Yipee! Clearance to put full weight on my right leg converged last week with the temps rise above freezing. This, of course, meant going outside--finally--to walk. Steve accompanied me and I had either my grandfather's 200-year-old cane (just a guess) or a hiking pole. We started with up and down the street and increased each day. After successfully enjoying a walk on the Peoria riverfront with Ellen, Kyle, and zooming roller-blading boys yesterday, I decided that today was time to go back to the the lake--where IT happened. Sidewalks were all clear of ice, but plenty of slippery goose poop remains. Careful.
About halfway around is where I had fallen on January 5. We stopped there. This is the spot, right? We noticed a mud patch where water from yards had drained across the sidewalk. Yep. That would explain the sneaky hidden ice although the route had been dry up to that point. I remembered lying there and looking around to see if help was at hand; Steve remembered finally finding me and carrying me to the car—with the aid of the helpful guy who came by walking his dog.
Then a spot of color caught my eye—yellow and orange. I took a couple steps closer and bent for a look. My mask! There in the mud was the mask I had apparently been wearing that day. I recognized it as mine: handmade from a yellow t-shirt and potholder loops. It had been perfectly marking the accident spot for eight weeks. After all, who picks up an unknown person's mask from the ground during a pandemic? It may have been sniffed by a dog or two though.