do we really want to know?

I've mentioned how I have wonderful neighbours, and I do. They've helped in countless ways, allowing me to borrow trailers to load up brush to take to the dump (which is mulched and recycled), or to pick up a load of coal. They've ploughed my driveway or have showed up with a front-end loader to move snow. Kind-hearted up-the-street neighbour Bob has removed more than one kill the cats brought me that I couldn't deal with very well (I've since improved, and most of the slower or dumber ones have been caught and killed, so until the snow melts, I think i'll have little to worry about there).

I do not live in a large community, and during winter, its population diminishes as many go south for warmer climes.

So, when glancing over the paper and reading the police beat news, it's easy to find names of people you know. Many of the offences are menial, speeding or driving with expired licence plates (there is no notification from the Department of Motor Vehicles here; you are expected to look at the tags every so often and realize when it's time to renew them). Some are a bit more nefarious, drug trafficking, or breaking and entering.

And there are crimes that people can forgive readily: someone going 6 miles over the limit, or forgetting to renew their licence plate sticker doesn't ruffle a lot of feathers. And then there are other crimes that people never forget, chiefly the ones dealing with abuse or killing.

We had a shake-up recently when a stalwart figure next town over was found to have bilked monies from a local charity. He'd been doing it for years, and over the last decade or so ended up with quite a tidy sum. His name is now mud and anyone who was friends with him have done what they can to distance themselves, in no small part i'm sure, to show they're not like him.

I knew of this man, but as i'm not so well connected, it wasn't personally meaningful. I felt anger at the idea of the many working folks who gladly gave to this charity to help out those in the area less fortunate now finding that so much of their gifts ended up in this man's pocket. I'm sure it's also affected people giving to other local charities, or looking far more closely.

But just this week, I read something in the paper about one of my neighbours, someone who has helped me time and again. Someone caring, nice, stable, reliable. The list can go on and on. The last time we chatted, I saw that this neighbour was a bit distracted, but everybody was. It was after that horrific early November snowstorm we had, and it unseated a lot of people's confidence. So, I noticed the furtive look, and wondered about it, but said nothing, knowing that there was some illness in the family, and perhaps that weighed on the family's conscience.

One of the things I like about my neighbours is we don't pry into each other's business. We show concern and help out as we can, but we don't infringe on someone's private life.

And so, this week, when glancing over the paper at the police report and court cases, I was stunned to see that this neighbour pled guilty to a crime that did not fit the person I had come to know. A crime that many would never forgive and even fewer would forget. It explained the furtive look because I saw that the paper also published more details about it near the back, and the arrest occurred several months back, and the accused was out on bail. That would explain the furtive look.

I didn't see it coming. I would never have guessed this in a thousand years.

I thought back to my banking days. This was a thousand years ago, when many were still paid with weekly paycheques, and although debit cards were used often at automatic teller machines (ATMs), the debit card to be swiped at the store was a very new thing, so people still wanted to have cash on hand. And any number of times, several people from the same company would pile into one car and either come into the bank or go to the drive through and get their money, make their deposits. One man I remember well was Dennis. He had dark eyes that gleamed, a killer smile, and infectious laugh. He'd often come to the drive through with three other colleagues, all women, and they'd joke and talk while the teller processed their deposits or cashed their checks. Dennis was married to Sherri, although they split up not long after I started at the bank. It was a small town where most everyone knew most everyone else, and heads shook sadly. Pity it didn't work out. Sherri came in the bank one day, pretty excited. She and Dennis were going to have a date, and she was hopeful, because she never wanted the relationship to end.

Although I didn't see them as a couple, in some ways they just didn't go together in my mind, I wished her well. It was clear she was still crazy about him.

They went out on their date, went back to her place, and he killed her. Blood was spattered all over, one fireman told us who knew someone who went to the scene.

It gave me the chills because I had seen Dennis a day or two before, looking as dashing as ever, and never an inkling that this was on the horizon.

He was found out, of course, tried, and convicted. Found guilty and got the death penalty.

All of us were dumbfounded. None of us had a clue that their relationship had a violent past until afterwards. We talked of people we knew as bank customers and how some people made you feel uncomfortable, you just knew something wasn't right, and you didn't feel safe. But how could not one of us not pick up something about this man?

