Recreation - or "Re-Creation" - Photo by Jen

Rev. Bob Cotter, our pastor in the Presbyterian Church, Flanders, for many years, spoke of recreation - something he wholeheartedly believed in. A man who wanted his 'flock' to realize and appreciate the gifts of a loving God, Bob believed in taking time for one's own interests and discoveries, sharing time with family, never wearing a watch on vacations, and "date night," with his loving wife, Joan. It was, he said, a way to stay in touch with that part of us that wasn't working - when we were "off duty" in our private lives. He loved his work, and, with our active, program church, we felt and saw Bob's touch everywhere, but worried that he worked too hard. Not to worry - Bob knew how to relax and have fun - how to make sure that his personal loved ones/family had him to themselves once in a while. He also knew how to spend time alone. An avid jogger, Bob ran 4-6 miles every day (except Sunday!) up and around the golf course near his home. It was, he said, his time to be in touch with nature, his health and God - one on one.

One year, at about this time, Bob talked to us, in a Sunday worship service about Easter, and the resurrection. Yes, I said, "talked" rather than "preached," for Bob would step out from behind the pulpit and make eye contact with us, and speak to us in a personal, connected way. Bob also addressed re-creation and recreation - the words, and the concepts.

As I remember, Bob said that it was important for us to rest and relax, to embrace those hobbies, activities, sports and fun times that restored us when the stresses of daily life stripped away their memory, replacing them with tensions and responsibilities that - while necessary for survival and success - gave us less joy....and joy, he said, was a gift from God. He said God wants us to love one another, to share the gifts he has given us with each other, and within our own hearts.

The word recreation is a word we use from childhood, when we participate in sports in our towns' recreation departments, up through the time when we talk about the recreation coordinators who will see us as "white hairs," in a senior complex, playing bocce ball and shuffleboard! We escape that which we must do (as kids, we must listen to our parents, participate in class, do our homework and brush our teeth, for starters....as adults, we must pay our taxes, have annual checkups, and take our teeth out to brush them : ) - but we also should pay attention, from the early years through the middle years - right up until we take a little longer to walk around the block with the grandkids on bikes circling around us as we walk - to enjoying this gift of life.

Spelling the word, "re-creation," we also re-invent ourselves as we travel through the years, and through our growth, successes and memories. Women who were once skinny little freckle faced girls, and men who were once awkward hormonal teenagers grow into swans who marry, have kids and are beautiful, fulfilled women of business and home lives, and debonair men who wear corporate casual golf shirts, lift high their toddlers in the air over their heads, talk about domestic vs. imported beers, and learn how to golf.

In between the middle years surviving kids and enjoying grandkids - and the knowledge that I will have to learn to play shuffleboard, I am - since two back surgeries saw me falter a bit in the walking department - enjoying some recreation and some re-creation. I get out to plays and nice dinners, plan to travel a bit, and even take a cruise in the Autumn, which account for some recreation, but I am also re-creating my 'new' me. While I can't play tennis, racquetball, or bowl as I used to, due to the serious, permanent damage of one surgery, the second one prevented worse damage, for which I am thankful. Trying to 'move on with my life' - as a life counselor urged, I took up photography as a hobby, and it is swiftly becoming a passion, an art, and an escape. Through my lens, I can and do choose what to capture, keep, embellish and share. I've enjoyed the dozens of species of birds at my birdfeeder, zoomed in on my grandson's big, beautiful blue eyes, and shared landscapes around this town, county and state that are breathtaking - truly a gift from a loving God - the photos and my ability to take them.

So, while I'm recreating, I am also re-creating...my joie de vivre for "all things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small." The lines that follow these verses from a favorite hymn, I dedicate to Rev. Bob Cotter, for he led us to these gifts, and left us beautiful memories, hope and a plan. It is right, beautiful and a joy to give thanks for them, and for him, for "...all things wise and wonderful, the good Lord made them all."

Happy Easter....happy Spring. Cherish these gifts and the joy - the newness - of your life, every day that you awaken, and welcome the new day.

"Club PT" - I'm a 10 (sometimes a 4 or 6....)

