Redirect

So the knee pain was simple, easily-healed, no-reason-to-worry, run-of-the-mill bursitis.

I learned on Wikipedia that bursae are small sacs of synovial fluid in the body (gross!) and the ones that live under my left knee cap got inflamed when I tried to take up jogging.  Good news though, I'm all healed up already and I can try jogging again if I get fitted for proper shoes and buy expensive inserts.  Better than surgery.  Better than forever pain.  Better than a lot of things. 

So while I wait for room in our budget, another mountain I want to climb comes back in to my view finder.  That mountain is the memoir I started writing in November 2008.  When the topic comes up and I tell people I'm writing a memoir, the response is often a funny look, then a pause, then I fill in the awkward space with details, "It's about about my life as a hippie kid, and some about me as a mother, and a little bit of me getting married at 22, and maybe some pieces about me and my tribe of friends when we were teenagers."  My explanation brings head nods, then follow up questions are asked, and inevitably the polite, "Well I can't wait to read it when you're done."  Me too.

I know somehow that the book will get finished and it will get published.  I don't know how I know this since mostly I feel uncertain about anything that is out there for me in the future.  I don't know if tomorrow morning with the kids will be lovely or exhausting.  With they be in a good mood?  Will I?  Will the kids learn to swim this summer?  Will Henry finish high school or drop out like I did?

But I'm certain I will finish my first memoir.  After all, I've been training for a long time now.  Maybe I'll climb Mt. Hood and publish by my 40th birthday?