And by the way...

 After years of listening to my husband encourage me to publish a book I wrote many moons ago, I finally decided to do it. It is at Amazon, of course, under the pseudonym Patrick Church. The title is "Cold Snap". it is a murder, but not a mystery, because you know who does it and how. If anyone is curious, there it is.

Bionic hip

 Thanks to my rude lifestyle that has included falling from horses and being bowled over by my dogs, one of my hips has had to be replaced. The surgery was, oddly enough, entertaining. I sang one of my favorite songs and declared that the surgeons sounded like carpenters. You can pretty much assume I had some fun drugs for the procedure.

Recovery was rough but there is a whole slew of "by the way" items you don't hear about until after the surgery is done and you are home having to deal with these items. By the way, your legs will no longer be the same length, and the one operated on will be longer. This means you will have to compensate by placing partial insoles into the shoe for the opposite leg. You can try whole insoles, but your foot will be crammed into the instep part of your shoes and your toes will be popping out of the end.

I went for the partial insoles. And by the way, you have to get rid of a rather large number of shoes. Got any high heels? Adios, amigos! Sandals? Well, do you mind if the partial insoles are so very visible if you try to wear the cute little strappy sandals? So far I have kept soft flats, ballet-type flats in fact, and tennis shoes loose enough to allow blood to circulate in the lifted foot. I also still have some wedgies that I fantasize wearing even though I suspect it will be an exercise in pain management.

No more riding for me, either. My horse has a trot like a Beetle with no shock absorbers, and no running either, because both activities can eventually damage the implant. Maybe "eventually" is the clue here. I'm almost eighty years old and "eventually" has a really short shelf life, so who knows? Could a slow trot on the treadmill really be so terrible?  And if I got on the horse, could I just ride around with no trotting or galloping? No, that part isn't going to work, I feel. 

But I have my dogs. There is a sign on my front door that states: "Spoiled dogs (and their staff) live here." I think that sums it up.

Letters unanswered...

 A long time ago, I wrote a letter to a grandchild, a teenage boy. I had nothing unusual to say but writing letters on paper, in longhand or printed with a computer, is a thing of the past. Now our words are as fleeting as the dry leaves of fall. They may stay forever in the "cloud" but they are fragile, paper in pieces, history forgotten and unretrievable. 

Recently I wrote a letter to my Congressional representative, since so much that is happening in Mexico is out of sight, and our ambassador is a wannabe cowboy whose main concern seems to be, well, being seen. So much of what happens here concerns the United States, but my specific topic was the damage to my health caused by a nearby refinery using fuel oil to produce gasoline. The contamination of our air is horrendous. And yet Mexico's constitution, mostly a document of good intentions, guarantees clean air and water as human rights. 

On the same topic, I wrote a letter to the Secretary of State, Antony Blinken, and though I did not truly expect an answer from someone whose aides probably sift through and filter letters, I in fact did not get one. Not even an acknowledgement that a letter was sent.

My Congressman also did not answer.

Last week I sent a letter to the Nobel Peace Prize Committee, suggesting David Attenborough as the recipient of the prize. That letter went to Norway, of course, and God knows if I will ever hear from them. My mistake may be that I put my actual home address on my mail, since the Mexican postal service is in terminal care thanks to email, Whatsapp, and the rest of the virtual gang.  

The most disappointing of it all is that it seems not to matter that someone takes the time and effort to write and mail a real letter, on paper, in black and white.  I could say "stay tuned", but what for? I only have a vague hope that the Norwegians might actually contact me. 

But maybe not.