I don’t know whose bright idea it was to have an unannounced fire drill five days after our bomb scare. If I could pick my feet up, I would drop kick his/her fanny up into the general region of his/her shoulder blades. Ordinarily, because of my knees, I just go stand by the door to the stairwell until the all clear is sounded. Or I sit at switchboard and handle the phones so the receptionist can participate.
Today I grabbed my purse, my phone, and my knitting and marched my unhappy self down seven flights of stairs. I was right behind a friend whose ankles, knees, and hips are even more discombobulated than my own. The need to step carefully in order not to mow her down is probably all that stopped me from somersaulting the last two flights, bumpety-bumpety-bump. It certainly couldn’t ache any more than I do right now.
I am so thankful that I have been exercising for three months. Otherwise I never would have made it. I had plenty of time to wonder if the words which immediately came to mind when I heard the fire alarm got verbalized in my frustration. So once we were back at our desks, I asked my friend if I had used any colorful language.
Not that she had heard. Whew!
If they had waited another week or two, I would have been just fine. Or if they had announced the quarterly fire drill, as they usually do. As it was, I was still distracted and anxious nearly an hour later, until that fact reached my conscious mind and I made it a matter of prayer.
Hey guys, prayer works. Just in case you were wondering.
I am home from the temple, and I think I am sufficiently unwound that I have some hope of falling asleep.
Unwound, but not unRavelled. Night, y’all.
- Five years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!