walking – On Writing, On Life

Oil painting on canvas (partial), Kupka, 1909.

It all started on a sparkling, sunlit day in mid November, 2022. I walked among the fallen leaves of my one time neighborhood around St. Margaret Mary’s church, on Dodge St. Then, I crossed the street and walked around the campus of the University of Nebraska at Omaha, looking at art in its galleries.

This is something I do often (take long walks) and have done since my early 30’s, when I gave up jogging.

The next day, and for several days after, I experienced intense leg pain, specifically around my knees, (above, below, and on each side of them). This was something new. I wondered if this was a turning point, in my aging process. I wore the same shoes as always, and the distance seemed about the same as on other walks.

So, I rested.

A few days later, all seemed well. So I went on my usual jaunt to the Dodge St. Salvation Army Thrift Store to drop off some donations. It’s a familiar, less than a mile, walk. I enjoy doing that.

I decided to take a different route back, and was extra careful of turning traffic at intersections. One of them had an island that I stopped at and then caught the driver’s eye before proceeding. It made me slightly self conscious and overly confident, I think, showing what a good, strong walker “this near old lady” was.

As I stepped off the curb, still kind of looking at the driver, I misjudged the step and slid a little on gravel, wrenching my left knee (OUCH!) as I avoided a fall. I made it home, hobbling and humbled.

So, for a week or two, RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) was my treatment. Our rarely used footstool became a favorite thing. No Alleve was necessary, although my Doctor of Pharmacy daughter-in-law told me to take it daily to avoid swelling (a good idea).

In early December we went to visit our son’s family in Norman, OK. Three dogs are members of that family. One of them, Murphy, a muscular Boxer type, really liked me, which I loved. On our second day, he caught me off guard by an overly enthusiastic greeting bump, to my right leg, right side, around the knee and hamstring. OUCH AGAIN!

Molly, 15, looked sympathetically at me, quietly expressing her sorrow at my pain, and comfortingly at her dog, seemingly assuring him, “It’s OK, you’re still our pal.”

This brought up the conversation of dogs knocking people down. I held my ground, not falling, but oh, did it hurt!

Bending my leg was impossible. I think we iced it. Jack, 18, brought me a battery operated massager, like they use at football games along the sidelines for injured players. I kind of laughed in my mind, imagining me as an athlete, ha ha.

They also gave me a stretchy workout band to help stretch the muscle.

Two Alleves were taken. It felt good to be so well taken care of!

There were two things that were especially hard to do: getting into bed (I had to “lift” my leg with both hands and put it up on the bed), and, to get into the car the next morning. Both things we take for granted!

In the months since, I’ve come to realize that standing or walking is fine, once I get going. It’s the sitting too long to read, write, eat a meal, or watch TV that gives me painful knees when I get up (very slowly).

All of this is not to ask for your pity; it’s just that I’m an expressionist who likes to tell about things as they are. There are many people going through worse pain and adjustments. If, for instance, I ever have a knee replacement, I expect that to be a very hard thing.

Recently we traveled to AZ to visit family. The young man helping us with our luggage saw me limping and offered advice, “The best thing for your joints is Vick’s Vaporub.” I like the scent of that, every once in a while; it’s comforting, and I think it helps.

As it continues to heal, I’m reminded of a couple of things. One is the phrase “On my knees” which generally means prayer. The other is my neighbor on Farnam St., Linda, who told me years ago that the only way to clean a floor is on your knees. I plan on ignoring her, and will continue to use a mop.

I’m going to end this with examples of workers on their knees. The first is an art piece that I’ve always liked, “The Floor Scrapers”, an 1875 painting by French Impressionist, Gustave Caillebotte. It makes me think of scraping and refinishing the oak floors at our first house on 55th and Jackson, in Omaha, which is the second photo, from 1979.