not an open carry state. I guess there’s no fun harassing people if you can’t carry a semi-automatic rifle and look like a scary dude. I sure hope it stays that way.

I honestly don’t know what’s going on in my country. The governor of one state has sent out ads claiming he was chosen by God (isn’t that blasphemy?); senatorial candidates are promising seniors they’ll do away with Social Security and Medicare and they cheer. Some senators are want to cut off aid to Ukraine and leave those poor people to the savagery of Putin’s soldiers.

And yet their races are too close to call. Too close to call? Can you believe it?

Meanwhile the days grow shorter and the cat grows furrier and furrier.

Don’t need the comforter if this guy decides to snuggle in the middle of the night. To all my American friends, I hope any poll watchers you run into are as colorful but harmless as ours.