Shoe Shopping

The Martian thought this was a very funny photo. After some consideration, I decided he is right, even if he is a brat.

Obviously, we made it to the Mall, and yes, the wheelchair was free to use. But not that convenient. The wheelchair/information counter is in the center of the mall on the bottom floor. The mall has entrances in the center as well; one that opens to the parking lot on the second floor, and one that opens to an outdoor promenade of shops on the first floor. To get from the second floor parking lot to the first floor wheelchair lender place, you can hobble with your crutches down to either of two elevators, about evenly spaced 20 miles apart, or you can take your chances on the escalator. Alternatively, you can park out by the outdoor promenade & hobble with your crutches 20 miles up to the Mall. Go ahead and ask me if I think somebody planned out the whole wheelchair thing.

I made it down the escalator alive, and lept into my free wheelchair. Happily, most of the stores we visited were wheelchair accessible. Some -- specifically those aimed at The Martian's pre-teen nieces for whom he needed to buy gifts -- were not. Tsk, tsk.

I did look at shoes. I can't help it: I have the shoe-shopping gene. And anyway, I needed a large shoe (wide & longer than my normal shoes) to fit over the brace on my right foot so I can hobble in rain or cold. I didn't find one in my price range. Wal*Mart had some cheap black sneakers with Velcro closures -- but not in the size I needed. (pout)

So today, in the rain, I wore a fuzzy slipper. It's almost as fashionable as the Boot. I am pretty sure I am going to be on the cover of Vogue very soon.

Colorful feet

Voila, the colors of New Year celebrations at my house!! That's the outside of the broken ankle, in glorious purples and blues. I'm not sure which hurts more: the ankles, or my hands & armpits from the crutches. This is *so* annoying! But I feel a lot better about my situation after one of the other Miniacs (who broke his ankle in a bicycling accident a couple of years ago) pointed me to mybrokenleg.com. It's hard to keep whining about a simple broken ankle when you read some of the stories of people who have some seriously messed up bones.

Last night, we went to the grocery store for a dog food run, and oh no, I didn't hobble around the Kroger with the critches -- way too much work. Instead, I rode in one of the slick motorized carts they provide for those in need. Which was me, yesterday :) It would have been more fun if The Martian were kinder about "Hey, watch out for that POLE!" every 5 minutes. (No, seriously, The Martian was very good. It was my dad, later, who was wondering if I hit any non-moving objects while driving the cart.)

Doc had said I should ice the ankles at night & heat in the mornings, so this morning The Martian filled my wonderful garden tub with nice, warm water & I soaked my poor self in there for a while. The nice thing about heat in the morning is that the ankles get very stiff overnight & the heat loosened up the one I still need for walking, at least.

The plan for today is to go to the mall & rent a wheelchair. The last time I did this stupid broken ankle thing, the local mall (in Pittsfield, Mass.) had wheelchairs you could use for free -- you just left your driver's license. Not sure whether The Woodlands Mall will consider wheelchair 'loaners' to be a free service or a money-making opportunity. But at least it will get us out of the house.

Owch, Redux

They talked me into a doctor visit. Left one is broken. Right one is just smacked around.

Doc said if I move the left one in the next two weeks he is going to knock me out and put a screw in it to hold it in place. So I'm not moving.

When I can just sit here with such fashionable footwear, why move?????

Ho, Ho, owch

The Martian and I have been enjoying the holiday with some old movies, including some favorites suggested by readers here. After Miracle on 34th St, we took in A Christmas Carol (ok, it's not American but what American does not know who Ebenezer Scrooge is, and the phrase, "God bless us, every one"?). To balance the serious stuff with some silly Americana, we found time to watch Talladega Nights, a goofy satire of NASCAR (and F1) that's worth a few good giggles. The Unnamed Male Relative also gave us a collection of Frank Capra films, which we plan to start on, maybe today, since I can't do much besides lie here....

It's been a quiet holiday so far, and so when the Houston Mini Motoring Society came up with the idea to go Karting, the Martian & I decided we wanted to go fast. So we drove out to the southwest side of Houston and met up with six other Miniacs for a bit of fun.

