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.
I like animals. I like dogs, particularly. I grew up with Fritz, a dachshund mix who was a great dog except that he always wanted to run away (that probably would not have been a problem if we had taken him to the vet for a little snip snip). Lady, Ginger, and Pepper were our three cocker spaniels (oh how I loved those dogs). I mention all of this just so you don’t think I’m a dog-hater–au contraire.
So there I was walking through a quiet neighborhood when a woman approached me from the other direction with a dog on a leash. It wasn’t this exact dog, but it was snarling like this:
I moved off the sidewalk as they approached (because I am a sane, rational human being) and the woman said, “That’s OK Sadie, the lady doesn’t feel like petting you right now.” Petting that dog “right now?” Hmmmmmm.
Yesterday I worked in the yard after work, and I got a free botox treatment courtesy of some type of flying, biting insect. It looks funny to me, and I am really aware of it, but other people haven’t said anything about it. I think it gives my mouth more of a “bow” look, not unlike Mary Pickford’s.
Here are my puckers:
And on a TOTALLY unrelated note, look what I saw this morning? Yes, my poppies are Trying to shed their dreary looks and pop out all in red!
This summer I am going to walk from one end of England to another along the site of Hadrian’s Wall.
Isn't this beautiful?
Needless to say, I am excited beyond belief. I’m going with my brother, Paul, who can literally run circles around me. I am hoping he will not want to run circles around me.
I am preparing by walking on my treadmill faithfully every day. I’m doing pretty well, although I found out today that when I get back from England I will need to have some reconstructive foot surgery (a few screws inserted, a few tendons lengthened, that sort of thing). My foot hurts when I walk, but I think the trip will be worth it.
If God didn’t want me to walk 10-15 miles per day in the beautiful Engish countryside, he wouldn’t have invented Ibuprofen. Oh wait, he didn’t invent that. Oh well, you get what I mean.