So this morning I pull in to pickup my mother-in-law to take her to physical therapy. See, a few weeks ago she had a mad scientist take a Dewalt 5 inch saw and cut her knees off. To his manic cackling he scraped out the stuff that holds the bottom part of the leg to the top part. To lightning, the humpbacked nurse helps insert the plastic and titanium, guaranteed-fun-at-the-airport new knees! He laughts and raises his hands skyward shouting, "she lives! She lives!" She stands up! And immediately falls on her face.
Getting back to this morning. As I approach her house I see hop-a-long with brace on the deadleg left knee toward the end of the driveway with walker in both hands and making the final adjustment on the second trash can that she just pulled down the driveway–somehow. I only wish I had shown up a few minutes earlier to watch. Fortunately, she had only pulled the recycle container out the back door and not worked it down to the street. Apparently, my inlaws recycle lead, ore, rock, and concrete disguised as aluminum cans and newspaper. After lugging it to the street I begged to take her place in physical therapy or at least sneak me one pain pill. I also noted that had she taken the recycle bin herself that she wouldn’t need the PT today because she’d be in the hospital!
Yes, I said "inlaws." Note the s. It makes the word plural. She has an ambulatory husband who, like my son, was asked to do the garbage the night before and, like my son, 7:30 came and he went. Also like my son, he doesn’t clean up animal poop. These two should live together for a year with cats and dogs! But that really wouldn’t be fair to the cats and dogs.
