My body, my identity

If a Wisconsin-size snowstorm weren't in the forecast, I'd insist that Jay and I go out to eat tonight to celebrate a major milestone in my journey to health. Two years ago today was a Wednesday. The Columbia County Board met in the morning, and by mid-afternoon, my story was written for the next day's paper. Just as I'd hit all the computer keys to send my story to "first edit," my phone rang. It was the company's human resources director. He'd received my doctor's report on the condition of my osteoarthritic knee, including Dr. Hampton's opinion that it could take as much as three months to restore something like full mobility. Therefore, the HR director said, I was to go home immediately and stay home until my doctor cleared me to go back to work. I was not to work from home. I was not to work at all. Disability leave, he called it, and it was mandatory. My editor hadn't been told about this, much less consulted. My absence would...

Suddenly I feel old. Actually old. It seems like it happened overnight. And it happened well after I had that old-people's surgery to replace a worn-out knee. The AFib episode on Sept. 5 -- exactly two years after my mother's death, and exactly six months after my knee surgery -- might have been when this accelerated sense of aging started. Or maybe it was getting the CPAP machine two days after Christmas. I have to admit, it's helped me fall asleep faster and sleep more deeply (not to mention that I don't stop breathing in my sleep anymore). But the thought of hauling the thing with me on vacations, and hooking it up before bedding down in a resort hotel bed, makes me feel...well, old. Also, would I take the CPAP with me if I were to anticipate being snowed in overnight at Portage? I already carry an emergency suitcase in my car trunk for that purpose -- including a supply of the rapidly-increasing number of pills I have to take every day. Then there was the day-af...

"Decluttering" maven Marie Kondo has created -- unintentionally, I'm sure -- a clutter of Facebook memes. Her famous advice, to get rid of things that don't "spark joy," has given rise to sarcastic vows to dispose of things like diets, vegetables, shapewear, gym memberships and exercise equipment. Yeah, I get the joke. Watching your weight, moving and otherwise holding onto health are joyless things. At least they can't compare to other joys, like eating a dozen cupcakes at one sitting or binge-watching "Property Brothers" while vegged out in a recliner. And then there's the concept of "comfort food." When most people use the term, they're thinking of heavy, cheesy or creamy foods, like pizza, mucus-y casseroles or soups, ice cream or French fries. Well...any hope I have for long-term success maintaining my weight (135 pounds less than it was two years ago) depends on rethinking what I mean by "comfort" and...