Paris Is Still There

 A quick hello from Mile Marker 13,170!

I'm hurrying through the breakfast dishes, water splashing up my sleeves, my brain barreling ahead at breakneck speed, when an alert pops up on my phone.

It's from Bonjour RATP, the Paris transit app.

Alerting me to line closures for the weekend.

I'm usually aggravated by those rings, tings, and buzzes.  They remind me I'm not keeping up.  

But this one is different.  It carries me away.

Paris, is seems, is still out there.  

Moving at its own pace.  Doing its Parisian thing.

That thought takes me back to my after-dinner Instagram scroll last night.  (When my body's too tired to clean up the kitchen, for some reason my thumb has plenty of energy!) 

Now, I replay those photos and captions, sprinkled with snowflakes throughout my feed.

For the first time in over a decade, there was a November snowfall in Paris! 

...I saw it on my own screen!

In real life, snow would throw me off balance.  But not snow in Paris.  Not right now.

In my mind, I can walk in any weather. :)  

I'm halfway through the dishes.  My fingers squeeze out the sponge, soft on one side, scratchy on the other.  The smell of dishsoap fills the air.  

But I'm no longer standing at the sink.  

I've soared across the ocean, over green fields and wine country, to an enchanted city that somehow, impossibly, still exists.  

I pause to imagine myself there.

What Métro would I ride?

Ligne 7.

What would I be sipping, right now, at Café Méjane?

The best pumpkin spice latte in the world!
Bien sur!

Here at home, this month has felt like a miles-long sprint.

I rush through morning walks.  

Catch up on work at lunchtime. 

Adjust my leg on the fly.   

Curl up with abdominal pain at night.  

Everything takes me longer than it used to.  I need more rest.  My body breaks down when I don't give it the time it needs.  These lessons I've learned well.

But even after 14 years, the New Normal is an uncomfortable place to be.

I shut off the water.  

The dishes are clean, but not much else has changed.   

And yet, I feel transformed by this one small miracle:  the ability to stand with my feet in one place and my mind in another.  

I know it's just memory, but it feels like a superpower.

Paris is still there.  Moving at its own speed.  

(Or, more likely,
lingering over a long déjeuner!)

I wish I were there too.

It's reassuring to know that when life moves too fast, traveling to a place we love -- even for a moment, even in our minds -- can help slow things down.

I've gotta get going.  But I know Paris will be there.

Whenever, and wherever, I need it.

Walk on,
Rebecca

P.S.  Do you have a place (or pace) that takes you away?  I'd love to hear how you "travel" there!

Buongiorno et bon matin...

...from the Italian Market!

Yes, I know that's a language mashup, but that's where I am.  

Qui. Maintenant.  Here. Now.

Mile 12,615 =  Kilomètre 20,302

I'm gearing up for travel.

In just two weeks, I leave for Paris -- yes, Paris! -- to join travel writer Rolf Potts, and a whole new group of classmates for the advanced version of the travel memoir class I took there last summer.  I can't wait!

So I'd better brush up on my writing -- and walking.

Here at home, my little red car, "Happy," has just passed her 10,000th mile.

To celebrate, and sneak in some walking/writing, we drive down to our old favorite, Gleaner's, for a coffee and stroll through the Italian Market. 

The smell of baking bread leads the way.  
It fades into roasted coffee,

sugared dough,

melted tar, 

and garbage juice, spilled from a leaky bag.

In the first three blocks, I hear four languages:  Spanish, Italian, Cambodian (I think), and Greek. 

  

And this one??

It's barely 7:30.  The sun is still low.  The sidewalks are shady.  The breeze feels uncommonly cool.

I pass a bookstore, not yet open, with boxes stacked outside.  A scribbled sign says FREE.  The middle box sags with paperbacks of The Babysitter's Club, piled high like a mound of rainbow jimmies.  (Or "sprinkles" for you out-of-towners.) 

