What tradition is that? I hear you ask. Well, it’s my habit of writing blog posts that are always much longer than I intend. This week, and maybe for a few weeks hence (unless I find a way to type at speed single-handed), my blog will probably be shorter – the reason being another kind of break.
Last Thursday, we were walking Zoe in our nearby nature reserve when I slipped on a muddy patch, fell, and broke my wrist. Contrary to what everyone thought, the only connection it had to Zoe was the fact we were walking her at the time, but it could have happened anyway. I’ve always walked a lot. Since our old Sindy died, I’ve put myself on my imaginary lead and taken myself off for a constitutional every day, so it’s lovely now to have the extra reason to go. Anyway, Zoe wasn’t pulling at all; it was my own silly slip of the foot, or off the foot, in this case.
Now, of course, I’m learning how many things are difficult with one hand, but I’m finding the challenge of workarounds quite fun. Shove a jar in the crook of your arm and you can unscrew the top, or put tubes between your knees to do the same. I haven’t found a way to chop carrots yet without having the pieces shoot across the kitchen and disappear under the fridge, but I will. On the other hand, I’m having to chop sleeves off tee shirts to get them over the cast, but at least I can dress myself. In the end, it could be worse as it’s my left hand, and being very right-handed, I can manage quite well.
So, before I give myself RSI as well, I’ll love you and leave you with a photo of my jaunty red appendage.
