That's what my mama used to tell me.
And she is right. I am not at church today because I hurt my foot last night, right after writing that rather prideful blog.
I went out into the back yard. It was sunset, and the sun was just about level with my eyes, right above the fence line at the west. As I sashayed across the yard, my eyes were on the sun, and not on my feet. I walked into, in a stunt I couldn't replicate in a hundred years, the tines of a small garden fork. These tines pierced my toes in two places. One was on the very tip of my right big toe. The second was between the big toe and its neighbor. Think how far I had to travel to get from tip of big toe to inside between it and the next toe, in microseconds. The one that hurts is the inside one. Ouch. I don't think these two wounds were too deep, but they bled something awful.
I cleaned them up assiduously and put on iodine, my charm of choice.
And they hurt in the night, enough to keep me from sleeping until I got up and took a Tylenol. Ow. Imagine. Then in the more middle of the night I stepped on a piece of broken glass in the bathroom, residue of a tumbler Theo had knocked off the counter on Friday in the dead of night. Still on the right foot.
Two wounds is enough, three enough to tell me that there's a Message here. What is it? What could it be? Walk while you can? Look before you step, EVERY time? Lounge in bed as much as possible? The message I get right now is: get Theo to look in the garage for Mrs. Longnecker's Walker. It is waiting there for the time of need. This may be it. YAZZYBEL
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