Hello and Welcome to An Altitude problem, the blog that is down to blogging just to be able to spend a few more moments at the computer. I am slid far down in the cast-off leather armchair we rescued after it did not survive the decorator's cut in one of our condos, the dog using the top of my head as his stop to keep from sliding off the top of the chair. He loves it up on the backrest, although it is a bit slippery, and the cushion is tilted toward the seat. He can see out the window without raising his head. But the hapless human occupying the chair has to get used to snoring in the right ear, and hind paws and tail hanging down over the left ear. And say nothing of the flatulence that can only come from eating too many bits of rubber insole from B's old hiking shoes. Not that we feed him hiking shoes for lunch; that was an unsupervised moment.

It is another one of those days. The sun deigned to shine for all of thirty minutes this morning, and that through a curtain of moisture. Yesterday the rain waited until we got home from helping Marci move to a new apartment, with a dog about to explode with all his pent-up energy, who had been forced to sit nicely, tied up to a fence outside the new apartment door, even though there was a insolent cat inside needing chased and harassed just a few feet away, while we moved an entire apartment-full of furniture and personal belongings down three sets of stairs, around two corners, and right past his nose. And then, just as I was preparing to take him for a much-needed walk, heaven's floodgates opened, and only a moment outside was enough to make one need wringing out. We never took the walk. Or attempted walk. I was determined to at least try the walking thing again.

Ahh, yes. I may not have mentioned it, but it has finally gotten to the point where da feet are having to admit defeat- I may have sprained, or strained, or pulled, or popped something in my right ankle. No, not yesterday. Almost two weeks ago. I was fooling around on the neighbor's trampoline, and was talked into trying a backflip- something I have never done before. In spite of B's dire warning from the sideline involving landing on my head, breaking my neck, missing work because of a severed spinal cord, I jumped, jumped higher, flung myself over backwards... and landed on my head, jamming my chin into my sternum, my knees into my forhead, and creating whiplash for the next four days. Well, that was a learning experience. Now I knew what to do differently. I did it again and again, never quite nailing an on-my-feet landing. The last time, I gathered a bit too much momentum, overshot the landing, still tried to land it on my feet, twisted my right foot up and to the inside, and instantly knew I had messed up. I hopped on one foot through a game of lawn croquet, limped home, inspected the swelling, and hobbled to bed, expecting it to be back to normal in the morning. The next morning I could hardly rotate it. I gimped around the next few days, feeling less pain each day, and by our backpacking trip, I could rotate it and flex it quite well, only feeling pain at the extreme ends of my range of motion. Convinced it was healed, I hiked over unstable snowbanks on it for two days. Got home and could barely move it. Wrapped it in an ace bandage for two days, babied it, then, as soon as it started to feel better, began biking. Winced every time I had to make the particular twisting motion required of my foot to unclamp it from my pedal, but solved that problem by not dismounting until I got back home, so I only had to unclip once a day. And by the day before yesterday, it was feeling good again, as long as i did not bend my ankle side-to-side. I put on my strappy, flirty high heels and went to a wedding.

By now you are wondering just how stupid I could be, right? So am I. But seriously, was I just supposed to put all these things on hold while I waited for it to heal? Was I really supposed to wear flip-flops and an ace bandage to the wedding? Late that night, as soon as I had tottered back through the revolving doors at the hotel where the reception was held, I eased out of the shoes and gazed ruefully at the swollen, vaguely purple area around my ankle bone. Of course, several glasses of wine, then champagne, acted as a wonderful anesthetic until the next morning. Wrapped it that night, then, the next morning, put mind over matter and moved hundreds of pounds of boxes and furniture down flights of stairs, ironically only twisting it once- going upstairs carrying nothing. Sat down and gasped, then got up and finished moving the trailer load of stuff into the apartment.

Hence, the reason I am still in the armchair. I did have plans for a leasurely, pavement-only hobble this morning with the dog, biking not an option because I am smarter now, and realize that I probably should not be using clip-in pedals while gimpy. I thought to myself, a half-hour or so on the computer, checking up on fellow Facebookers, checking and replying to emails, then, before the rain started, de-energize the dog for the day.

But this moring, the weather was not in a benevolent mood. I was only just considering heaving myself out of the armchair and removing the dog's prop, namely my head, from under his ribcage, allowing him to slide heavily onto the seat, gathering his leash and inviting him on a ramble through the exciting outdoors, all wonderful scents, pine and sage and wet earth, and only a dog knows what else, when the first patters on the window behind me told me I was too late. Now a steady tattoo on the stove pipe, on the kitchen skylight, tells me there will be no rambling today.

Or work, I was surprised to be told this morning. Janie, the former in-county manager, now reservationist, who usually works from either Oklahoma or Arizona, or anywhere that is lower than 4,000 feet, is in the county for two weeks, reviewing units, refreshing her memory as far as what she can tell guests to expect from particular units or buildings, and is still doing reservations in the mornings at our office. Which means I have been a bit displaced, until they have particular need of me. My, I though I was a bit more indispensable than that. Not that I mind. I am going to enjoy my rainy day in my house, that is, as soon as I find the giant oomph it will take to uncramp my lungs, take a deep breath, hoist myself out of this chair, take something for my headache, possibly an effect of being so cramped over for more than an hour now, and get started.

It was very good to see all the Collinses at the wedding. Bobby's cousin David married his lovely Jessica, and we were treated to a most lovely wedding, and romantic reception, with food that nearly made this semi-foodie think she's died and gone to heaven. (Which reminds me, I was going to google purple potatoes...) It was the first Collins wedding we've been able to make it to, although we really had no excuse, since this one was so close, only an hour and a half drive. I hope the Collinses know how much even this inlaw looks forward to getting together with them. They are a noisy, funny bunch that does not allow one to feel like a stranger for long. We had told our boss we would be home by eight oclock; by eight thirty, we had stated we were leaving multiple times, and still were not quite gone yet. But we hated to leave all the cousins, after all, we seldom get to see them, and it was such a beautiful evening.

And now, the time has come. It is noon, for goodness sake. How did that happen? I have a big divided platter containing hummus, sliced veggies of many sorts, and a package of whole wheat pitas in the fridge, my meals for as long as it takes to clean it out. I gave my blender a run for it's money, but it surprised me by churning out some halfway creamy, wonderful hummus. After several evenings of a bit too much to drink, and a bit too much sugar and junk food lately, and even a daily coffee (it really has gotten that bad) it is back to my healthy diet now. I am anxious to feel light again, to feel the stamina and energy that a wholesome diet provides. Junk food really can be a bit of a ballast, even when it does not stick to the thighs. It just drains one of energy. People who have never gone completely off it for at least three months, allowing their bodies to recover and function as they are created to, scoff at me when I say this. But, at least for me, I find it to be true. Diet affects my moods and my energy levels more than any other single factor I have yet to encounter. And you would think that would make a person think twice about binging, but it somehow never does...