Grace Is Not My Middle Name

I managed to construct half of a chicken coop and assemble a hand-me-down hammock stand without instructions on Tuesday, but I couldn't walk across the Queen Mother's yard without spraining my ankle. Coordination is seriously not my strong point.

I'm following the RICE protocol and I'm especially enjoying the Rest and Ice part. I can park myself and the ice bag on the sofa and catch every show on HGTV without feeling guilty. Or nap. Or read a paperback novel. Hey, it's part of my rehab!

I'm not happy about losing part of my summer, but it could be worse. It's not swollen much and has minimal bruising, and I'm grateful I didn't break it. Yes, it hurts a little to walk on it, but it's not bad enough to need crutches. Walking is down to the essentials and the absolute worst is that the phone is NEVER near me.

One unusable ankle hasn't prevented me from entertaining a young visitor thanks to neighbors the same age and our ping-pong table. Oh, and with help from Kharma--she'll do her extensive repertoire of tricks for anybody holding cheese rewards! And I got a surprise--my incredibly creative friend was visiting Tahoe and decided to visit the Biggest Little City's antique hot spots on a whim. There's nothing nicer than lemonade and a leisurely summertime visit with a friend.

Well, it could have been nicer if my ankle hadn't prevented me from personally showing her Junkee.

Hobbling,