One Year to Make it Your Own

Posted on April 10, 2026 by tosabarbell
Nurse Glitch, reporting for duty!

One of the things I did prior to my first total knee replacement, a.k.a. new Knee, was to get on a couple of Facebook pages to try to get some tips and tricks. I actually did read a few things that I applied that helped in recovery among the posts upon posts that show how absolutely horrible other humans take care of themselves. Overall, I did my best to “recover” and now, 8 weeks later, I would consider myself to have been fully recovered for a while now.

One thing I hear repeatedly, ad nauseam, is that IT TAKES A YEAR TO RECOVER!!! I believe if I audited every post comment section, this statement would be in there somewhere. OH! Also, there are so many nightmare stories on the Facebook page that it’s a wonder anyone reading actually goes through with the surgery. While I have had smooth sailing so far, I can’t get cocky yet because I’m a few weeks away from getting the other one done and I need that to go as well before I can be a total dick on the internet about how these really aren’t so bad. Wish me luck.

Anyways.

One of many Facebook groups you can join if you truly want to be terrified to have a knee replacement.

I contest, and I’m right of course, that it in fact does not take a year to recover. We’re not using our words here and you KNOW how much I hate that. While “recovery” is a bit subjective, we can probably agree that we are recovered once we are back to our daily lives prior to the surgery. We’re walking (without a limp because we did the excruciating work of getting that knee straight immediately), we’re driving (even to Arkansas 6 weeks post op so I could bring my ice machine and pillows), we’re back at work (if that’s your thing), we’re making sure we’re kneeling on the knee (even just with pillows or the bed) to condition it, we’re squatting (truth be told, we started box squatting at 3 weeks with a 15# bar and went up each week from there), we’re constantly rubbing on it to desensitize it and wake up the nerve endings that are still happily sleeping. We’re recovered. BAM! Done-zo. What’s the big deal?

At week 2, the HHH took me to the gym (THE gym, not MY gym. I also have a membership to a local gym to use the machines which has been instrumental in getting me on track in MY gym.) The owner made a comment such as, ‘you poor thing’ or some shit and I told her I’m actually doing awesome and super grateful for it. She repeated to be “patient” during recovery, but I already knew that recovery wasn’t the issue. Other than those initial first few trips to P.T. (getting in the car and holding my leg just right the first two P.T.s was incredibly unpleasant) and getting my leg straight (it made me cry), recovery is just physical work aided by happy drugs and a super sexy deliriously sleep deprived nurse HHH encouraging me along the way. Talking to the gym owner, it occurred to me and I said it out loud, “I think the work comes when I have to make this knee my own.” It was pretty profound, for me, but ya know I was still on the Oxy so it probably wasn’t as impressive as I think.

On this one, I didn’t bruise but a little bit on week 3 in my ankle. I hope the next one will be the same but bruises fade if not. Except that inner bruise from the tourniquet, that one is a motherfucker.

See, this isn’t my knee. It doesn’t have the pain of my knee (on day 5, I was toddling around the house on my walker and put my full weight on my right side. It was the first time I stood without pain in at least two years.) It doesn’t have the giving out (I mean, after the first week or two when my quad would just think it could take a second or two off) of my knee. It doesn’t wake me up at night from pain like my knee did. Other than the aforementioned straightening tears, it doesn’t make me cry like my knee did. This is not my knee. It’s hard (the feel of it really grosses me out. I massage a lot just so I can get used to the new feeling but it’s a little barfy. And hairy because I can’t feel the razor when I shave and don’t want to jam it into my skin, so I miss parts of the knee. There are worse things in life) much harder than me knee. It feels like there is a titanium beach ball in my knee. It’s not my knee. I have to make it my knee. And I’ll give myself time for that. Maybe a year. I hope sooner but we’ll see. (I started and ended the paragraph with the same word. I’m cool like that.)

I still can’t snatch or clean, even a power clean, because the fast change of direction needed while moving my feet out into a different position is a pain that I’m not willing to tolerate, yet. Pushing weight off of the ground is getting better. Jumping without weight is getting better. The range of motion for jerk dips is getting better. But we’re not there, and I have time. I asked my brilliant surgeon (I say that because I’m going to print this off and give it to him, but he really is quite awesome) how long it takes the implement to heal enough where pain is the only preventer of training, and I can’t damage the knee. 6 weeks was the answer and I’m plus two weeks on that. I can squat to depth which I do while holding on to the squat rack because the last thing I want to do is build up fluid in the left knee and have that pop right before surgery. But I know that when that left one is ready, I’ll be squatting without pain for the first time in years. I’m pretty stoked. All this comes with a compromise with my body that we’re going to make these new knees our own. And it will take time.