When I reach Passyunk (say "Pash-yunk"), a cheesesteak truck is parked inside an overgrown community garden.  

Pretty much Philly in a nutshell.

I turn onto a narrow street of rowhomes.  

A mirrored chrome railing reminds me of an 80's rollerskating rink.  A toddler's kitchen playset sits atop a metal grate.  How many toys (and shoes) have been dropped through those cracks?

It's a good leg day so far.  

On days like this, I feel like I could walk miles.  But I know better.  

The sun is getting higher.  

My prosthetic's getting looser.  

While I'm comfortable, like now, my feet and mind can wander.  But it's early yet.  

I need to save energy -- and precious leg time -- for the rest of the day.

So I turn up 7th, back toward the car.  

This patch of road used to be part of my bike route to work.  I pedaled through here every morning for years.  

I knew where cars rolled through the 4-way stop.  I knew where every pothole was.  

It looks different now. 

Smoother.  Brighter.

I almost don't recognize it.

But then, come the bikers.  

They whisper by in clusters, two and three at a time, helmets strapped, backpacks bouncing behind them in crates and saddlebags.  

7th Street, I realize, has become a bike superhighway.  

It feels good to walk among them.

When I arrive back at the car, my coffee cup is empty, but my notebook is full. 

And I'm happy to be here.

Walk on,

Rebecca

Where Would You Walk?

Mile Marker 12,072:

I'm grounded at home this weekend.

I was supposed to be visiting my favorite Vermonters. I'd bought an airline ticket and everything!

Then, out of nowhere, my right foot starts aching.  

(Yes... the real one.)

Technically, it isn't out of nowhere.  

I often get right foot pain, especially at the end of the day.  Sometimes my knee swells, or my ankle, or both.  Like most unilateral amputees, I depend on my "sound side" for balance and performance.  A solid step with my right leg makes my prosthetic knee bend more fluently -- and my gait more natural.  Plus, you can't wear a prosthesis 24/7.  When I take my leg off, my sound side does 100% of the work. 

It's called "overuse."

At first, it's just a pang when I step down on the ball of my foot.  I ignore it and keep walking. 

But a few days later, I can barely bear weight.

Cue the alarms.  

I NEED TO PROTECT MY RIGHT FOOT.  

IT'S THE ONLY ONE I HAVE.

(This has happened before, but I don't want to think about it.  If you want, you can read about it here.) 

And so... 

Twenty-four hours before departure, I make the best -- and only -- decision for my body.  

I cancel the whole trip.  

At that very moment, an article lands in my inbox: 

The Most Walkable City on Each Continent.

Cruel joke?  Maybe.

I click on it anyway.

While I'm on hold with the airline, I open up Kayak and plug in the recommended cities.

• Boston
• Madrid
• Marrakech
• Buenos Aires
• Wellington
• Hoi An

Just for kicks, I set my travel dates for September.  (It's my fantasy, so why not celebrate my birthday in Spain?)

I imagine an epic, multi-city, around-the-world trip for the sole purpose (pun intended) of doing the one thing I cannot do at this very moment.

WALK.

Hey, it's cheaper than you'd think!

Dreaming of travel has always been a coping mechanism for me. 

Years ago, I'd spend lunchtimes at work scrolling through "E-saver" flights and "Travelzoo" discounts.  (Remember those?)

In the months after the accident, when I sat teary-eyed in my therapist's office -- certain I'd "never go anywhere ever again" -- she encouraged me to hop on over to Amazon and find books that would take me places.

I ordered this one first --
And it was too heavy to lift on my crutches!

Later, 400 miles into this journey -- recovering from yet another surgery -- I wrote my own Walking Wish List.  

All the places I'd walk IF or WHEN I could...

Click here to see it.

Now, I'm amazed at how many
of those boxes I've checked off!!

Eventually the American Airlines rep takes me off hold.  

She adjusts my flight plans without a penalty.  My Airbnb host is equally understanding.  It reminds me of the kindness I encounter whenever I travel.

