Ranchin' with Rob: January 2018

As of December, this is Robert's new Fillauer AllPro Foot

Thanks to our wonderful prosthetists at Care Prosthetics & Orthotics in Houston, we recently gained a new foot, and with it new freedoms!

For example -

Fishing at the bottom of a steep bank with very unlevel ground. Nice large mouth bass, Babe.

Launching this boat - not in this picture - that's our son, Landon, but Robert recently launched it by himself and fished.

Thanks to the blessings of medical technology, our "new normal" is not so bad after all.

We are very grateful for every bit of it, and I remember us seeing this verse at the hospital chapel four years ago as if it just happened:

"In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world." - John 16:33

Looking back over the past four years of healing, even in loss and then change, time heals wounds and we move on. We first learn to stand, and it is painful. Then, we walk a little; then, run and even jump again. Now this - hiking up and down unlevel ground. A small miracle. Go, Robert. Go, God.

     January is great - or grate - depending on the weather and how you react. Recently, we had our "great big" Texas ice storm come through this region with our public schools closing throughout the entire Central Texas area, Austin included. As predicted and announced with the fervor of a religious premonition, it rained and iced over the day after Martin Luther King Jr. Day, a much-needed and overall welcomed break for many families who huddled indoors to a day of games and movies - all well-prepared because of said warnings.

     The evening before the coming ice I ventured to HEB to brave the crowds and do some last-minute shopping for my own family. There is nothing quite like the last minute; its appeal is almost addictive and it has forever been one of my hallmark traits to strategically wait for it - but only with certain things. At work, I am that annoying "planner" type. Even still, one of my first and favorite classroom posters gave the art of procrastination its due respect: "If it weren't for the last minute, I'd never get anything done." It's all about motivation and that last minute is filled with the adrenaline to make the impossible happen. HEB was just the place for that for about 70 percent of Bastrop County that night.

     My late evening shopping trip turned out to be more extreme than I ever imagined, beginning with a passerby smiling at me as he was leaving and I was entering, who then stopped his full cart to issue me the warning,"It's the Apocalypse in there! Watch out."

     I laughed knowingly, nodded, and felt a little excited. Maybe this would be entertaining; like storm watching but indoors. The madness began with no carts waiting in their usual pick-up spot. Others more gutsy than me darted in front of me repeatedly to confiscate cart after cart as it was escorted like rare transport to its next lucky driver. I had finally had enough to feel jaded and pushed my body more assertively toward yet another cutter with her almost colliding with me in her aggressive maneuvering. I got one. My golden ticket had arrived.

     As I cooly browsed up and down the aisles in jigsaw fashion, nearly missing the hands of children hanging over carts abandoned by moms on a mission for a blocked section of bananas, I realized that this was nothing less than mass chaos. Laughing inwardly at myself for joining in the madness of stocking up for a whopping 48 hours of ice to come, I kept inching my way through the streams of grabbing arms and gridlocked carts. Just to keep a proper perspective, I popped in my earbuds and cranked an Amazon Music playlist of monk meditations and chants to foster my focus.

    It was peculiar how nobody was smiling except a few older people, some children and me. The experience was a blend of amusing and borderline disturbing, especially after witnessing bare aisle section after section of certain items; but I survived it and even managed to score the last box of chicken broth without harming anyone, so my personal quest was accomplished.

     "Thanks," I whispered in shy gratitude to a hunched stocker as he frantically placed the lone box on the shelf for one full second before I grabbed it and rolled away feeling a strange, snarky pleasure and almost embarrassed. I turned up the monk chants at that point. Couldn't hurt.

   Beyond the chicken broth was the paper towel and toilet paper aisle. Surprisingly, this was the most popular strip in the place. It must have provided much comfort for people to buy super packs of each because it was impassible with its herd of white-mountain paper topped carts and its shelves increasingly barren. Cleanliness is next to godliness, right?

    Multiple micro-adventures occurred between the paper goods and the final aisle of pharmaceuticals, but the final battle raged at the check-out lines that snaked beyond anything recognizably organized. Carts blended into aisles with people lodged sideways and cock-eyed in all directions across the entire front third of the store. I had to dart around the back of the store to infiltrate the outer herds from the center. My plan of attack worked too well.

    As my cart shot out from behind the electronics end-cap to take its rightful place in a rare, open portal, just to my right was a devastated middle-aged mother with babies who was wildly jerking her stuck cart free in a dash toward the same spot.

     "Oh NO!" her honest yell escaped. I stood stoic for a few seconds secretly wishing I could ignore her, but of course, I yielded way and offered her my spot. She didn't argue.

   So after that mass adventure of what was aptly prophesied to me as the "Apocalypse" at HEB, what was the fruit of my labors? Comfort food with family - a plethora of comfort food for the next several days. Thank you, ice storm.

January used to be one of my least favorites months, but now I'll think of it as an opportunity to stock up and kick-start the cooking of warmer meals and fun times with family. Robert and I split the cooking, as usual, but I must confess - he, once wanting become a chef, is most certainly more of a native cook than I am. I'm pretty good with the desserts, but he makes stuff that I cannot pronounce and that tastes better than many dishes served at top-notch restaurants.

   Following the ice days of cooking and resting we kept the warmth flowing. Our son and grandchildren simultaneously decorated and ate a gingerbread house, and we are still cooking more hearty foods than usual. We may be fatter and happier than usual, but it beats the cold of the ice that comes with every January and prepares us for the remaining days of winter at the ranch.