Weekend report

Saturday, was another day to work on the treehouse. The boys rejoiced in their power tools while the girls made unguent for the winter chapping season. When the front deck of the tree house had been completed, the boys invited us up to celebrate and passed out Mike's Hard Lime to the adults. It was hours since I had eaten, but this stuff tasted so inoffensive that I wasn't worried. Quite thirst quenching. I sat in the treehouse, enjoying the way it was gently rocking as people walked around. Then the boys had to go to town for more supplies, and I realized I needed my swimsuit in the back seat. As I climbed down the ladder, I noticed the world gently rocking as people walked around. I then had a choice of walking all around the house to get to the car, or stepping over a little 2 1/2 foot high fence. "No problem," said my inner 18 year old. "I do this all the time." And I easily swung one leg up and over. Then the 56 year old woke up, screamed, "What the frack are you doing? You'll hurt yourself!" and tried to wrest control away from the 18 year old. While they were fighting, momentum took over. I caught my toe on the top of the fence and fell - much in the manner of some large tree. DH saw me go over and came rushing up. Ohmiggawd I was embarassed! My wrist really hurt and I had seriously bruised my shin, but I scrambled up and pretended all was well. I KNOW better than this. I should have immediately iced and elevated the wrist, but instead, I was so humiliated by my fall that I tried to pretend it hadn't happened.

So later that evening, as we were getting ready for bed, DH noticed me cradling the injured member. "Let's see," he said, holding out an imperative hand. I surrendered my wounded paw to him and he gently moved my hand from side to side, then gently flexed it up. I gasped with pain. "Sprained," he diagnosed. Rub in some Tiger Balm. I'll be right back."

He returned with that sticky, stretchy ace bandage tape and deftly bound me up. He's been a Boy Scout leader and a Paratrooper, and knows all about sprains and their treatment. And he told me if I don't get better soon, we are going to the hospital for x-rays.

So I am typing with a stiff wrist and astounded at how much flexing the right wrist is required to do in daily life. Putting on a bra is an exercise in ingenuity. Brushing the teeth is a challenge. One can, however, knit with a stiff wrist, and I am now half done with the pink orphan sweater. And it's gonna need to have green sleeves. Color is good.

Enjoy labor day! And notice that I have included a link to the Oregon State Fair Kitchen Cupboard competitions. (Thank you, Tim!) They keep their fiber arts in the kitchen cupboard. Don't you? Next year, Three poems, a sweater, and something crocheted.