Michelle was in town on business and of course had the weekend off. And so yesterday we drove to a mobility shop together for some mother-daughter time and tried out walkers.
Good thing. One had really too narrow a seat, and I am by no means a big person–that was a surprise. Another had two carry bags, which was what I was looking for and had hoped to find in person, but it came in a height that left my feet dangling in the air like a little kid’s. That part wasn’t adjustable.
Then there was this one over here that was like Betty’s and it was just right. One bag would do (not for Stitches West, but then hey, neither could two.) It was the color of my favorite childhood bicycle, that metallic green prompting all kinds of happy memories (never mind that time I collided into a car at a blind curve on a steep hill and my parents were in New York and the neighbor college student taking care of us drove me to the ER and I got to ride in her VW Bug! And that was really cool! I am told that a cop later came to her door and demanded why she hadn’t filed a police report, and Ms. Hibbert retorted in righteous indignation, I was worried about the child! …Who had all of a sprained wrist. My cool orange rubber Tony the Tiger handlebars earned by so many cereal box tops had taken the brunt of it. One was never the same, and was lamented.)
And all that.
Michelle: Mom. Black. Visual overload, remember?
Me: But I really like that green.
Michelle: M o o o m…
My new black walker with seat and brakes and single bag will arrive in a day or two and they will call to tell me to pick up my order and I am actually excited about having one at last. The one I’m borrowing makes things so much easier. A bonus I had not expected: I can wrap my wrist through the handles of my purse (because one does not leave it snatchable) while having its weight on the seat–no more having it fall off my shoulder when I wobble and catching and ripping hair out of my head. Which has happened many times with the cane.
I am writing this on my Mac via working internet. We got an automated phone call yesterday telling us chirpily that our internet was back now!
Uh, no. Try again.
And so at long last Comcast sent a truck out today (we would rather not have had them have to work on Sundays but this was not a choice we were offered) and so tonight, just before dark, I went to cover the mango tree and found myself waving hi and calling out thanks to the lineman on the pole just over the property line.
He came down and over to our house. Had that worked?
Us, testing: No.
Turns out the pole had taken damage in the storm and then had started working again for everybody except somehow just us. Richard proved to him that things were working inside our house and he went back out and tried again.
He was just as happy as we were when that did it. Good man. He exclaimed, Wow, you have nice neighbors: every single one of them told me sure go ahead when I needed to go in their yards to check the lines.
I need to thank them, too.
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