I'm unsure how things will go with my neighbour. The conviction carries a period of imprisonment followed by probation.

In the swindler-next-town-over situation, I feel a detached anger. In this case, I feel very sad for everyone involved.

Do we really want to know what goes on behind closed doors? If we did, would we be able to avert some of these things from happening, or would we be simply impotent witnesses? I know I can make compelling arguments for both sides and be right.

Gearing up for another blizzard

This winter has been strange. We usually get about 100 inches (255 cm) of snow a year, but it usually is sprinkled throughout the winter season. This year, we had a huge storm in November, not much in December and not a lot in January until the last week of the month, and that seemed to unleash the snow monster. We've broken records for three-day totals and ten-day totals. The temperature has run a bit cooler than normal, too, so when the snow falls, it's been pretty fluffy. Bad for snowmen, good for shoveling where the back is concerned, and skiers are in ecstasy.

I feel that I should have consulted with someone who lives in Buffalo, New York, and get the skinny on snow management engineering because many of us are running out of places to put the snow when we wish to move it.

My plow man stopped by earlier in the week to push the snow farther back from my driveway. The top of the pile is easily over 12 feet (11 metres), and I realized with a bit of a start that I really needed to roof rake.

No, it's not some weird sporting event, they truly make rakes with extension handles that you can use to scrape the snow off the roof. The one I have has two long extensions, and while it's okay, it couldn't get the entire roof unless I were to do something crazy like stand on a ladder. Um, no. SFB told me that I could get extra extensions; that's what he does, and then I would be able to reach at least most of my roof and still keep myself firmly on the ground. He also casually mentioned that his wife couldn't really lift it when he had all five extensions on it, and I wondered if i'd be in the same boat. I don't think my upper body strength is appreciably greater than hers.

But, with another 2 feet of snow (61 cm) forecast, along with 60–70 mph (90–130? km/h) winds, I felt that I really needed to attend to the snow on the roof. Today was the day; i'd go to the local hardware store and see if they had something that would fit my roof rake. And just before I was going to head out, I looked at one of the local buy/sell/swap facebook groups where i'm a member, and saw a woman's post that her husband was looking for some extra shovelling or roof raking jobs. I sent her a message, and she responded right away. They were next town over, had to drive through my town to get home to theirs, and would stop en route. The husband, Kevin, was amiable, and glad to do it. We talked price, and he said he hadn't really done this for money before, wasn't sure what to charge.

I was probably too honest, but told him I had never paid anyone to do this and would have no idea of what the going rate would be. He figured it would take him about two hours, and I mentioned a figure that was a bit higher than I wanted to go, but I also felt the highest figure i'd go was really too low for the work involved. He agreed to the price right away, so I probably did say a generous price.

He went home for his tools and came back. No standing on the ground and doing the best he could for him. No sir, he hauled his industrial ladder out of his truck, got up on the roof as quick as a flash, and for the better part of two hours cleared away the snow. He shovelled all that fell onto the deck as a result, and we were both very happy.

I got the feeling after I paid him that he maybe really needed the money and recalled the times I was a waitress and on occasion, i'd get a really big tip, which I needed to make ends meet. It appears in my current season that I have a chance to pay it forward.

And frankly, the idea that my roof is ready for two more feet of snow to land on it and I didn't have to wear out my arms making that happen? Priceless.

Digging out

I took a half day from work yesterday to dig out, as the snow didn't stop falling here until late Tuesday and the howling winds didn't subside until the wee hours Wednesday morning.

We appear to have gotten at least 2 feet/61 cm of snow, perhaps a bit more--it's hard to tell given the drifting. I'm glad to say it's the more powdery stuff, so easier to move with a shovel, although figuring out where to put the shovelful required a bit of engineering. We're on track to get more snow tomorrow. Skiers are ecstatic, and I was hoping to snowshoe yesterday, but was too tired after shovelling to do so.

My Michelin light blue coat was superb and kept me toasty warm, complemented by a hat a knitter friend made (too small for everyone but me, so it became mine) and the pair of double knitted mittens I made some time back. I posted photos here of some I made but can't find them now.

Anyhow, it seems all of us have breathed a collective sigh of relief. The ground is snow-covered, as it should be in winter, the electrics stayed on, I made a big pot of chili for lunch and quick suppers, and on we go.

More snow on the horizon tomorrow.

