With the help of our friend Kipley, Joe finally got home today. '"Finally" actually kinda sums up the trip from the stoop to the apartment too. Poor guy still forgets to take it easy and muscles through rather than stand, rest, walk, rest, etc.
But he's home and now tucked into bed ready to look for our friend Ann on tonight's episode of Smash.
But don't worry, he may not be able to yell for me yet if he needs me, but he's got "the bell."
That bell has a history. My grandfather, who was respectable at the end of his life was a hooligan in the beginning. And about 100 years ago he stole that bell from his schoolhouse in Jefferson City, Missouri.
When I was a kid in the long-ago days when kids could play outside anywhere in the neighborhood and no one cared that it was dark and we were running loose in the street, that bell was used to call us in to dinner.
Later, when my Grandmother was ill she used the bell to call for my aunt. My aunt may have started out channeling Florence Nightingale, but eventually I think she had to suppress her inner Lizzie Bordon.
But Joe's had enough with the hatchet equivalents so I've warned him. Use the bell when you need me or you might end up ringing when you walk.
Kidding. He's a GREAT patient and it's fantastic to have him home. I'm glad the bell tolls for me.