The other night, Karen was helping me with my leg exercises. We have these big, stretchy elastics that go around my ankle, and I kick first in one direction and then another while lying on the bed. We have two strengths of elastics, a strong one for my good leg, and a weaker one for the bad ankle. Karen wraps them around my ankle, steps back and holds them tight while I move my leg against the resistance. I was facing the opposite wall when I heard the snap of the elastic letting go and then heard the crash of Karen hitting the floor. She also cracked her head against the wall. Talk about “this will hurt me more than you.” I was scared and yelled since I couldn’t rush to her, and John came in and helped her back up. Now when someone in their seventies hits the floor (and their head), you worry. I called the doctor, but by the time he got here, she was walking, talking, and acting normal (for her). He checked her over and could find nothing broken or any sign of a concussion. She was upset over all the fuss, but she did take the pain pills he offered her. She is doing fine but is sporting a few bruises below her knee. She is one tough old lady. John wanted her to teach Rachel how to do the exercises, but she refused and still does them. I found her in the living room yesterday crying, and said, “Aha! You were hurt worse than you let on,” but she had just been reading the blog about Edina and was crying for her. Like I said, one tough old lady. She has done so much for me, ignoring her own pain, and seeing that I have whatever I need to heal and recover. She is teaching me and John what it means to really love someone, and we are beginning to understand. She has always loved children that way and still has contact on Facebook with kids she taught in kindergarten twenty and thirty years ago. On September the fourth, the Pope is making Mother Teresa a saint. I’m setting that date for our unofficial canonization of Saint Karen, who has loved others unconditionally all her life, touched thousands of lives, and hasn’t quit—and won’t. She also loves her little Tibetan Terrier, Sissie, who she cuddles and loves all the time and who is never not by her side. The picture at the right is from the other night when Karen was helping me with my leg exercises and Sissie kept getting in the way. She asked John to do something, so he picked Sissie up and put her on the chest of drawers where she promptly plopped down and watched for the next half hour. Who couldn’t love a dog like that? Or the woman who loves her?