I’m recovered, but the knee isn’t mine. Yet. It may take a year for that to happen, and it is something that I will need to push if I want to get “back” to where I was (which I don’t. I want better. I’m greedy like that.) If I were to give advice to someone getting a knee replacement, I would tell them that, you will recover fairly quickly but you need time to make it your own. Take the time, enjoy the journey.

Sleeping on the job!

Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out. Robert Collier

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2026 The Year of Harsh Truths

Posted on January 12, 2026 by tosabarbell

I looked back at the blog and am rather impressed with myself on how many posts I made a in 2025. I didn’t post at all in 2024 which now makes me question what the hecks I was doing in 2024. I must have been super content or super pissed off. It’s a crap shoot which one that made it so I didn’t even bother to tell the world. And here we are (you’re never supposed to start a sentence with And, I’m rebellious that way), 2026. I’ve labeled 2026 as the year of harsh truths. Here we go.

My weightlifting girls are some of my best girls.

But first, a recap of 2025. 2025 was the year of weightlifting. Literally. USA Masters Weightlifting, Inc. was going to be involved in the big 4 Master’s meets of the year. Nationals in Boise, ID; Pan Americans in Baton Rouge, LA; IMWA Masters World Championships in Las Vegas, NV; and the Howard Cohen American Masters in Louisville, KY. I realized the bulk of my travel would be weightlifting meets other than a few trips down to Texas to squeeze the tank of a grandson as much as I could and a trip to celebrate the HotHunkyHub’s 50th birthday.

Pepe’s Pizza Tomato Pie will make you weep with gratefulness that you get to taste such goodness.

In general, I love to travel. I’m a fairly decent traveler as long as I can overpack. I am an excellent overpacker. When I went to Vegas for two weeks, I overpacked my standard amount of stuff and then brought another suitcase full of kitchen crap so I could cook as much as possible in my room. In addition to being an excellent overpacker, I am now qualified in being able to crockpot full, delicious, meals in hotel rooms. Yeah me. Anyways.

I made batches of hotel crack chicken in Las Vegas. It was crackalicious and supplied me great food to eat.

The fact that 2025 travel revolved so much around weightlifting was a bit daunting for me. See, I’m not really a weightlifter. I didn’t grow up with this stuff. Some of the rules are stupid. Some of the people are stupid. Any weigh-in I need to work before 9 a.m. is stupid. Being in a weightlifting venue, sitting on my arse, from 6:30 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. is stupid. I’m supposed to be on vacation and I generally don’t work very hard on vacation. Add in the fact that I needed to walk miles throughout the day at these meets on two very bad knees was very stupid. Pain makes me less fun. Immense amount of pain makes me crabby enough that tempers can run short in an atmosphere that requires patience. I also wanted to ensure that my mood/energy didn’t rub off wrong on someone else who was going through their own stuff or competing and was working hard themselves to stay pleasant.

This is my favorite 2025 picture of the PollyPocket. We had just finished a weigh-in and were enjoying some peace and quiet before we went back down to the venue. I’m sure she had shoes on at some point.

There were perks, as there tends to be. I was able to spend weeks and weeks of time with most of my favorite people. I just woke up and there were my friends that usually require a phone or Teams call to connect with. I got to eat fun food that is far off my daily ground beef or chicken and jasmine rice. I rely on the PollyPocket to find fun food and she never disappoints. I met more people from around the globe and have adopted the most amazing family from Puerto Rico who epitomize the word, “family.” Liza and Julio show up each day; work hard; smile (mostly, they’re not robots); parent their two amazing (and strong) children; kick total ass; and look great doing it. I’ve even vowed to head down to Puerto Rico the next time Masters Pan Am’s are scheduled there and withstand the heat that I hate, just to see their beautiful Island and spend some time with them at a weightlifting meet. Spending time with new friends along friends of old is the greatest perk of this weightlifting thing. The hugs, the sometimes tears, the laughter, the espresso martini’s, the sugar, the exhaustion. All of it. I wouldn’t change a thing, except for better knees. Which brings us to harsh truth number one for 2026.