Ten years out...

The 22nd marked the tenth anniversary of when I fell and broke my leg. It was a bad break, and entailed surgery and a long recovery period.

How I did it was so pedestrian. I was coming back to my car, carrying any number of shopping bags with fruit and veg. The blizzard they'd been forecasting to start that afternoon arrived a few hours early, and when I got to the fruit and veg place, I saw three flakes hit my windshield when I parked the car. In the 12 minutes or so it took for me to get my items and pay for them, the snow had fallen with abandon, covering the parking lot. I was six steps from my car when I slid on some old ice now covered with snow. I stopped short on my left leg, and the rest of me spun around. It was an example of torque failure, and I fell. I couldn't feel anything below my left knee, which concerned me, and I lifted my left leg. My left foot was dangling at an awkward angle.

I knew it was bad when two Mexican women who walked by stared at my leg and immediately crossed themselves.

I was grateful for my cell phone, and that I could get a strong enough signal in the notorious dead zone where I was, so I could call Himself to come and drive my car, as I knew I wouldn't be able to drive it (it's a standard). He was with his dear childhood friend, and I was grateful for that, too. This friend was visiting us for the weekend, and when the two of them came to where I was, Himself blanched and stumbled. His friend caught him.

I was doing everything right. My car was due for servicing, and I was taking it to the dealership as it had a warranty and in order not to void the warranty, the dealership did the maintenance. Himself and his friend were driving separately, the plan being that they'd pick me up at the dealership and we'd drive home. We thought first thing in the morning was best, as we'd miss the storm. It was a football playoff weekend, we were going to have chicken wings, and I realized I didn't have any celery to serve with them (I'm not sure that Buffalo chicken wings are a thing outside the US, so i'll explain that they are chicken wings cooked in a flavourful sauce and often accompanied by celery and bleu cheese dressing. The bleu cheese dressing I had, but not the celery). As the fruit and veg place was on my way, I figured i'd stop in, pick up the celery, and then continue on. It was safer, too, because the place was on my right, so I didn't have to cross traffic. As Himself and his friend were going to stop and grab a coffee I figured i'd pick up the fruit and veg, and we'd meet at the dealership about the same time.

Best laid plans.

Whenever people asked me how I broke my leg, and I tell them by walking, they say I need to jazz up the story a bit more. Yes, I suppose saying it happened while i was bungee cord jumping in Bali sounds much more exotic, but the truth is, I was picking up fruit and veg, was 100% sober, and it was one of those freak things.

Never to be one to do anything by half, I couldn't break just one bone. I had to get my money's worth, and it was a tib-fib with a spiral fracture. To the nonmedicos, my shin bone was shattered where it met my foot, and the top part of my shin bone below my knee had a spiral fracture. Think of cracks in cement. The fibula or smaller leg bone was broken in four places. Clean breaks. My physiotherapist referred to the shattered part of tibia as cornflakes. And that's what it looked like.

For the first few weeks, I couldn't do much of anything. I was shocked at how much energy it takes for the body to heal, and Himself had to be my caretaker. He did a great job, and I did my best to be a patient patient. The cats helped with my healing, too. One always stayed with me, and they took turns. All of them purred, and Grace, who was never a lap cat, stretched herself across my leg and would lie on it by the hour, purring. They've done studies showing that purring can help broken bones heal.

My hockey season was cut short that year, and at a neighbour's son's graduation party a few months later, I was chatting with a woman who worked at an orthopaedic surgeon's office. I was still crutching it, and we talked about my injury and healing. I told her I wanted 100% healing and was willing to do whatever that took. She told me that no matter how good the surgeons were, the healing was never 100%. There was always something different afterwards. For many people it wouldn't matter, because if they had 90% healing, they wouldn't really notice a difference. She said because I played an extreme sport (I had never thought of hockey that way), i'd notice it. If I were lucky, i'd get 95 or maybe 98%, which would still be great. I'd probably notice the 2% difference, but most of the time it wouldn't matter.

I told her that while there are times where full healing isn't possible, I think there are many more times where it is, but the patients or doctors or both just don't want to do whatever it takes to get there. Good enough is good enough. And they may have a point in a way, but I wanted to go for 100% healing if it took the rest of my life.