Today, there will be no morning miles.  I'll conserve my limited "foot time" for basic activities at home.

I hobble around the kitchen like a robot crossed with a baby deer.  

I brew a pot of coffee my friend Priti brought back from India.

I open up biscuits and jam from our neighborhood in Paris.

I spoon out granola from my favorite local coffee shop.

Then I gather up everything and limp out to the balcony,

where I gingerly remove my right shoe.

Less than 70 miles ago, I was exploring Paris on foot -- not quite easily, but filled with joie de vivre!  

And now... I'm HERE.

It's hard to reconcile these two truths.  

I have a disability that's both permanent and variable.  It's who I am as a traveler.  

Slow or fast.

Near or far.

Walking, like health, is the most fragile of privileges.

Of all the places to be grounded at Mile 12,072,

I am extra grateful for this
corner of the sky.

Fingers (and 5 toes) crossed, there'll be many miles ahead. 

I'm open to ideas.

Where would you walk?
Rebecca

Stand Here

Has it really been just 2 weeks since my last postcard?

I've been wanting to write, but there are times when direction is difficult to decipher.  So I'm returning to a lesson I learned way, way back in this journey:

When life feels too big, it helps to take small steps.

Throwback to Mile 39 :)

Back then, small steps meant bacon -- and Ruby Tuesdays -- with my best pit crew.

(I'd still be up for that, of course!)  

But nowadays, it usually means taking time out for short, meandering walks that keep me on solid ground.

It doesn't matter how far I wander.  
It doesn't matter if I'm alone or with friends.  
It doesn't matter if I take photos or not.  

There's always AWE to be found.

The smallest steps bring more clarity than any amount of thinking at home.

Colors bring peace.

Sunrise brings renewal.

And "found" signs bring an unexpected spark of HOPE.

(Even if I don't quite know what they mean!)

Walking reminds me how we're all connected, like the wildfire sky that drifted into Philly from Canada.  Most of the time, connection brings comfort.

Well, aside from implications
for climate change.

Sometimes on a walk, I just STOP.

Stand here.   

Feel the space of a small, single moment.

That gentle shift of focus from overwhelment...  

(Is that a word?) 

...to gratitude.  

(I know that is!)

When life feels too big, where do you stand?

I'll be right here.

Walk on,
Rebecca

(Chalk art found in Washington Square with my walking buddy, JJ.)

Pink

This day needs a reboot, and it's only 6 AM.

I work harder to get into my prosthesis.

I stamp the foot, pressing down as hard as I can.  Shift my weight onto the right side.  Then back again to the left.  I do this over and over (and over and over and over) again.  

10 times...
12 times...
24 times...

Today, even more times....

It's a workout.

You'd laugh if you watched.  It's like a clumsy Irish dance.  Or an elephant stamping out a herd of ants.

"My downstairs neighbors love it," I sometimes joke. "Especially early in the morning."  

But today I don't feel like laughing.  Today it's just exhausting.

My abdomen isn't great either.  Digestive issues woke me throughout the night, and now it feels like there's a rock ricocheting around my belly as I jump up and down.  

And then... my phone tings on the nightstand.  A text.

Come on.  This early??

It feels like the whole world has its act together, and I've already fallen behind.

From my very first miles as an amputee, I learned it was better to step out than to stay in.  So I grab my jacket and coffee cup, and close the door behind me.

It's a small victory.

Halfway down the street, I run into Donna.  (Actually she's the runner, so she runs into me.)  

I greet her with a litany of complaints about the day so far. 

But by the time we round the next corner, the conversation changes course.

The sun throws shadows down Market Street, and Donna tells me about a new pizza place she and Mike tried.  They got pepperoni.  With a coupon.  Win-win.

Our chat jumps around as much as I jumped around to get my leg on.

We steer clear of sidewalk hazards.  Stop for coffee.  

