Looking good Bill, the hat ribbon is just fabulous.
Wash & wear? Seriously? Where's your standards? Tina uses top dollar heavy gauge cotton fabric, the cost of which exceeds the price of wash & wear shirts. Add on the price of the notions, the paper pattern the wear and tear on her sewing machine, the electricity and so on. Now if you are adverse to a spot of ironing, that I can warm to, it's why we have an ironing fairy."Ironed"? They aren't "wash and wear"??? Suddenly they've lost much of their allure.
Standards? My standing in modern society is, and always has been, such that I cannot conceive of a reason to have any. Okay, that's a lie, but I digress. My sixty-first birthday arrives in a few months, and I honestly can't ever recall having used a clothes iron for any reason. I'm not opposed to it, mind you, I've simply never found it necessary to learn how. In fact, I'd probably find it rather Zen-like--surrendering my focus and attention to the task at hand to make sure it's performed and accomplished to the best of my abilities; maybe one of these days I'll find out.
I’m told the surgery went well. Still in ICU but may go to a regular room later today. I just love those bigger pattern shirts you have. Tina is a wonder.
All positive thoughts for a complete and trouble free recovery with as little discomfort as possible.
I don’t remember that shirt. Would you be kind enough to post the whole thing so I can drool properly?
You're such a flatterer Mr. Hughes, how can I refuse such a request from a gentleman?
Actually, I'm still in the hospital. I completely lost the feeling in my right leg a week ago today. Had to get another MRI on the thoracic spine. The thought was there was a buildup of fluid on my spinal cord and another surgery would be needed. But I was fortunate. The problem was just inflamed nerves. So over a couple of days the feeling returned to my right leg and all that was lost was therapy time. I should go home this Wednesday.
Let me second that. When I was 14, I was struck by a car whilst on a pedestrian crossing. The broken bones would repair but nerve ends were another thing altogether. Three operations later and I still couldn't wriggle my toes, amputation loomed. Salvation came in the name of one, Mr. Penrose. At 72 he had been trying to retire for about ten years. "Don't take the boy's foot off," he said, "let me try."