She smiled, and we both realized that we had not convinced either one. We agreed that a good mindset was important no matter what percentage healing ultimately took place.

Most of the things I could do before I fell I do now. I can wiggle all my toes, I can stand up on tippy-toe--now you taller readers may shrug and say so what, but since i'm not quite 5'2" (157.5 cm or 1.57m), I find I need to stand on tippy-toes at least once a day. I returned to playing ice hockey, practicing yoga, and getting on with things.

There are two holdouts, one being that I really can't wear high-heeled shoes. After about an hour of wearing them, I limp. Since I telecommute these days, it's not a problem insofar as work is concerned, and I do have a couple pair of dressy flats that fit the bill. I kept a few pairs of high heels just to try every now and then. The last time I did so was at a funeral that was standing room only for the service. We got there just before the service started and were relegated to standing the entire service. Message received. The days of my gadding about in heels are behind me.

The other holdout is running. Now, I was not all that keen about running, but do like to do so on occasion and found that I couldn't run a single step after breaking my leg. I'd draw up lame like a horse. For the most part, I simply did what I could, but there were times where the light was going to change and Himself said, "C'mon Meg, hurry up," and he'd grab my arm and start to run. I simply couldn't. Not one running step without searing nerve pain compelling me to stop immediately. That was damned inconvenient. And so I learned that if the light were going to change before I could cross the street at my slow walking pace, which was the best I could do, then i'd have to wait for the next light.

It gave me an idea that older people must have to consider stuff like this all the time. That their slow step was maybe the fastest they could do. That I needed to be more mindful when my speed came back and I was tempted to make a snide remark about the slow mover in front of me. That I probably owed countless apologies.

Every so often i'd test to see if I could run at all. Eventually, I could but there was always nerve pain. Sometimes it happened on the second step, sometimes the tenth step. The last time I tested, I could run about a quarter mile (400 metres) before I had to slow to a walk. At least I could run across the street now if the light were changing, or I could run from a burning building if necessary.

Earlier this week, in a moment of I don't know what, I ordered a pair of running shoes. I could run 5K before I fell and broke my leg, and i'd like to get to a point where I can do it again. I was never a fast runner and don't expect that i'd break a world record now. But to be able to run one nonstop and without nerve pain would signal to me that my healing is 100%.

I can't say how much I appreciated my orthpaedic surgeon, my physiotherapist, and so many other people who helped in countless ways. One person's healing really can be a group effort. But the man I often think of most fondly is Dr R, the doc working in the emergency room (ER) who was assigned my case, who had the thankless task of untwisting my foot. He and his team were kind and efficient. They all looked really upset when I couldn't stop screaming as Dr R untwisted my leg. I had asked not to be knocked out because I wasn't sure how well Himself and his friend followed the ambulance that took me to the hospital, and the roads were getting worse by the minute. I wanted to have my wits about me. Dr R said he'd give me twilight sleep (I think it was fentanyl) so I wouldn't remember anything. I don't remember the pain, which is a mercy, but i'll never forget the feeling of my leg untwisting like an overwound rubber band. It was the oddest sensation. And I screamed in horror because it was only as Dr R untwisted my leg that the enormity of what happened when I fell really hit me.

About 20 minutes afterwards, Dr R came back to where I was and asked me what I remembered. I recounted everything, and he looked very upset. I told him I didn't remember any of the pain, so not to worry about that, and while I always respected doctors and nurses, I had a much deeper appreciation now. I could not do what he and his team did. I'm glad they could.

All those memories came flooding back this week, and I thought a lot about Dr R and his team. People in the ER who are there as patients are not at their best, and I thought maybe the doc would like to hear the aftermath.

A quick internet search told me Dr R is still an ER doc, and still at the same hospital. So I wrote a note, thanking him for the work he and his team did during that blizzard 10 years ago. That every time I think of him and his team, I breathe a prayer of thanks. And how they were at the start of the healing process. That they met me on a very bad day I wasn't planning on having, and I thought they might like an update. That I've moved back to the northern coast, I'm still playing hockey, i'm in a place that's great for snowshoeing, I like to kayak and sail in the summer, and while running still eludes me, my inner cock-eyed optimist ordered a pair of running shoes this week.

Since we're slated to get a pretty good snowstorm this week (18-24 inches/45-61 cm), I've got my snow cleats on my boots, and shall put my attempts at running on hold until spring.

