Twist and Shout

Friday evening, January 16, 9:30pm Jeruslaem, 1:30pm Minnesota)

So much has happened in the last 36 hours. Where to begin!

First of all, on Thursday morning, walking through the narrow alleys in the northwest quarter of the town (the Christian Quarter), heading toward the Jaffa Gate…….





My foot steps on a large stone in the street that turns out to be anything but flat and even, foot buckles inwardly as I roll over onto the outside of my foot and ankle, and pain shoots through my foot and leg. Hate when that happens. Playing basketball, jogging, skiing, OK, it happens. When walking in the street – the pain is compounded by the knowledge of how stupid it must look to anyone within fifty feet watching you trying to master the art of walking.

Man, did that hurt. Rolling your ankle. Owwww. (Erin, when I get home, I need some lessons. Break out your old "Walking 101" PhyEd notebook from Madison.)

You have to understand that the streets of the Old City of Jerusalem (the ancient part that I spend most of time within -- but remember, there is a much bigger modern city that stretches for miles outside of the walls) have streets and no sidewalks. As in, these streets were OLD during the time of the American Revolutionary War, for those of you who best can relate it to American History. The streets are made of old blocks that have been there for a very long time. Even though the city has been sacked and destroyed and burned and rebuilt and sacked and destroyed and burned and rebuilt and sacked (you get the idea), these latest streets have to be centuries old. I found one of the blocks that some Roman chariot must have chipped, some Ottoman Turk had broken with a medieval pic, or some Assyrian invader just decided to do some vandalism upon.

I could hardly even stand on it. It hurt so much.

(Re-enactment below. No animals were harmed in re-creating this actual experience of severe bodily injury.)

It smarted like heck for a minute or two, in the way it does when you are trying to catch your breath from the stupid pain and you can’t even put your foot down for a moment. Then, the pain subsided enough that I was able to limp along for a little ways. Half an hour later it was still sore, but I was doing OK.

Later in the afternoon, after a 45” bus ride….. I could hardly walk. No, I was sure it wasn’t broken, but it swelled up a little and was sooooooooo tender.

At the museum that afternoon, Sr. Barbara said, “Tim, take some Advil I have here in my purse.” I said I would.

Later, at dinner, she asked if I had taken the Advil. I said I hadn’t, but would get around to it before bed. She got me a bag of ice from the kitchen and said to put it in a towel and then on my ankle. She said she had an Ace bandage in the first aid kit if I would like to wrap my ankle the next day.

I managed to not do any of those things. I, ummmm..... forgot?

This morning (Friday, she sees me at breakfast and asks, “Tim, did the ice help? And did you take the Advil? Would you like to tape up your ankle?”

Geeeez. Nuns are always bugging you about something, aren't they? Not helpful, especially when you have a sore ankle. Being single, I guess they just don't understand men.