My newly adopted sister from Puerto Rico, Liza during her final training session before becoming a World Champion two days later. She is, in short, amazing.

New knees. I haven’t been able to put together a strong enough training block to compete since the 2022 Worlds debacle. Sure, I’ve played a bit at a few Highland Games but I wasn’t able to “Just be Juli” on a consistent basis and that pisses me off. However, I was able to train and that has seen me through more than one pissy moment. Until now. Actually, until the last 5 months or so. Each time I get my squats back up around 100kg, I blow out a bakers cyst in the back of my left knee. For the record, the left knee is my “good” knee. Which means now I’m limping around on my right knee and if you remember correctly, that is my “bad knee.” I do that until the soft tissue damage is healed up on the left and I can go back to limping around on that knee. Since I was blowing out the back of the good knee often enough this past fall, I decided that maybe I shouldn’t be doing that.

Las Vegas breakfast of champions

Also, I can not extend off the floor because of my left knee. I can block pull like a mothertrucker but floor work is out. For the first time in at least 20 years, I can’t train like I’m used to. I do work and I’ve joined a gym so that I can get on the machines as pain allows and be grateful that there is a lot of work that I can do. But I’m not squatting. I’m not pulling off of the floor. I’m not “just being juli” and it annoys me. So I need to fix it.

Number one harsh truth subpoints: I like my legs. Like, I really like my legs. God granted me a good set. My biological mother had cankles. I was that close but I guess it skipped multiple generations so my daughters and granddaughters can give it up to the Big guy for that. I haven’t liked that a portion of my legs have been so painful that I can’t train but thankfully I can do enough so that they look decent. Not as great as those 10×10 squat days but still okay. Now I’m losing that. No, it is not the end of the world but it is a truth that I still needed (okay, need) to address and be honest about.

Toups Torchon

Number two subpoint, I’m afraid of the pain. Yup. The pain in my knee wakes me up now. It prevents me from doing what I want to do. At the moment, I can’t find a position to ease the sharp jolts without putting my leg in a position that produces a deep ache. How much worse will post op pain be? It’s concerning. Matt continues to remind me that the post op pain is temporary (glory is eternal. IFYKYK.) Nevertheless, the harsh truth subpoint is that I’m afraid of the pain. Boohoo. The pain of surgery, the pain of recovery, the pain of “getting back.” I’ll do it, but it’s going to hurt.

Truth subpoint, I am blessed. I have resources; the best support crew a girl could ask for; a husband who picks me up off the figurative floor when necessary; family who are not only awesome but super useful too; and a God that has given me all. Aren’t I the lucky one?

When Marshalling, it is important to be professional AND comfortable.

Harsh truth number 2. I get to do it again later this year. Yes, some do both knees together but my surgeon doesn’t and he is the right surgeon for me. Harsh truth subpoint number one for harsh truth number two (are you still following?) What if that one is worse? Or better? Or has different complications? OR? OR? OR? Psalm 56:3, When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. On the sunset of the day, God has all of my harsh truths. I’m sure some of them get an eye roll here or there (one question I asked was if I could keep my nails pretty. Sure, it’s low on the totem pole of necessity but it’s importance to me was worthy of asking.) Heh. And at the end of the day, all of the uncertainty that I am labeling as harsh truths, is just that: uncertainty. I can, and at times probably do, let my head roll with all of the “what if’s” or I can, and in all times most definitely do, prepare as best as possible and trust God with the information and environment and people that He has given me.

One of the best “meet” meals. The fact that I had to drive was the only thing between Michael and a thousand dollar bar tab for my bourbon tastings. You’re welcome, Michael.

There is only one way to happiness, and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will. Epictetus

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To A(i) or Not to A(i), That is the Question.

Posted on August 13, 2025 by tosabarbell
I didn’t know this version of my grandparents and I believe that, I guess, I wasn’t put on the earth in this time to know them young. While AI can “change” that, should it?

For the most part, I have ignored Elon Musk’s AI Twitter (I’m old, I still Twitter) posts. I don’t know, it feels like his AI posts range from his current kink to fake morphing pictures of beautiful, very fake, women. As if we don’t have enough fake women running around the earth right now.

