I hate January. It is, traditionally, the month when bad things happen in my world. This January, for instance, my son had a major crisis, my high school sweetheart was killed in Iraq and my dog was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And, this all happened before the 15th; the anniversary of a fishing accident resulting in the death of six friends. Happy Effin’ New Year. But, this post isn’t your personal invitation to my pity party. As my January subsides, I can usually find some humor in whatever karmic ka-ka I’ve managed to step in. And, since I’ve shaken my emotional hangover from January ’05, it is probably time to make lemons, find silver linings and all that shit people who live charmed lives say to people who don’t.

So I take you to January ’05. I was beyond stoked for an upcoming trip home to Western Washington. Four years prior, I’d put my life in boxes and moved halfway across the country to shack up with my soulmate; the love of my life; the ying to my yang. Under the hard-to-argue auspices of returning for the ten-year anniversary memorial for my fishermen friends, we’d managed to coordinate schedules and holidays to make the trip happen for me. That isn’t easy when your soulmate is a busy physician, you are a single mother and the two of you keep a virtual zoo of animals at home.

My girlfriends and I planned a weekend on the ocean (following the memorial, of course). There would be catching-up, pampering, a bit of drinking and some high-caloric dessert eating. Then, introverted loner that I am, I planned to escape the socialization, head to the mountains and commune alone with nature for a few days; soaking up my fill of fresh air, cedar trees, Pacific Northwest wildlife and solitude before returning to the barren-by-comparison Midwest. I couldn’t wait. I packed a week before the trip and tucked my plane ticket into my brand new luggage. With a vacation in my future and not a funeral notice in sight, I pretty much forgot that silly thing called Rhonda’s January Karma.

A few days before my trip, I joined above-mentioned soulmate and some friends for a little game of pick-up basketball. Playing posed no threat, even with bad karma considered. I was the youngest person on the court and the only female. My teammates and opponents were a bunch of ex-jocks who had already come to terms with their aging joints. No one was aspiring for the NBA. All of us were simply hoping to avoid leaving the court in an ambulance – or hearse. For the uninformed spectator, the games look like The Senior Citizen Special Olympics.

My opponent was the recent recipient of a brand-new, titanium knee. The guy who plays center gets from car to court with the aide of a cane and gut load of vicodin. The team captain is awaiting a hip replacement. We have a blast on the court, despite the fact our games probably look like slow-motion replays.

I’d give a play by play, but the ball wasn’t in play when it happened. Someone on my team aimed, fired and missed the game-point shot. I turned around to locate the guy I was guarding (Mr. Knee Replacement) so I’d be ready when the action started. But somewhere between turn and around, something went horribly wrong. My leg bent in a direction legs are not meant to bend. My calf momentarily pointed north while my thigh pointed northeast. Simultaneously, a loud POP! reverberated through my body. I was down. I was in a world of hurt. I knew my knee was blown to bits and my trip cancelled. Hello karmic ka-ka, goodbye vacation.

My concerned teammates gathered ‘round; one ran for an ice pack. I was less concerned about my injury than I was totally frustrated about losing my vacation. Then, I noticed my soul mate making his way across the court to come to my aide.

I’m a pretty independent chick. This would be the first time in our relationship he could play the hero and I could be the damsel in distress. This thought provided a mental image to lift me from my cancelled vacation funk. I saw him pampering me through surgery, recovery and rehab. I saw my knee propped up on freshly fluffed feather pillows and heard him say, “Can I bring you another cup of coffee? A newspaper? Would you like a backrub?” It wasn’t a Pacific Northwest vacation, but with pampering still in my future – and from the man I love – I grabbed hold of my silver lining and wrapped it around me like a blanket. (Okay, that warm, fuzzy feeling was probably shock setting in, but I’ll take euphoria any way I can get it.)

He reached my side, I grabbed his hand and braced myself, knowing when he carried me off the court it would be painful, but romantic . . . oh so romantic.

My soul mate; the love of my life, the ying to my yang, my hero, leaned over me and looked into my eyes, witnessing the twisted expression of pain chasing the color from my face. He glanced at my rapidly swelling knee, put his hand on my shoulder and returned his gaze into my eyes. His face carried an expression of concern and urgency I’d never before seen. It was a tender moment; one of those times you just know you really are the center of someone’s universe. There was an audible “awwww” from my teammates. God, I love this guy, I was thinking as he leaned in close, so close I thought he might kiss me, and said:

Hey, are you playing or not!? For God’s sake! It’s game point!