The fun ended for me in the middle of our second qualifying session, when another driver (who did not see me, I think) squeezed me into the wall -- or more accurately, a large, iron pole. Neither the pole nor the kart had nearly enough bumpers, and so in slowing from 15 to 0 mph, the vast bulk of the force transmitted directly to the first possible compression zone: my ankles.

Having smacked a concrete barrier at some 100 mph in a Spec Racer Ford some years ago at Firebird International Raceway, I was familiar with the sensation of an ankle taking a big impact. It is not my favorite feeling in the world. In this case, both ankles immediately began filling with the fluids that the body rushes to such injuries. Lucky me!!

A regimen of RICE (rest-ice-compression-elevation) is keeping the ankles reasonably happy, under the circumstances. The left one is less happy than the right, but I don't think either one is actually broken. I've taken a couple of Advils and slept well through the night.... that's a good sign, in my view. My logic on the doctor thing is, if it's not broken, I'm going to have 3-4 x-rays at $xxx per shot, and a $xxx doctor visit just so they can tell me to do exactly what I'm doing. If it is broken, it will still be broken in 48 hours, which is about when I finally saw an orthopedist (is that a word?) after the last break, so it's no biggie.


The Martian will tell you I'm a lousy sicko. I'm an independent cuss, I hate not being able to do everything myself, and I'll hurt myself rather than ask for help. And I'm grumpy. Not a nice holiday for him right now !!!

Martians, baggage and hair

So... the Danish Martian has arrived for his semi-annual Christmas visit and donation of luggage to the Travel Gods. The last time he came for Christmas, British Airways lost his luggage. (We think The Grinch stole it.) Thus, when his bag was not on the carousel this time, we knew he was Cursed. However, the curse is broken: A 90-year-old elf showed up at my house at 2 a.m., 2 days after the Martian's flight, bearing the bag, contents intact. It was even almost ok that he woke us from a deep, deep sleep without any prior warning that he might be coming....

So the Martian is here with clothes, a toothbrush & presents!

For our first fun family activity, the Unnamed Male Relative (UMR) was in attendance for Miracle on 34th St in mom & dad's new (awesome) media room. The Martian swears he didn't sleep through the *whole* thing, although the jet lag was getting to him. The UMR has since flown off to Brazil to be a Martian for his sweetheart in Belo Horizonte... but we watched the 'new' Pirates of the Caribbean movie without him. I feel for the heroine in that movie: Who could choose between Orlando Bloom & Johnnny Depp? Yummy!!

As an early Christmas gift, the UMR gave us a Frank Capra movie collection,. which we have not yet watched, although we're working on that now (if only I were not busy writing this nonsense.)

Today's entertainment was a visit to the hair salon. My original plan was to run to the mall for a quick cut, but dad convinced me to do the Salon thing. Thus, the resulting hair is *his* fault.

I figured that a drop-in, with no appointment, at a nice salon would be unlikely, but to my surprise they had just had a cancellation and *poof* I was in. The Martian had also wanted his hair cut but didn't think he needed a 'stylist,' so he headed to the Mall to leave me for coloring & cutting. The stylist asked me whether I wanted to match the lighter ends of my hair, and I said no, I wanted to match the more natural, darker brown. So he mixed a color, painted it on, and you know the rest.

The Martian's reaction to the result, a couple of hours later: "Hmm. I am surprised you made it so dark."

It's not brown by any stretch of the imagination. It's black. I look like a freakin' vampire. A wicked witch. But with lots of curls. OK, it's funny in a "wow, you got a cute haircut, but what were you thinking on that color choice?" way.

The good news: Color fades. The bad news: When it fades first on the 'silver' parts of my hair, I'm going to have NEON gray showing.

Playing with the Mac :)

Macs are fun :) See Plasq for more information about the ComicLife software I used to make this little window into my day. I can't seem to convince Blogger to publish it big enough to read it on my screen, but if you click on the image, it will open as a larger (i.e., readable) image.



(Yes, there's a fire in the fireplace. It's freakin' cold here. The Martian -- who is due here on Friday -- reports that it's colder in Houston than in Denmark. That just ain't right.)

I'm still playing with the 30 days of free trial on the Comic Life, but it is fun so far: