October 15, 1998
The day was the day. Work was work. Lots of it and I've finally stopped panicing because, well, it just wouldn't help. Too much to do, but with enough time to do it, and enough resources to tackle it and it's reasonable, really, just overwhelming in amount.
Afterwards, I was thinking of just staying at work, but John had soccer practice to do, and we thought it'd just be raining cats and dogs as all morning it just poured. But as the afternoon progressed, the clouds broke up and it was just gorgeous out. Sunny, bright, crisp and clear as clear could be. We drove over to the practice fields in wonder.
The fields were closed. Due to the rain, the ground was soft so when people played on it, it got all torn up, so the signs and chains were up and no one could use the fields. There were mini-Vans galore all piled up at one end or the other wondering where to go, what to do. The fields opposite the soccer fields were supposedly a polo field that sometimes doubled as a model airplane field, but soccer players were all over it, with cones instead of lines. All clumped in clusters all over the great, green grassiness.
We waited in the upper parking lot, as we could see folks driving along, eventually the mothers appeared, told the kids where to meet and we met them and then we started practice in the cool brilliance of the fall sunshine. It was really, really, really weird to run again, on uneven grass, just straight forward. I did a lot of fetching and carrying, moving of cones, fetching of balls, getting the ball to John when he needed it and where he needed it accurately, easily. Kicking was so strange, my knee didn't so much hurt as just ache each time I booted a ball. The ache of something that hadn't done that for a long time and is feeling twinged by doing the unfamiliar again. It's *such* a long way from how I was a year ago on the soccer field. It was almost scary.
But I could jog and I could now jog even on the uneven stuff, the leg muscles which, six months ago, couldn't even let me walk on uneven ground without getting exhausted, are now strong enough to let me jolt along without fear of falling or fear of tearing something or twisting other things. The joint is still achy, still has some fluid in it that makes straightening or bending it deeply a little harder than not, just a little bit of pain, a reminder. But I could actually lower myself under my own control to sit on a soccer ball, something I couldn't even do around the Labor Day weekend. My butt got sore when we were doing the deck because my knee made it so that I had to just drop the last four to six inches, as it just wouldn't bend any more.
Slowly, perhaps, gradually, perhaps, but it's gradually being rebuilt, remade and renewed. I actually think I am going to get all the way better if I make the extra effort to be active, to do something...
The sun made it's way to the horizon, and it got cooler and cooler and darker and darker. By the time we were scrimmaging it was near dark, though twilight lasted nearly forty minutes, it seemed, from the time the sun actually disappeared over the horizon. And as it got darker, the fog started to seep up from the warm, wet ground. Gradually, the fog grew thicker and thicker and taller and taller, until we finally started to lose the ball in the fog and the darkness. So that's when we called it quits, at not quite yet 7 p.m..
After the near memory of 10 p.m. twilight light from the depth of summer, it was a sad reminder of the oncoming rush of winter.
It was kinda eerie, though, to be standing on the field and watch the fog rise like water all around us. The slow rising was so gradual, but so inevitable, burying all within its depths. That was so keen.
My legs were all goosebumps by the time we hiked back to the car, and only after the half an hour drive back home did they finally smooth out again, but I was cold to the core. We made a quick dinner from leftover lasagna and hot dog buns with garlic bread spread and salad. It was yummy and quick and filling. Then we curled up on the couch and watched hockey until we were both about to fall asleep.
Fezzik was acting kinda weird, antsy and barking at us for no apparent reason. We took him out for a bit, let him do his stuff, and I'll admit I was too exhausted from the practice and the cold to actually go for a walk with him. So we put up with the barking and finally just went to bed.
Fezzik followed us upstairs and curls up just outside our bedroom door and I think he went to sleep while we went to sleep, as he was entirely silent after that. Good thing, too, I think.
I dreamed odd dreams and woke up in the middle of the night to write them all down in candlelight. Just lighting a votive in the tin lantern I have so that I didn't wake John up too much, and I scribbled and scribbled and scribbled about a grand, posh hotel complex in the midst of pouring rain and an odd car chase that ended up with finding that the main, formal restaurant was closed for a formal party, but the cafeteria was open and not only that, but there was a super old, old, old fashioned ride in one room in the Victorian era hotel. The ride was a half a dozen tracks lined up side by side with snakes of single-person wide cars of wood and brass and chipped and fading gaudy paint. A big, satisfyingly heavy *thunk* threw the brake at the top and the whole snake of cars would slide to the bottom of a winding wooden track with appropriate sounds from the occupants of said cars. It was nearly a five story drop, all together, and ended with another heavy *thunk* at the bottom with the dubious throwing of the brake lever.
Rides were only a quarter each, and when I paid, I realized that the guy that gave me change had actually given me a metal button in place of a quarter. So I changed it for a real quarter, but rode anyway.
Fezzik was in a Mood in the dream, too, and wouldn't get out of the way of one of the snakes of cars until just at the last moment. What a dog.