Wednesday, September 16, 2009


Besides being a creature of habit, I’ve come to realize that I’m a creature of comfort.

I stayed at a friend’s son and his wife’s home in Atlanta while my friend and I worked a trade show for four days. It's inconvenient enough staying at a friend or relative’s house—at least there’s some comfort there because you know them. But I’m two degrees removed from my comfort zone.

I used to brag that I have no back problems. For a woman “my age” I’m thankful that my body is strong and limber.

But I woke up that first morning knowing something was horribly wrong when I rolled over to get out of bed and was in pain. Then when I got out of bed, I couldn't stand straight. I hobbled down to breakfast looking like a garden gnome hunched over and limping.

"How did you sleep?" my friend and her son asked with big grins. Were they blind?

Like I was wrestling with a demon, I wanted to say, but couldn't. After all, I was staying for free.

After breakfast, I went back up to that "thing called a mattress" and rolled my poor body around flailing my legs trying to “pop” whichever vertebrae needed to “pop” back in place. No luck.

The second morning, my hip felt displaced. I don't know if one can "pop" a hip back or not, but I flailed around just in case. No luck.

The third morning, my neck decided to join the fray and gave me a crick in it. I knew no amount of flailing or luck would correct that.

Cripes! One more day and I'd need a wheelchair! Thank heavens for my yoga stretches I did in the shower. I’d be crippled without them!

Yes, there's no place like home.



There's no place like my sweet, sweet, comfortable pillow top mattress.

. . . more travel travails to come

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