The boot comes off tomorrow. I've been embraced. The guys over at Hanger are cool. They laugh with you about looking like a cyborg; there are no sad faces there; they offer hope and a jar of Dum-dums. They also make runner blades for infants and toddlers. We never think about babies needing prosthetics.
The new brace kneels with me. It hurts just enough to make me remember that bones are being pressed and realigned. This hardware will allow me to drive again, and if by some miracle it made it possible for me to run . . . well, let's just say you wouldn't be able to see me for the dust. (grin)
I stood in line at the post office again today for the second time in many months. It felt great. My favorite employee saved the day again. I mailed goodies in my homemade Norman Rockwell envelope over a week ago and it was returned. To make this a shorty, she wrote an address label for me because the scanner picked up my return address instead of reading the address label I'd cleverly created. C. didn't want to cover the original so she promised to take care of it instead of me having to do a do-over or cover my label. t was worried that I'd gotten her in trouble. While she was helping me try to figure out why the package never left our post office, her supervisor walked over and a stare-down ensued. She's shorter than I am, and I know that bullies aren't so bad, plus I'm good at staring. I won. She wanted C. to "keep the line moving." C. said good customer service and interacting with people is what keeps the line moving; without customers there'd be no lines. Jen, I'm glad you got it.
More Olympics themed envelopes await letters. They'll run their course eventually. Meaning I'll run out eventually. (grin)
Five pieces of good mail went out today. Five pieces were in my box! Even Steven. Such good mail too. Just you wait and see.
I saw a photograph of Roy Rogers in here today. So, happy mail, to you, until I write again . . .