Magical Healing

Backyard wildlife report

After what felt like the longest winter in recorded history, the Upper Midwest has finally remembered how to be summer. Everything is green. The hostas are thriving. And — plot twist — I no longer have to battle the weeds myself.

Woody or Wendy assessing the weed situation

Racoon snoozing in a tree

"I have a friendly woodchuck who has taken on the job. Thank you, Woody. Or Wendy. I haven't asked."

Yesterday the backyard turned into a full wildlife documentary: birds, squirrels, woodchucks, pelicans on the water. Then the mood shifted. A bald eagle descended toward my beach — and every single other creature cleared out instantly. (A large dead fish had washed ashore. Prime eagle breakfast. Nobody wanted to become dessert.)

Recovery update

I'll get straight to the remarkable part: my right knee replacement has gone so well that I've started to wonder if a fae realm elf slipped into my recovery room to do some enchanted healing. Aside from one rough 12-hour bout of ankle pain around day 11, I've barely needed pain relief — and left the surgical center without a single opioid prescription. Then this happened:

Day 10 Driving again

Day 17 Conquered Costco (shopping cart only)

Day 20 9 holes of golf

On the 9th green, Alec on the right

My physical therapist has threatened to fire me for being too active. Fair. But sitting still for weeks is simply not in my skill set. Fingers crossed that knee #2 — going in under three weeks — is equally magical. Hey Elf, come visit me again in recovery.

Dewey dispatches

My dog Dewey has very much enjoyed monopolizing my attention during recovery. He's less enthusiastic about my absences for PT appointments — his coping mechanism involves shoes. (The closet door is now permanently closed.)

"He's an angel and a demon — sometimes within the same hour."

This week he pulled a bag of plant food mix off the counter, took one taste, and immediately reconsidered. Small mercies. On our weekend walk, though? A model citizen. Perfect obedience training graduate. PT wants me to dial back the walks for now, so we've downgraded to backyard fetch — which he accepts with slightly wounded dignity.

Writing desk

Progress on Harbour of Lies has been slower than hoped. Disrupted sleep plus typing on a laptop in bed turns out to be a terrible combination. What I really need is my desk, my beloved noisy mechanical keyboard, and the ability to sit comfortably in a chair — which, until very recently, was the one position that genuinely hurt.

Range of motion is improving by the day. The desk is calling. The words are coming.

 Alec