|Picture Title: Mud on Wall|
Bonnie asked me if my recovery involved physical injury, or if it was a case of personal pride.
No physical injury, so I can put that aside. although my first thought was, “That crack on the head felt just like the time my feet slipped out from under me when I was trying to learn to speed skate at the University of Calgary Oval.”
Yes. I was wishing I had been wearing a safety helmet.
|... the pool? ... more mud than water .. |
...the pic doesn't capture the ooziness of the mud ...
Steve is away.
I am only marginally in the boy’s peripheral visions.
And Rebecca would only think that it has been her fantasy that I was here, if I disappeared.
|... mud on the door jam ...|
I got up, and walked the rest of the way home. I didn’t clearly describe the nature of the puddle I fell in, so on today’s walk I took a picture of a similar spot.
And a day later, I took picture where I put my hand on the front door of Woodside lane to get inside, as well as the wall where I rested my hand so that I could take my shoes off.
“Why didn’t you take a picture by standing in front of the mirror and looking backward,” Rebecca asked.
Some things just never come to my mind. I did scrub the rounded wall where I brushed by and my coat left a huge mud print. While I was scrubbing it up, I was thinking – I would have been so mad if one of the kids had left this mess all over when they came in the house.
|... mud by the lock ...|
Travelling light, that is my only pair and they were still embedded with so much mud that I am embarrassed to wear them.
So I guess the recovery from the fall comes more down on the side of personal pride than real injury.
Lucky me. I was both the victim and the victor in a one-woman mud fight.