Here I sit in a body that has had sweat dry on it and in clothes that have been soaked with that same sweat. Actually, they are dry too . . . and a little smelly at this point. My hair is a mess of gunk stuck in a rubber band and my feet – ah, my feet – are propped up on a coffee table.

Two years ago this August, Robert broke his ankle in a horrific manner and then last year he was limping so much, we had him go back to the doctor . . . who said, “Stress fracture; had you been on it any longer it would have shattered.”

Last night I noticed the leg was swollen . . . a lot; I noticed a strong limp. I asked, “Does it feel like it did when you developed the stress fracture last year?” Well, yes it did. He said that at first and then tried to back away from it, but we’ve got him down at the orthopedic office again to see if once more the die has been cast.

Well, we’ll see.

But as I was outside mowing part of the yard, it occurred to me that while we don’t have the romance of the pioneer experience, everyday all of us are making it through our days, or at least trying. When things are over, we may look back and talk of tales of invalid beds in living rooms or autos in accidents or flooding or storms or job losses or sick children or parents . . . or sick ourselves . . .and remember it as a time of rising to the occasion. We might even take pleasure in the memory of pulling together – of getting through the situation.

I’m not so certain we don’t all wrangle our way through our lives . . . no matter where we live.

But, in truth, I don’t think any of us really, truly face the hardships of the pioneers. Heck, even people doing the basic work of pioneers – the labor of the fields – can come in to air conditioning and TV availability. And Internet. And the advantages of modern medicine and modern transportation and modern communication.

So I guess our main endeavor should be to make the best of what has been given us. To think there ought to be a standard of behavior, a civility in out conduct. To be self-reliant and not expect hand-outs. To be accountable . . .

Oh, well, that’s my rambling for now . . . I’m off to clean up and get on with things. I want to be straight up about this, though, before I go. I have to admit I’m one to want someone else to do all these things and then point in my direction and say, “She’s with me.”

Kind of the free lunch thing . . .

Guess I’ve got to clean up my whole act.