Greg and Rachel sent Paul this poem, and I thought the world should enjoy (the world being the 5 people who read this blog!)
We were sorry to hear of your fall,
And that you cannot walk at all.
Not upstairs nor down,
you just can’t get around–
You’re a mono-plegic now, Paul.
You toppled and fractured your femur.
One would have to be truly a dreamer
to look at that mess
And say you possess
The balancing skills of a lemur
Now Barbara’s your nurse and protector
And the stress doesn’t seem to affect her:
‘Cause she’s secretly glad
She can always find Dad
With her trusty new metal detector.
Well, when your good mood starts to flicker,
Just be glad for the health of your ticker.
And when you get annoyed
Just think how you’ve enjoyed
Your handicapped license plate sticker!
Brilliant! What talent!
I’ve been trying to do my best to help Paul through this ordeal–I think I’ll show him “Misery” tonight so that he can be even more thankful for me!
Does anyone out there have a time machine? If so, would you mind deleting last Monday?
Paul is a real do-it-yourselfer and never wants to pay someone else for what he can do himself. We needed new stairs into our basement, so over the weekend we bought lumber, hardware, and everything we needed for the project.
Monday after dinner he went into the basement, started measuring and removed the old stairs. As he was climbing out on a ladder, it slipped and he fell about five feet onto concrete. He immediately said, “I think I broke my leg.” I said, “I am going go call 911,” seeing no way to get him out of the basement. He said, “No, don’t do that–that’s for emergencies!” I decided to ignore him and called. He was trying to balance on his good leg, which was stuck between rungs of the ladder. When the EMTs got there, they needed about fifteen minutes to figure out how to get him out. They finally put down a basket or sled, strapped him in and lifted him out–feet first. I have to give him credit for no bad words, even with the excruciating pain.
It didn’t take a radiologist to see that the bone was separated. The next day he had surgery to put a long rod into his femur, along with 2 screws to keep it in place. Ouch and double ouch. Now, five days later, he is still in the hospital, trying to be able to use a walker so that he can go home. He won’t be able to put any weight on it for 6-8 weeks. Poor Paul!
I have to admit I am kind of a connoisseur of women’s restrooms. I have my favorites, my most disliked, and so on. But one of the most unusual I have seen is this one:
The only person I can imagine sharing this facility with would be my sister (and I actually don’t have to imagine, because that dream has been realized), and then just possibly my daughter (I would be ok with it, but I’m not sure about Liz!)
Why, why, why was this space designed this way?
My best guess is that it was originally a men’s restroom–and the building had mostly men’s restrooms! It looks like they took out the urinals (and didn’t plaster over where they had been). Now men have to go up a floor or down a floor:
Field trip, anyone?
p.s. Notice that the lock on the toilet paper is bigger than the one I use on my bike! You had jolly well better not try to steal it without an industrial-size bolt cutter!
I realized that I had taken a LOT of photos of things I ate in England and Ireland. I think this was partly because the food was good, partly because I was burning a lot of calories per day and consequently ate a lot, and partly because I just love food and think is photogenic. Every once in a great while I lose my appetite for one reason or another, and I realize how much I enjoy good food. I’m always so thankful that it returns. So I share here with you some of my favorites.
Fresh scones for breakfast in Cahir, Ireland
organic yogurt with oats, eaten in Ireland
A happy pig cookie (to match my eating style)
Chicken and vegetables in Lisdoonvarna, Ireland
Fish and chips, eaten in a pub in England
I had a wonderful time in England and Ireland. The weather was beautiful, the countryside was amazing, and the company was grand. I didn’t know there were so many sheep in existence–not to mention cows and the occasional bull! We walked between 8 and 18 miles a day, staying at B&Bs or hostels along the way. A “sherpa” service delivered our bags, so all we carried were our lunches, snacks, and a few necessities. One of the things that I liked best was talking to the hosts where we stayed–and the other guests. It was fun to find out where everyone was from, what they had enjoyed the most, which direction they were walking, and how their feet were holding out! There were not a lot of Americans–lots of Europeans from all over (Italy, Germany, France, and Portual, to name a few).
We must have climbed more than 100 stiles. I should have done more in terms of stairmaster! I also finally figured out that turnstile and stile are connected. Strange, I know, but in my brain, I had never thought of them together. I know, I know, I can be dense.