Since I married my husband, we have been afflicted with what I affectionately refer to as the Harar Curse. It is a mysterious, invisible entity that seems to encapsulate my family at all times making sure that no matter where we go, trouble will find us. At times, the curse lies dormant, leading us into a false sense of security.This, however, is not one of those times.
|I think it's fair to say she was a better|
doctor than artist.
And, if you must know, I was skipping because I was getting wood floor samples from my car to share with everyone. It was very exciting.
|The bone on the right should|
be parallel to the bone on the left.
The trouble was just beginning with the pinky, however, because one week after my doctor gave me the okay to remove the pinky splint, I got a call during class. This is bad. Very bad. The front office only interrupts my teaching if there is an emergency, and it was a doozy. My son broke his wrist. I’m talking a complete snap in half of the bone. Poor baby. Anyway, the magic number is six, and he wore the cast like a champion for all of those weeks.
|This skating rink is dead to me.|
Last weekend, my husband hit a fox and we got two flat tires while we were in South Carolina. Sorry. No picture. But we did look for it on the way home.
The Curse is back with a vengeance and appears to have no mercy. Looks like I’ll be throwing salt over my left shoulder, pulling out my statue of the Virgin Mary and avoiding black cats for a while.
Beth – 0
Curse – 1
Fox - 0