Did a lot yesterday.
Made a loaf of bread first thing, then made marmalade and bottled it.
Tickled around with my sourdough starter.
Had a visit from an OT who looked over my living arrangements and offered some improvements.
Made a batch of yogurt.
Refrigerated it all, apart from the Occupational Therapist, who had to get back to where ever it is that OT’s come from.
This morning I decided to sort out some kilner jars for the yogurt.
Well the jars are in a cupboard behind my chair in the lounge.
Due to onstraints on space I had to lever the chair upwards as I pulled open the cupboard doors.
This opening and levering was an acrobatic performance which I executed while trying to reach for the Kilner jars.
I say executed, it was I who was almost executed. At this stage in my performance the chair shifted, the jars tumbled about and the cupboard door started to close.
I slid downwards; trapped in the midst of all this, as in the jaws of a trap.
It was at this point, not able to move, I realised my stroked self is quite a bit (lot) weaker than I give my self credit for.
It was early morning Hilary was in bed fast asleep I was in a strange contorted position with my weak leg bent under me and my arm half trapped by the cupboard door. The weight off the arm chair locked me and everything else in position.
Now I am the sort of guy who gets himself into predicaments and I have learned that calling for help can result in loss of priviledges and having to hang one’s head, as well.
So I wriggled a bit. Managed to get myself free of the trap and was left lying on the floor looking up at the ceiling.
Well, after all, it was time for a break after all the activity of the previous day.
To cut a long story short, something I very rarely do, after bending arm and foot in opposite and painful directions I managed to get back into a standing position.
I’m now here writing at my laptop, shortly going to make myself a hot brew.
I still have to somehow put the armchair back as it was, the right way up, and sort the jars out, so the lounge no longer looks like we had a visit from a burglar.
All before Hilary gets up.
If I don’t sort it out there will be no television for me this evening.
Got to
keep on keepin’ on