Jack recently shared with you about the frozen pot roast hitting me on top of the head. It did. It hurt like a friggen hammer to the head. I screamed, saw stars and cried like a little girl. Jack opened the freezer door and as had happened numerous times previously that darn roast fell; this time I was bent down putting water bottles in the fridge. I saw blackness and stars and knew instantly what had happened. I babied my goose egg for a few days.
What Jack didn't tell you was that a few days earlier he had hit his head and had a horrible gash the size of a 50 cent piece on the back of his head. I didn't even realize he had hurt himself until I saw the bloody silver hair. I wanted him to go to the hospital but he''s like, "No big deal. It'll be fine." He didn't mention it again. I could, of course, see his huge wound for many days. No complaints. Me, I whined for days about my little goose eggs.
A journal written about life, retirement and our journey throughout the United States in a 5th wheel, along with our two Shih Tzus, Tanner and Syndey. Written not for notoriety but for our sons, family and friends, so they know where we are at any given time. And particularly for ourselves. Finally, we get to slow down and smell the roses and we don't want to forget any of it. You are welcome to join us as we go 'Down the Road a Piece'.
