Turn Back the Clock

On Saturday night we were to turn back the clock, you know that spring forward, fall back part of Daylight Savings Time. I wished I could turn back the day, or maybe even better, the month.

I had a friend ask if I wanted to participate in a bazaar at the local Legion. I had done a series of craft shows a few years ago and found it fun. As I had a collection of hats, mitts and scarves made last winter, and with the cold weather upon us, I said yes, I’d love to take part. I was thinking of getting rid of the accumulated stuff, I thought, but in the back of my mind I think it was a bit of that ‘need to do’ that had me agreeing.

I act, and was almost 100% to the point of acceptance, that this kind of activity is beyond me. I guess I needed that last test to finally, once and for all, be convinced.

It’s not just the long hours of the bazaar, the sitting in hard and uncomfortable chairs with no back support, it’s the preparation, the packing and moving and lifting of boxes of goods to display. I had help loading the car, and unloading, but there’s still a lot of bending and such in getting things unpacked. But we got it done.

The rest of the day was a pleasant, talking with people, having one-to-one time with my granddaughter. But every trip I made to the bathroom I was stiffer, more tired and in more pain. By the time my daughter and son-in-law came to help pack up I was in distress.

I barely made it across the street to the parking lot, and was glad for the few minutes I could sit before I parked at home and had to walk to the door. I spent the rest of the night in bed, loaded up on pain meds and with the heating pad to my back. I never got up, except for a few trips to the bathroom where I leaned heavily on furniture and doorways, until almost noon on Sunday.

That proved to be another lost day as I couldn’t sit for long, and spent most of the day in bed, my heating pad my new best friend. Today has been better. I had to get up to put the garbage out, although I never got it to the curb, but left it about a foot from my door. The maintenance man who collects it for the complex will understand.

Saturday I called my daughter and told her to say it, say that big “I told you so!” I knew she was thinking. I learned my lesson, the hard way, of course, but I won’t be signing up for any bazaars or Christmas fairs, not again.

I have to admit it is hard giving up things I like to do, and sometimes, even with the pain and immobility I’m suffering right now, it was worth it. I kept myself busy last winter when going out was...out of the question, and had quite a pile of crocheted items. I make stuff for friends and family, but let’s be reasonable, how many hats does one person need.

I decided to take a page from GG’s book. GG stands for great grandmother, my daughter-in-law’s grandmother, the GG a designation for her children. She makes hats and mitts throughout the year and donates them to various charities. I think I’ll research and see what charity suits me and make that my winter project this year.

When I’m mobile again I’m going to take the items I had left after the bazaar and donate them to the women’s shelter.

I’ll give in a bit, OK maybe a lot, but I’m not going to give up, not yet.