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I am still Miss Limpy 2011. It’s more fun than when I was Miss Gympie 2001, but still not awesome. The worst part is when I forget about the crutches. I start getting ideas about what I’m going to do — mow the lawn or make some chai or teach a jazz ballet class — and then when I go to stand up I remember, just in time, that I can’t stand on one of my legs and have to get about with the walking equivalent of chopsticks.

Meanwhile, the laundry has sprung into sprouthood! It’s been two weeks and the sprouts are incredible. Week one:



whoa, beets!


I cannot think of a better use for home hydroponics than basil, can you?

But then I forgot about them for a week. Can’t do the washing while I’m on stilts, so I haven’t needed to go to the laundry much. This morning I hobbled in and WHOA:




Which is completely awesome! Having learned a trick or two from the wily cuttlefish, who lays a bajillion eggs in the hopes of securing two babies, I planted every tomato seed I had in the hopes of securing, say, six plants. I decided that if I had more, I’d give them away to folks. Now it looks like I might have a mighty forest of tomatoes on my hands. (This is one of three trays of tomato seedlings. And by tray, I mean cut-up milk carton.)

****METAPHOR ALERT**** So while I’m hobbling about, trying not to think about how I can’t mow the zooming lawn and can’t dig up the last of last year’s vegetables (man, you want bang for your seed-planting buck, plant silverbeet!), sprouts are flourishing and my leg is mending quietly in the background. It’s hard to feel the progress, but I know it’s happening.

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