And eventually, we end up here...

...in the pink!

As we pause with wonder underneath, something inside me shifts ever so slightly.

Maybe it's that color pink -- a mix of pale and hot -- which I always envisioned as my "power color" when I climbed.

Or maybe it's the parallel between my body and nature.  (Nothing's permanent... this too shall pass!)

Or maybe it's the vibe that comes from running into a friend on a morning when you need one.

Yes, yes, it's definitely that :)

Or maybe it's just getting out of the house -- and out of my head!

I don't understand it anymore than I understand why my leg and my abdomen picked this particular morning to act up at the same time.  Oh well.

Whatever it is -- like other signs from other morning walks -- those blossoms shout out a message to me.

When life gives you a reboot, run with it.  

Or in my case...

walk with it!

Steppin' Out -- NYC

To seek renewal, maybe you'd go to the spa.

I'm in New York City!

Really, this is better than a massage table, where I'd be lying with my eyes closed, dwelling on health issues and uncertainties, and all the things I should be doing (but can't quite manage) to keep pace with "normal" life.  

Better to be stepping out here -- onto this crazy-busy sidewalk -- nearly galloping to keep pace with my good friend Elaine, who's surprisingly city-wise for someone from Idaho!

We dodge traffic and people,
step on and off curbs, 

and in and out of elevators.

We catch the lights

as we catch up on conversation.

It's invigorating

and exciting

and exhilarating

and exhausting (in all the best ways!).

At MoMA, we hunt down the original Starry Night.

At Chelsea Market, we stalk an Israeli food stand till it opens.

At the Strand, we get lost in the stacks.

Then, on the way back to the train station, we stumble onto this spot...

...Oh YES, we do!

New York City is only 2 hours from Philly.  

But for me, it doesn't feel like an easy journey.  It's been years since I've traveled anywhere, especially on my own.

The night before, I reduce what I'll have to carry -- discarding extra clothes in favor of crutches and emergency items for any "body breakdown" I can imagine.  (And then, in imagining those breakdowns, I almost cancel the trip!)

On the way there, I obsess about sitting on metal benches at the train station and climbing in and out of cabs, obstacles that can disrupt even the best of leg days.

With the weight of worry,
it's a wonder I go anywhere at all!

But when I finally meet up with Elaine, those concerns fade into the backdrop of city noise.

Elaine keeps me in the moment.  She approaches challenge with curiosity.  She takes travel adventures (and mishaps!) in stride.  We've known each other a long time, and it's just so FUN to be together again.

I can't keep this pace forever, but for 24 hours, it's worth a try!

At the Strand, we both find books that call to us.

For me, it's a book of photography by Vivienne Gucwa, a NYC resident who, back in 2009, began walking the city as a way to deal with stress, and along the way, found renewal through the lens of her camera.   

On the train ride home, 
her words and images resonate with me.

This little trip helps me dust off some of my own "lenses" too -- ones I'd almost forgotten I had.

The harnessing of courage.  

The joy of taking risks.

The irreplaceable comfort of friendship.

And the pure, life-changing power of steppin' out.

Walking Day 2023

My leg feels heavy this morning.

It happens sometimes. We had a winter warm-up these last few days, so I switched from boots to lighter shoes.  This morning, the temp dips back to 39.

And I'm in boots again.

They're heavy!

For an amputee, a little thing like changing shoes can make or break your day.  

It's simple physics:  when you lift a long prosthesis with a short lever (a.k.a. 10-inch residual limb), any additional weight can be challenging.

I'm an "experienced walker" now, so I try to roll with it.

Today marks 12 years since I took my first steps on a prosthesis.  Woo-hoo!

Here's the video of those steps back in February 2011.  

I called it Walking Day.

I used to take baby steps.  But it's been 12 years, so I guess now I walk like a "tween."  (This would explain my leg's moodiness!)

Some days I walk easily, almost like my old self.  
Other days, I can't walk at all.  
Most days fall somewhere in between.

