Today marks 3 years since I broke my ankle. Lots of people break their ankles, but it changed my life.
My husband and I were visiting our daughter in Madrid. Her apartment had a very tiny elevator. For whatever reason, I was not able to properly close the doors when I got off, and my daughter became angry because if the doors were not closed it would be inoperable for anyone else. The lights in the hallway turned off automatically—an energy saving technique in Europe—as I stepped back to get out of her way. I hadn’t noticed the [dark] stairwell behind me.…
The enormously expensive jewelry in my bones is only apparent if you notice the now faded scars, but the months I spent with various walking aids and physical therapy made me realize how fragile we are. I resigned from major responsibility at my job. I can no longer run, or skip. That makes me feel less than competent. But I’m no longer obsessed with work, and I’ve started learning about Japanese cooking, photography, and blogging. Mr. Tess is encouraging me to do the pt exercises and if I took his advise, well…
I’m making progress on clearing out the freezer, and finding some miso ramen in there was great.
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