I came across a post from a woman who has lost a teenage daughter, saying she has been tempted to put pictures of her daughter into AI to, “bring her to life” and perhaps to see how her daughter would age. In the end, she has decided that her grieving heart could not absorb even more pain of falsely “watching” her deceased daughter, “grow old.” Smart woman.

The internet, and specifically smart phones, have rewired out brains. That is an absolute fact. We spend hours a day looking down, scrolling, playing mind numbing games, searching for whatever our algorithm dictates, escaping real life.

Yes, you can use the phone to learn. Historical facts, hopefully. Recipes, that’s my every day. World wide information at the tip of our fingers. Much of the technology is useful, but I fear we talk ourselves into it’s usefulness in order to negotiate with our brains how much time of our waking hours are spent scrolling. I won’t even get into the damage that technology has done to an entire generation of children, yet.

Now add AI. It is being sold as fun, creative, useful, comforting, another escape. Bring your loved ones to life, maybe even have a computer generated conversation with them. Are we being rewired again? Has anyone asked that question? What are the risks? Are our brains ready for this? Are our hearts?

My first concern (always the kids) is that the schools are going to implement AI in ways that alter how children view reality without the average parent understanding how detrimental this can be. My second concern is that we’re going to lose even more adults to the almighty technology god that brings the dead back to life.

Dramatic? Maybe, time will tell. I’ve read Pet Cemetary, we’ve been here before. We learned that cats and small children don’t come back the same. Similar, yet off. Oh, and evil. But not the same. Neither can AI bring our loved ones back the same. It is a false promise that you can be with your dead loved one, no matter how much “fun” is sold. Fake news. Misinformation. A lie. Why would the tech giants want us to continue to go down the rabbit hole of deceit? Softening our minds and bringing in a new age of mental distress? I don’t have that answer. I believe perhaps that one is each of us to answer ourselves.

My third concern is how, as Christians, are we to approach AI? Do we believe that “bringing” the dead back to “life” is of God? The answer to that, for all, is a definitive no. God’s promise is that, through His Grace and our repentance, we will meet again in Heaven. Not on the computer. The intense temptation to ‘see’ our loved ones in the here and now is going to be big. Too big for many. An alternate reality, or I should say, another alternate reality.

How many of us are going to want to live in the computer generated reality where our loved one still ‘lives?’ Many, I fear. Why not? Who likes to live with pain? Not me. Not you?

Yet the fact remains that this is our world. Painful at times, imperfect, difficult, confusing. We are faced with challenges that give us opportunity to lean into God or to lean onto the world. Is AI another sparkling falsehood that Christians need to keep an eye on from afar?

I don’t know, for sure. I have my thoughts and I believe that we will quickly be able to see, if we’re watching, how these computer generated images and morphing pictures are affecting those around us.

For now, I would mentally place caution tape around AI. Yes, we can walk through it and there may even be times where it’s necessary. However, on a daily basis, we should heed the huge manhole in the middle of that caution tape before willingly removing the cover and gleefully jumping into the unknown.

To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. Hamlet

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Green Goo

Posted on June 26, 2025 by tosabarbell
Totally worth it.

Years, and years, and years ago I was living in Carlton, Minnesota. A small town about a half hour or so southwest of Duluth. As of the 2020 census, it had 948 people living in it. I think it’s grown since I was there. Funny enough, when we told Matt’s Auntie and Uncle that we were moving to small town Minnesota last year we got a dire warning from Auntie, “Be careful of those small towns.” I still don’t know what that meant. Anyways.

I’ve wrote about Carlton before. The happy Vacation Bible School memories at Jay Cooke State Park; the car jaunts to stinky Cloquet that seemed like hours in the car but was more like 8 miles; and the trips to Duluth for speech therapy and trips to Zayers Shopper’s City. Playing on the railroad tracks at 5 years of age with my best friend, Chrissy Davis and snowmobiling in the woods a couple of blocks away from our house (once this Hawaiian decided to like snow. It took a while.)

Chrissy’s mom also babysat me at times when my mom would help out at the church. I used to go with her to church and ride my tricycle around the front but then I was booted out of the circle of trust when I attempted to ride a couple of miles away to pick up my brother at school. (Still bitter about that one. I could have made it assuming I wasn’t plowed down by a train or semi-truck coming around the curve. Helicopter parenting harshed my mellow.)

