You just gotta love getting old. As they say often, “It beats the alternative.” (I agree on that.)
I was walking around the house in my stocking feet this afternoon as I always do–tile floor throughout–getting ready for my nap and feeling jet-lagged-out-of-it, practically out on my feet. I was way past ready for my nap but had to use the facilities. I made the right turn from the hallway into the john, stepped on the edge of a small rug, and went down like the proverbial ton of bricks putting out my right hand to stop myself. On the way down I thought, “Don’t break your right wrist; you fly to Quito on Sunday.” The fall was nowhere near as bad as the one I took in the motel bathroom in Fort Myers a few years ago but as I got up, I saw that I had somehow gouged my left arm just above the wrist; it looked as if I had taken one of those rounded wood chisels to it with a vengeance. I cleaned it up nicely, bandaged it–I have lots of supplies left over from my second surgery, and–though it took me a while to fall asleep after a surge of adrenalin, took a short nap. I am now none the worse for wear.
I chuckled when I thought of how careful I was up on that mountain just a few days ago, taking great care with every step, aware that I might slip and fall and seriously injure myself or destroy my gear. Then take a turn into the bathroom and go down hard (but not for the count!) You gotta love getting old.
Abstract. See below.
What is It?
What is it? What focal length was used to create the image? Answer in two days.