So the follow-up with the orthopedic surgeon was today, and we went over the results of yesterday's CT scan. Of course, we got the worst possible news: surgery. I've got bits of bone loose in the foot, so those need to come out, and a screw needs to go in to help hold stuff together long enough to heal. So I'll get sliced and screwed on Tuesday, be in a splint and bandages until mid-August, then it's in to a hard cast for six weeks. All that time, no pressure on the foot, totally on crutches. For two months. Then, after I get the crutches off, it's back in to the boot for, well, we actually didn't get that far. The end of the road is approximately four to five months away, when we'll have another procedure to remove the screw. So I won't be doing much swimming the rest of the summer. I definitely won't be playing softball this fall, which really bums me out. I won't get to enjoy the little phisch's birthday party next week nearly as much as I was looking forward to, which really really bums me out. At least I'll be in a position to get a lot of reading done and a lot of movies watched, right?

So I had an appointment with an orthopedist today (technically, the doc's an orthopedic surgeon), as a follow-up to the emergency clinic visit last week. Had some additional x-rays taken, as the good doctor wanted different angles than the three which were shot at the clinic. He's concerned by what appears to be a separation between the Cuboid and the Third cuneiform, at the base of my first and second metatarsal bones. We shot a reference x-ray of my right foot, and when comparing the two, you can certainly see there's more of this separation on the injured left foot. Now, it could be nothing; it could simply be the way I'm built on that foot. But it could be indicative of this injury, and the severity of it would determine the remedy, up to and including surgery. Since the x-rays are inconclusive, I'm going in on Wednesday morning for a CT scan and 3D imaging. This will give the doc a better look at the intricate bits, see if it's just ligament damage, or if there are bone flakes getting in the way. Then I'm back in his office on Thursday morning for the results. Worse-case scenario: I have to have surgery on the foot to clean up any messy bits, and possibly have a screw installed to hold things together while the ligaments heal. This is okay by me, because the worst-case scenario is that if things are really bad and I don't have the surgery, my arch could eventually weaken to the point of collapse. And we don't want that, do we? So Wednesday should be interesting. I've never had a CT scan before!

Earlier this evening, I set about installing a ceiling fan and light kit in one of the bedrooms. It's the room the little phisch is going to be moving in to, and for this week, we have a temporary addition to the family in the form of a one year-old, and he's sleeping in this particular room. Because of this little man, we put up one of our kiddie gates at the bottom of the stairs. I did as much as I could with the ceiling fan, including learning that I'd picked out the wrong light kit. At least I could get the fan done. However, I ran in to a problem with the wiring, and my good friend and neighbor, Drew, was kind enough to come over and help. (Drew did a lot of contracting work growing up and during his college years, so he's handy that way.) Thank God he did. On my way down the stairs, to go to the garage and hit the circuit in the breaker box for that particular bedroom, I didn't quite make it all the way over the baby gate. As I was stepping over it with my left leg, my foot/shoe became entangled in the gate, and proceeded to turn in to a fulcrum. Great pain ensued as my foot twisted ways it shouldn't, and I went down, taking the gate with me. The cry that erupted from my throat, along with the noise of my crash, proceeded to bring Drew running from the second floor, my wife from the kitchen, and greatly upset the little phisch. The thought which immediately ran through my head was that I'd managed to break my ankle, which would give me something of a matched set. (Eight years ago I fractured my right ankle.) I crawled to the love seat and Drew helped me up off the floor. My wife got an ice pack out of the freezer while Drew got my foot elevated. After about twenty minutes, we made the decision that it would be better to be safe than sorry, and off to an after-hours clinic Drew and I went. The good news is no broken bones. The bad news is that it's a really severe sprain, the tearing of ligaments and tendons and whatnot. I've got on a boot, and will have to do the crutches thing as well. And I've been typing this whole blog post loaded up with some Demorol, so if it seems a little off, it's because I'm on the good stuff. In the mean time, I thank our Father in Heaven for friends like Drew.

I am pleased to report that my fears yesterday were reassuringly calmed today, as both the battery grip and flash were delivered. Both have been attached to the camera and tested successfully. Hurray!