Physical therapy, three times a week, has become my morning 'coffee klatch' since January 2010. No, they don't serve coffee - in fact, drinking that much coffee before being manipulated, massaged and mobile (on a treadmill) isn't really a great idea after consuming a 16 oz. cuppa joe !

Still, what is it about a group of people, coming together at the physical therapy center, comparing surgeries, injuries and recoveries - that is so, well, social?

There we are - groaning, wincing, counting reps, some of us teary-eyed, some jubilant - swapping 'war' stories. We're casually dressed - working out in sweatpants, tee shirts, sneakers - and working hard in our individual programs. Some of us chat as we are poked, prodded, stretched to better respond to our body parts - sidelined by corrective surgery or accidental injuries when we first signed up for this boot camp.

The chatting is nice; we compare notes and progress, learn about families and activities, etc., but it is also tests our aerobic abilities...we sound like human tugboats, huffing and puffing while walking or pedaling on the machines.

We're in different stages of recovery; some dread each visit, as the first days of urging reluctant limbs, torsos and so forth to respond, elicits pain and spasms. Others farther along in their personal programs speak of being able to get dressed, with help, while the patients most advanced in their scheduled PT talk about going back to work, as soon as they can "lift more than 20 pounds."

At each visit, each patient reports, to our therapists, "our number" as we hobble in, favoring shoulders, knees, backs, ankles, etc. "How's the pain, today?" asks Michael (not his real name). "4," answers the tall man with a scar along his ankle. Laura (again, an alias) asks me what the number is at each visit with her. On the most recent visit, I answered, "It was a 9 when I first woke up, but is a 6, now....I went to a concert for Haitian relief last night." This explains my pain, as my 'injury' speaks for the 3 spinal surgeries that left me with great difficulty when I sit still for more than half an hour. The goal - for each of us - is that the number we go out with is lower than the number we came in with. That day, I went home a 5.

Now, I've always dreamed of being a "10" - as in the 1979 movie with actress Bo Derek. She was stunning in her bikini and braids, golden tan - emerging like a goddess from the surf - a "10" to hapless, hopeful suitor Dudley Moore (himself a 5). Being a 10 here at PT is not an achievement to celebrate. Still, a 10 here can become a 6 in a few weeks, or a 4 in a few months, and that's a good thing. My program includes moist heat (ahhhh...), followed by ultrasound (painless), deep muscle massage (not painless), then stretching, more stretching (more pain, but then release as muscles stretch), and it winds down with a stroll on the treadmill. I'm so spent, by then, and, while my back spasm pain is lessened, the weakness in my left leg and foot is worse, for a while, for that foot doesn't want to respond these days. I have hope, but that's the way it goes.

We laugh a lot, too. We joke about "Michael de Sade" (his massages are the deepest, and really get to the root of the muscle spasms) and Laura's reports about American Idol results. We laugh about how we come in the door looking like the coming attractions for "Night of the Living Dead," and go out looking a tiny bit more nimble - if not very glamorous.

Sometimes, I've met up with people I know from around town, and we share photos of grandkids, tales of surgeries, etc., and wish each other well. As we "graduate" (some run out of insurance coverage for treatments, while some recover fully), we wish each other luck and good health. It's a nurturing environment people are glad to leave behind, when they feel better, but others continue on - working hard to get better, too.

We all laughed one day when I, feeling like a 6 when I arrived, had my program supervised by Michael. He finished the very thorough massage, which hurt deeply, telling me that he was reaching that awful, hidden knot that caused my pain the night before. I rolled over, did my stretches (3 exercises, 20 reps each leg), and rose, unsteadily, to do the treadmill. Still sweaty from the heat pack, my shirt was all bunched up, my pants askew, my socks rumpled. I smoothed my shirt back down, straightened my athletic pants, and fluffed my hair. I told Michael that I looked like I'd been schmoozing with my husband, Neal, and we all laughed...most of all, me.

You see, I might not be a 10 like Bo Derek of movie fame, but I'm not always a 10 at PT, either. I do dream of being a 1 or 2, seem to be a 4 or 5, on a good day, but it's okay. I'm not out to complete with Bo Derek's bikini of 1979. I'm too modest - although I do joke that I am going to have a zipper tattooed over my three scars - or wear my sweatpants on the beach. Now, that would be a movie...