For all the advances in medicine and technology, walking is an inexact science that depends on a thousand factors... 

muscle strength and skin,

efficiency and energy,
comfort and pain,

prosthetic fit,

priceless "leg time."

Still, it's good to get out there.

Movement, no matter how slow, usually empowers me.  Fresh air, no matter how cold, usually resets my mind.  

I don't have to go far or fast.

To notice small changes along the path.

A glimpse of sky,
no matter how small,
helps put problems in perspective.

Walking (or not) has helped me process life as an amputee.  It gives me a frame on which to hang "good leg days" and not-so-good ones.  

Over time, I've tried to get comfortable in both spaces.

This morning I heard a quote by Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping.  He said it more than 40 years ago to describe the phenomenon of China's gradual growth and expansion:

Crossing the river by feeling the stones.

Today, these words capture my journey. 

You'd think by now I could cross that river in leaps and bounds, my eyes steadily fixed on the other side.

But really, I still feel each stone.

I lean into the walk -- each walk -- with all its weight and varied terrain.

Even now, after 12 years, learning as I go.  

Happy Walking Day 2023!

Gluggavedur

Ever have a moment when you look out the window and everything feels right in the world?

In this case, it's a car window.
In a CVS parking lot.
With a surprisingly good sky.

Little known fact:  I often find good skies here.  

Another little known fact (or widely known if you live in the area):  That field below the sky?  It used to be densely forested land -- before an unexpected tornado swept through it in September 2021.

Maybe that's why the sky is so surprisingly good.

I learned a new word recently:  Gluggavedur

It's an Icelandic concept that translates to "window weather."  

Gluggavedur brings to mind cozy moments curled up by a warmly lit window, looking outside when you're grateful and happy to be inside.

I know, I know.  I'm sitting in a Prius.  In a parking lot.

Stay with me here.  

It's been a challenging couple of days.  My little leg's nerves are buzzing incessantly, and I've got a new skin irritation from the prosthetic socket.  Also, my digestive system seems to be on mid-winter break.  (These may or may not be related -- who really knows?)

Today, sitting is better than standing, so I've chosen to wait in the car while my mom runs into CVS pharmacy for a quick errand.  I've got a podcast playing on the radio and the seat heater is on.  It's not a bad gig.  

Plus, when I look out the window, there it is.  

That surprisingly good sky.

Gluggavedur.

When I came home from the hospital 12+ years ago, my parents came to this CVS to pick up my many prescriptions.  

When I could finally get around again, I accompanied them on crutches.

It was a big outing!

And later, when I started PT for prosthetic training, we came here again -- to this CVS -- to pick out a shiny brand new metallic blue cane.  

None of that is happening today.

No tornadoes.  
No medical emergencies.  
Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Everything isn't right in the world.  Not even in my world.  I totally get that. 

And yet, in this one small moment...

Through this car window,

In this CVS parking lot,

With this surprisingly good sky,

It feels like everything is.

Nature, beauty, peace, gratitude. 

Gluggavedur. 

What's in a New Socket?

Greetings from Mile Marker 9,559!

What's in a new socket? 

Me.

After a record 3 years (and 3,000 miles) in my old one, it's time.

Wait, you say, you got a new leg?

Nope, not quite...

Croissant Therapy

Mile Marker 8825:

When you think of unbound happiness, what comes to mind?  

And how do you get there - especially in a global pandemic?  

Granola for One

Mile Marker 8399:

Where are we?

Or more accurately, WHEN are we?

Oh.  Hello Saturday.

Anyone else feel like the days should be wearing name tags this week?  

The Hygge Cure

Mile Marker 7975:

Some people make a packing list.  I make an anxiety list.

Last spring, when Natalie and I bought our airline tickets, Copenhagen in November seemed like a fantastic idea.  It was the land of Christmas markets, castles, and this mysterious thing called hygge.

The problem is... November.