A week of disasters.

Arriving back at the apartment after my afternoon bike ride, I discovered the door was unlocked, which suggested that by wife was in. On entering I discovered she was indeed in, and in trouble. She was sitting on the floor just in front of the door to the balcony, and seeking my help. She could not get up, She asked for a cushion to go under her and I then tried to lift her up with my hands, I became unbalanced and almost fell on top of her. By sliding her over to my reclining chair and sitting on it, I found I had enough leverage to get her back on her feet.

She explained that she had been reading in the hanging chair on the balcony, when it became unbalanced a and dumped her on the floor. The suspended chair was given to her by daughter Robin at least 10 years ago, and was not in peak operating condition, so we condemmed it to the dump, in pieces, via the dumpster in our parking lot. I took the first part to our storage temporarily, leaving my keys in the storage room door. I took the next bit straight to the dumpster, but then I could not get back in the budin without my keys, So I had to explain everything to a neighbour so that they would let me in. By the time I had consigned the whole chair to un overhe dumpster, most of the building had heard the Story.

The week is not over yet! We received a phone call at lunch time yesterday from middle daughter Robin. She had suffered some broken ribs anD a fractured thumb in an incident with a charging carthorse. While we are most sympathetic towards our child, the temptation to sing about it as a parody of a popular Christmas song is inevitable

“Our daughter got run over by a Clydesdale!