Graceful birds, lofty dreams on the wing! Photo by Jen

After all the heavy rain and wind of the past few days, I feel so ready for Spring! When I think of Spring, I visualize the new growth of trees, grass, flowers - bursting forth! I see the tiny sparrow up on the steep peak of the garage next door, singing to his heart's content, on the sunny days, and miss him on the rainy ones.

I wonder...what makes that sparrow sing? Is there promise in the air? The joy of finding food more easily now that the heavy snow has melted away? The hope that he will find a mate, and continue his life - this life - as it's meant to be?

I also see beautiful cardinals in our yard - one day last week, so fortunate to see three bright red males chasing each other from pine tree to pine tree. Were they vying for a mate - the right to continue their species? I hear the cardinal calling, "birdie, birdie," his well-recognized call, as he, too, welcomes warmer weather and plentiful food. What beauty there is in hope - in joining in this great production - the re-creation, regrowth of all living things - Spring!

Once, when I was a teenager, walking along the beach in Spring Lake, NJ, my mom said she'd like to come back - after death - as a seagull. We all teased her that seagulls were scavengers - big, greedy bullies who swooped in for a greasy french fry on the boardwalk at Asbury Park. My mother would just smile serenely, for she always saw beauty in nature, and the wild creatures who live among us. In her own life, her alcoholism was an ugly, frightening thief who stole her hope, stirring up harsh realities and memories she tried so hard to forget. She tried to avoid succumbing to the spirits that numbed the pain, but also damped her hope, but with broken wings, she could not lift herself from her paralytic perch. I know she dreamed of soaring over her troubles - clean, whole, healthy and free - like the gulls gliding over us and the waves that sunny, warm day.

I've been struggling for a year, now, with the disappointment of a bad surgery and betrayal in same by someone I trusted. After a second surgery, I had hope, for a while, but, realize that what challenges I face now might be with me for the rest of my life. It took a pity party, some faith, loving friends and family a long time to be okay with it. I'm luckier than some people I know of who met the same "fate" and were more badly broken. I am striving to be a seagull in THIS life. What helps me soar in this journey of hope, when my wings - the courage and hope within - feel weak and unable to carry this burden of pain and immobility sometimes?

If you are reading this, then you might have helped me. Maybe you're my granddaughters who come to my house, when they are bored, and ask me if we can play "teacher" - a fun game of goofy lessons (they think they're just playing, but I use real subjects and methods to engage them ; ) that they enjoy. They take turns sitting at my old (70+) school desk, and I ask questions, then ask them to apply answers in art and writing formats that make them laugh, but I know that I am being useful and appreciated, again. I miss being a mover and shaker of small but appreciated value in the big corporations where I onced worked and a school where I taught. Now, my students live in the house behind me, and ask if they can help me around the house, or pick things up for me. My new "role" seems as secure as the old one...it is to love and be loved, and, in that, I am not only useful, I am blessed. I teach them, and they, in turn, have taught me patience and reassurance.

You might be my husband, sons, friends, pastor, editor, sister or brothers - all of whom wrote e mails to me, asking how I was feeling; also the same who received my many, many photos that I've taken since disability. I call my work "drive by photography" and enjoy the fact that - while I can't get around as well on my feet and pained low spine as I used to - I can still see, find and capture beauty in faces, nature, the recreation of others, and landscapes. I send them, then, in huge files, to anyone who has ever even hinted at appreciation of the imagesthat share my view of the world, through my lens and words I share with you.

I have always wanted to write about my mother, for she was a beautiful person with a brilliant mind and a writer's soul who couldn't ever change her course, rise above her troubles and seek higher ground.

So, this piece is to all of you who live and laugh with me, now, and an h-mail (heart mail) to my mother for she lives in my heart, always. In my faith-full heart, she IS a seagull - graceful and free - among the saints before us and our father in heaven. In my hope-full heart, I am stretching my wings to catch the breezes that lift and caress us all, so we, too, are part of the beauty of Spring and new beginnings - a beautiful view, for sure, from where I sit.