Anyways. Green Goo.

Nearly every day, as I remember it, Chrissy’s mom would make us Green Goo for lunch. No, it’s not officially called Green Goo. It’s officially called, Green Pea soup. It is not to be confused with Split Pea with Ham. That’s gross. Chunks of peas and ham in a watery broth. Barf. Green Pea soup came out of the can like Thanksgiving cranberry sauce. All in one piece but had the consistency of an uncooked potato. You had to SLOWLY add a can of water; heat it up very carefully while stirring until you achieved that perfect Green Goo goodness smoothness. I always felt like a James Beard award winning chef when making my can of Green Goo.

When I make a can of Green Goo, I can smell Chrissy’s house. The washer and dryer were running at all times just off of the kitchen, so it smelled of detergent and hot dryer. The house was old, so it had old house smell. Chrissy’s mom almost always had curlers in her hair so the smell of whatever curl conditioner she used wafted through the kitchen among the other smells. It was glorious.

Green Goo has zero nutritional value. Don’t care. It’s delicious. It’s happy. It’s warm. It’s a happiness amongst a rough start to a rough childhood. Each winter, up until a couple of years ago, I would buy a few cans of Green Goo. I suddenly realized, a few years ago, that my Green Goo wasn’t on the grocery store shelves. What? Weird. Maybe they’re just out.

Nope. Green Goo is off the shelves. It’s gone. I have excitedly believed I’ve found it in a Wal-Mart or Target online cart but when I go to pay, it is substituted with the Split Pea with Ham garbage. Computerized mental warfare.

I’m fairly certain the Green Goo has the shelf life of about 20 years or so meaning that the few cans out there, including one for $99.00 will be good to go. This is probably why we don’t win the lottery. God knows that I would spend thousands of dollars hoarding the last remaining cans of Green Goo on earth instead of being more charitable with the money. That’s fair. Also, we forget to buy lottery tickets. That may also be a contributing factor. Dunno.

As we age, we are forced to admit to ourselves that the world we grew up in is not the world we now live in. Some of that is good. I like most modern advances. Technology is fun, at least, the technology that I actually understand. In my Green Goo days (my mom thought it was disgusting but would occasionally make me a can. She could be cool that way) DFL Minnesota Senate candidate, Bill Luther, would often come to the house for coffee with dad. They would talk about the Vikings and Twins and probably some local politics.

One thing Pastor John was always good at was listening to people. He ran counseling sessions for hours each week. The priests from across the street at St. Alphonsus church would come over and they would talk over a few beers. He would listen to the church council. He would listen to his wife. He would listen to his kids, when he was around. He would listen to complaints at the church. He would listen to ideas on how to make things better. He listened.

He also would make it very clear that by listening, it did not mean he agreed with what was being said. There were times in life where Pastor John was very stern with others. At one point, the church council attempted a coup d’etat against the other pastor. My dad sat them all down and sternly let them know that if Pastor Paul goes, Pastor John goes with him. That shut down any more attempts to split up this team. It was pretty cool. What wasn’t cool was being on the receiving end of stern Pastor John. I’m not sad those days are over. Heh. I believe attempting to listen to opposing points of view can be enlightening. But make no mistake, by listening or viewing videos, in no way means I agree with them.

Men and boys absolutely do not belong in girls and womens sports, locker rooms, or other safe spaces. There is no cellular way a man can become a woman, or a woman can become a man. Zero. America is the greatest nation on earth and President Trump is the greatest President of our time, if not ever. Living with God in your heart does not automatically make your life easier, but it does make it more meaningful and allows the promise of Grace after death. More people need healthy food with weight training and less pharmaceuticals. These are statements that would hold zero controversy in the times of Green Goo. Today? They are polarizing; controversial; triggers. This is not progress. It is the Split Pea with Ham version of magnificent Green Goo.

I’m a Green Goo girl. Through and through. While I refuse to afford spending nearly one hundred dollars on a can, I can know in my heart that it is superior to that Split Pea garbage. So don’t @ me with your Split Pea bullshit. I may listen; I may not. But I will not agree. Sorry not sorry.

If it is not right, do not do it; if it is not true, do not say it. Let your purpose be undeviating. Marcus Aurelius

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