So the new flash and battery grip I ordered are both sitting in Mesquite tonight. For those of you unaware of Dallas metroplex geography, the center of Mesquite is roughly 35 miles from the center of the little burb I call home. I could drive over there in about 45 minutes. Now, the last time I was expecting something of this magnitude--the camera for which these two items have been purchased--the item in question also spent a night in Mesquite. Then proceeded 121 miles south to Waco before then returning 121 miles to be delivered to me. This couldn't possibly happen again, could it? Well, according to the Amazon status tracker, estimated delivery date is the 8th. Yes. The 8th.

A few moments ago, I was watching Seinfeld, folding some clothes, and I looked down at my attire for the day: hemp-dyed Kauai t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, Invisible Children reed bracelet, and new Keen sandals, and the title for this post was what sprang to my mind. Somebody help me.

The first observation took place as I was nearing the end of my lunch. I was still masticating the remnants of fried corn tortillas, the rest of the meal vanquished, when a mother and her daughter were seated in the booth behind me. Seated as I was, I was able to view them as they entered the restaurant, interacted with the hostess/waitress, and moved to their table. The mother was on her mobile phone the entire time. It was obvious from her side of the conversation this was a good friend, and the conversation was quite pleasant, resulting in a few giggles and laughs. The conversation continued throughout the seating process, the delivery of the menus, paused briefly to place drink orders, then continued. At about this point I lost interest, returning my full focus to the contents of the magazine I had brought with me. The judgmental thought which entered my mind was this: what must this woman's daughter think of the fact that they are out to lunch on a school day and her mother is on the phone? Now this young lady may have thought nothing of it. She appeared to be the age of those attending middle school, and may have cared less that her mother was on the phone. Certainly there are those in their teen and pre-teen years who are thoroughly embarrassed to be seen in public with their parents, even if there is little or no chance of their being seen by their peers. She may have had this attitude. She may have also wondered how in the world her mother could ignore her by continuing to chat on the phone with a friend. Perhaps lunch between mother and daughter is nothing special. Plenty of us go out to eat or eat at home with some sort of constant interruption. For myself, we're making a concerted effort to have media turned off and phones put away during dinner at home. The little phisch isn't old enough for GameBoys or PSPs yet, so when we're out to eat--and I don't see why parents allow their children to play with such devices while they're eating out--we don't have that distraction, and we minimize the interruption by the mobile phone. Behind my wife and child, I love my parents more than anyone else on this blue marble, but I'd still ask them if I could call them back when we're finished eating. There is a part of me looking forward to the day when I say to a friend or family member, "Hey, I'd really like to talk more about this, but can I call you back? I'm having lunch with my son."

The second observation took place shortly thereafter, as I transported from the restaurant to the grocery store for a few staples. As I entered the checkout line, I observed two women in front of me, of similar height and similar dress. The one closest to me was clearly a young lady, most likely high school age, perhaps early college. From the look and dress of the other woman with her, my first instinct was that of a friend. I learned soon enough, however, when the second woman turned to pay the cashier, that she was in fact the young lady's mother. On the one hand, I think that if a woman has the figure to wear the same clothes as her daughter, more power to her. On the other hand, there is a part of me that wants to scream, "Grow up already!"

The final observation for this post concerned the time in transport from the grocery to my abode. I have long been fascinated by the concept of "talking with one's hands", and I do not refer to sign language when I say this. Some people can simply not help but gesticulate while speaking. This goes beyond the mere use of gestures to get a point across. It is as if, as my mother put it, some people would suddenly go mute if you were to tie their hands behind their back. Either that, or their bodies would convulse wildly to compensate. Such was the nature of the man in the pickup truck in front of me. His left hand held a mobile to his ear, while his right hand gestured repeatedly throughout the conversation. He was, quite simply, driving with nothing more than one wrist. This was deeply troubling. Granted, we were never above approximately forty miles an hour with regard to our speed, but his behavior could have led to disastrous consequences. It made me ponder whether I should keep a stash of hands-free sets in my vehicle to toss at random to such persons.

I opened the drawer of the desk in the kitchen. I lifted out the sheet of peel-and-stick stamps. I carefully pulled a single stamp off. As I replaced the sheet in the drawer and closed the drawer, the stamp I peeled off fluttered from my finger toward the floor. Have you ever had a thin, sticky-on-one-side something get stuck on a wood floor? Not so easy to get up, is it? I did not have to attempt that today. The stamp landed face down. That is, sticky side up. Thank you, God.