You Can Come Take Me For a Walk, Since All He Can Do Is Keep His Leg Elevated and Watch Football

I've been the same creature since I was a teenager. Do the school work I can do, then go for a run or a walk to release steam. In better years, I would also go to the gym and lift weights. Exercise has always been my panacea. I'm down for the count, though. Hernias, eye issues, followed by this ankle thing has the routine all upside down and Karal knows it.

"Come on, Dad," she beckons. "I need to move, too."

Ah, Dave Wooley. Should I call you for outdoor therapy as You were there for us in the great crotch tucking of August?

Karal was anxious to get outdoors, even despite the storms that flew through yesterday afternoon.

My mind is alive, and I can do finger-tapping and computer work, even though I'm not moving too much. 

Thank the Great Whatever for the Food Networks Holiday Baking Shows. Karal can care less. She just wants to walk.

I know many have reached out to say, "This is a sign, Crandall. You just need to slow down," but I'm not ready to slow down. I like movement and I see its benefit. Lying still is simply depressing. Leg up, pillows, hot tea to keep the bloodlines warm.

This is not me. Not being able to sit still for 2-minutes is me, and I want the days to return. I mean, I was good with Hendrick, and I shifted to power hikes and walks, but this ankle-shenanigan is simply too much. I look out my window at runners and dog-walkers and I am biting at the bit (not to mention the elliptical that is waiting for me in the garage). 

I'm reading the tea leaves. What's it all supposed to really mean? I am seeking an answer. In the meantime, the contraption is upon sofa pillows and the hope is greater than ever before. Enough. I want to do the Crandall that I've always known. And sooner rather than later.