No, not really the good kind of crash-bang. Someone rear-ended my car on the 28th:
Yes, she took out the Thule, which in turned whacked the trunk, with the end result being that I can't currently open the trunk. (Or use the bike rack, although I was ready to take it off for the winter anyway.) This means that the 4 bags of clothing I was taking to Goodwill have to remain in the trunk until the car is fixed. Since they've been riding around in there for the better part of a month--and this after sitting in my house for even longer--I don't feel particularly urgency around this issue. And no, no one was hurt. Although the woman who hit me was kind of freaked out, because she was driving a brand new car home from the dealer. Oops.
To back up (no pun intended), I got rear-ended on my way back from taking my friend Nancy to her knee surgery. She tore her left meniscus last year and had it fixed in April, and then she tore the right one this fall. In April her husband took her down for the surgery, but he has a bit of an issue with needles, so when she got the IV, he fainted. I volunteered to step in this time so the nurses could pay attention to Nancy instead of abandoning her to go get saltines for her husband. I have a lovely picture of Nancy in her pre-surgery shower cap and hospital gown, but since I want to keep her as a friend, I'm not posting it here. I was sort of disappointed that they wheeled Nancy away before they started the anesthetic, because I wanted to hear her say funny stuff. Last time apparently she started going on and on (in her words) about riding her bike up Mt. Washington. I figured either I would hear what she really thinks about me, or at least I'd get some good climbing tips. Oh well.
The rest of our week was a blur of lounging about the house, punctuated by trips to the skating rink. Here is Patrick, decked out in most of his hockey garb (we figure the padding is helpful), whizzing around the rink:
Charlotte went to winter camp at Stone House Farm, where among other things she made this slightly portly crocodile bread (which for reasons unknown to me we called "salamander bread"):
I finally made it out for a drink with Snack Girl, after trying to arrange this date for the better part of the semester.
I did the most swimming I've ever done in one week, and my arms are tired to prove it. If my massage therapist decides to come back from his Christmas vacation, I will ask for his help with this.
Today I followed up my long run with an ice bath:
Our rubber chicken has seen better days, I think.
I am still sending out Christmas cards.
We have made progress catching up on Lost, although I'm not sure it counts as "catching up" when the series actually ended a long time ago. But we are halfway through the final season, and no, I haven't read what happens at the end. I did have an epiphany the other night, though: I think I figured out where The Others get their clothes. I used to like to get clothes there sometimes, too--only when they're deeply on sale--but then I read this a few years ago and reconsidered.
And yes, Joker is still alive. He is supposed to go back next week for followup blood work, but for now he's just enjoying the fact that I feel too guilty to throw him off when he climbs on my Adam's apple in the middle of the night.