Don't Change the Spark Plugs

Whenever you would change the spark plugs on my old ’55 Chevy some things worked much better, like the starter. And some things suddenly failed like head lamps. My body is like that now. All of the excellent vitamins and medicine are improving my energy and wellbeing. That led me to believe that I could lift my broken leg into bed from the right and from the left side. Yet to-date, I’d only done it from the right side. OUCH! So today I lift my leg from neither side. And await my physical therapist’s arrival on Tuesday. In many ways ‘what I don’t know’ is far more dangerous than ‘what I do know’.

It was also a smooth move to schedule having my bedroom carpet cleaned while merely walker-able. Yet I hate seeing a dirty floor and I’m stuck at home having to see it all of the time. I can’t pick anything up off the floor and I keep dropping things. 

Those windows sure need washing yet don’t get out of bed. The cat did what, again? I’m not really a ’55 Chevy. I’m a ’45 Plymouth. Dad was a Plymouth and Desoto Dealer in our hometown. I was raised in an automotive world of wonder. I pumped gas at age 11 and did a complete forensic dissection of every wrecked car. Strands of hair in a shattered windshield was a clue, as was the empty bottle of beer on the floorboard. I often wondered was that the preceding guide to becoming a therapist. 

Your “comments” back to me are like those ‘spark plugs’, each words alters my mind. And I thank you. I save every comment in a special place and reread them often. I can’t see you yet with your words let me know that you are there. Thanks you so much for caring and sharing. When you speak to me you make my head lights glow brighter.  This beautiful Hibiscus is in my garden right now and this one is for you.