There I sat, placard in hand, ready to park in my first authorized handicap spot. I hurt everywhere, and I wanted to park close to the restaurant where we were going to eat. As we drove up, it was immediately obvious tonight would not be my maiden voyage in accessible parking. There was a bank next to the restaurant, with limited-access (time of day restricted) parking that was actually closer to the door than the handicap spot. I have had my placards for five days, and I have yet to use it. My time will come.
The girls came over very briefly this morning, to pick up some baby food that we were unlikely to use anytime soon. During that short visit, the toddler walked across the living room rug, from my ottoman to my great-grandmother's old rocking chair, like a champ. She also got a nibble of Nutella, while her grandpa was scraping out the last of a jar I bought to put on crepes a few weeks ago. (There is a reason we don't keep it on hand--it disappears.) We dropped by later in the day, to trade raspberries we dug up for a couple roses that our daughter pulled out of her yard. Two chances to see our Grump in one day. This is the life.
I made myself go out and plant one more large pot this afternoon. I'm not sure how it happened so fast, but that one little activity was enough to make all my muscles sore and lead me to think I'd be using my parking permit. I didn't capture any photos of the new pot. It needs to grow in a bit and rebloom before it is ready for show. On the up side, our columbines are spectacular this year.
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