I scanned the letter from my doctor about my recent bone density test. I knew going in what the result would be. My mother fell several times as she got older and unsteady on her feet. Never broke a bone. In fact, with the exception of my brother who cracked his thumb skidding around a vacant parking lot on a go-cart back in the ’60s, and my daughter who snapped her arm at five years old in a fall off a porch ledge, our family was fracture free.
Towards the bottom of the letter were instructions to call to make a plan going forward. A plan? For what? I reread the first paragraph. There it was: “…you have osteoporosis.” Continue reading
On a long weekend visit to my daughter’s home in the California foothills, I shared an entry from my bucket list.
I practiced my new/old sport around the neighborhood for a few days until I felt confident to take Tallulah out for a spin on the trail. When the day came, I wrestled the rack onto the trunk of my sedan, secured my new companion into place and headed out. 
My earliest memories of my big brother are of him barreling through the back door to bum a dollar for gas off Dad. He always seemed to have his head under the hood of a car back then.
Off Your Rocker! 