My husband Jim's fall project is getting two new hips. This is one of his better home-improvement projects, and I look forward to hiking the mountains again with my soon-to-be pain-free bionic mate, Titanium Man. But installing a new toilet was a snap compared to hip surgery. With the toilet, all I had to do was select the style and color I wanted, then go to Lowe's.com and print out instructions for Jim to follow. At which time I left the room until I heard the first happy flush. At which time I delivered a cold, celebratory beer to the bathroom. Piece of cake.

This hip thing is tough, and very much a team effort. I participate in and coach him through physical therapy sessions. (I once taught martial arts. I can be cruel. But he's improving faster than I can say "only thirty more leg lifts to go".) We share sleepless nights as six-footer Jim tosses in our queen-sized bed, always trying not to disturb the dog. He tries to get comfortable with a seven-inch gash on his left side and a thirteen-pound terrier stretched sideways across the down comforter. (Hip replacement surely must be easier on short people with cats.) We're past dressing the wound (not for the squeamish) but now that he's out and about comes our daily ritual of getting socks on his size 12 feet. Even before that, we share morning delight in donning those delightful thigh-high, white anti-embolism stockings which stick like Velcro to Jim's hairy legs. All I ask is that today, they slide on in time for the evening news.

The Joint Ranch program at Lubbock's Covenant Hospital is an orthopedic exercise in tough love, but man, does it work. Dr. Jim Burke and his team want their patients to get back to doing whatever it is they do, and quickly. Jim, of course, won the horse race for who could walk the farthest during their stay. Friends and family cheerlead events such as this with their prayers, their calls, their food-laden visits, their balloons and stuffed animals. Cooks the Ranch Dog loves the stuffed animals, by the way. And the parrot absolutely hates balloons. We all enjoy roast beef, Mom. During Jim's Lubbock hospitalization, we stood happily reminded we're connected to more worlds than one. While our Lubbock ties did all sorts of leg work for us (no pun intended), visited us, fed us, Fort Davis folks emailed, called, listened, sent our mail and the thin weekly local paper. Friends and family scattered elsewhere across the continent sympathized and let us know they cared. We felt very loved.  No one yet has offered to come pull the white stockings on for us, but I'll bet you're out there, just waiting to help. (You know who you are. And we need to get started on those stockings by nine a.m. at the latest.)

Little surprises, small pleasures crossed our stumbling paths when we most needed distractions. We didn't need big things. But when you're facing life head-on, the tiniest of serendipities bring joy into your day. Little things get you through to tomorrow.

We're one hip down, three hard weeks into a twelve week plan, three short weeks away from hip #2.  There's been some grumbling and grinching on both our parts, a few tears and frustrations, those mostly mine. But this really hasn't been as bad as we'd imagined.  Parts of it have actually been fun. Or at least entertaining. (Jim's take on this may vary slightly from mine, but he was on drugs for awhile there and can't be trusted.) We're looking forward to Jim being able to walk without pain for the first time in years. To get there faster, we're trying to eat healthier foods than usual, rest a lot, laugh every chance we get. We're trying to appreciate each sunrise without dwelling on how lucky we are to see it together. But we know we are. And hip-hip-hooray for that.