Vanity wanes in a deep freeze

In the early autumn, as I was lamenting the sad state of my winter coat and realizing I needed to think of replacing it, I was struck with some girlish fancy of finding a stylish winter coat. I thought a pea coat might be nice, but I do like a hood, and I remember seeing a lovely Barbour coat with toggles that called to me, but I couldn't find it again on the internet for love nor money.

I'm a couple or three hours away from a Barbour outlet and thought it might be worth the trip because I really prefer to try clothing on before I buy it. It seems that everyone sizes things differently and by trying on, I can see if it will or won't work for me.

Now, I must state that on the whole, I despise shopping, so when I truly need to get something and when the shopping bug bites me, it's prudent for me to strike while that iron's hot. So, I looked on the Internet just to see what else I could find. I didn't want the big, down-filled coats, because although they're warm, I always feel like the Michelin man's little sister when i'm wearing one, and I oohed and aahed over any number of stylish coats. And then the pragmatic part of me took over. Some of the prices had me blanching, some were clearly made for someone half my age, but that still left quite a few that would meet my needs. Except....except...when I looked to see how they did in cold weather. Not just cold, but Cold.

I ended up, ultimately, at a local thrift store and found two coats that would answer well, so got those, one for every day and one for dressier occasions.

I decided my current winter coat, which is a tad too big besides being in its sad state was okay as a barn coat, so that hung around. It was also helpful that it was black, so when I was lugging coal around, I didn't have to worry about it showing up too much on my coat.

While this coat search was going on and then wrapping up, a friend of mine casually mentioned that she had a winter coat she was no longer using. It was still in good shape and wicked warm--excellent when out shovelling snow--but it wasn't long enough for her, and she found her bum sometimes got wet from the snow, so she got herself a longer coat. And, this too-short coat for her had a really good hood. It actually really and truly kept you warm. This sounded ideal, so I thanked her and said yes, i'd be very much interested. In the meantime, i'd had the two coats i'd bought dry cleaned, and realized with a bit of a start that the one with the toggles was really too big for me. What I had been smoking the day I saw it and how I convinced myself that it did fit, I cannot say. The other was a black swing coat, which I had taken to wearing when I ran errands or anytime I left the house.

Just before our cold blast, my friend stopped by with the coat. We both discussed that really trendy coats, while they may look fetching, seem only to look good and can keep you warm only when it's somewhat cold outside. The coat she brought was light blue and everything she said it was. It also fit, and she wouldn't take any money from me, so I thanked her. After she left, I had my doubts, because yes, it's a down-filled coat.

And the cold blast came. And I ran errands wearing the black swing coat and could feel the wind cut through. And the toggle coat was still too big. And then we had the cold blast with snow, and I needed to shovel out. I put on the down-filled coat. I shovelled and didn't feel the wind once. The hood was wonderful in keeping the wind at bay about my neck. After about twenty minutes, my vanity sublimed in the freezing temperatures. I embraced looking like the Michelin man's little sister.

When we had our latest stretch of Very Cold, where the highest temp one day was 3°F (-19.4°C), I was so glad for my Michelin man coat. I wish i had remembered how black coal can show up on the light blue coat, though, when I went out to the barn that morning when it was -20°F/-29°C to refill the hods because I grabbed the first coat, which happened to be the light blue one rather than the black barn coat. Good thing it's washable!

And now for something completely different

A friend of mine shared this link on facebook, and it got me to smiling. A number of my friends and acquaintances are in healthcare, and we hear so much about the bad stuff, that it tends to overshadow so many of the good things that occur daily, just because these folks come to work and do their jobs well.

So, take a few moments to enjoy something silly.

Post by Karina Lazar Stefanescu.

New Boxing Day Tradition??

I can only hope. A local theatre that shows the "Live in HD" performances, lots of indie films, and some live acts showed "The Sound of Music" this afternoon as a sing-along. It was a fundraiser for a local charity, and for your $10 you got a fun bag with some props in it, an introduction explaining the items in the Fun Bag and when they were to be used, as well as coaching on what to say when certain characters came on the screen or certain actions (like saluting Captain Von Trapp or the hand gestures needed for Do Re Mi).

It was loads of fun, and nearly all of us there were first-timers. I do hope they decide to do it every year.