On qualifications and qualms

 The new bike helmet is redder than I expected, but that is no bad thing. I put it to use a week and a half ago with a short trial of my biking abilities. St Michael the Holy Mole was there to support me and record the event. I didn't go far, merely up and down a few local streets and around the block.

It was a bit awkward getting on and, more importantly, off the bike, despite having removed the milk crate. The first time I tried to get off, I became mentally stuck trying to decide exactly how I should do it. I later wondered if there wasn't conflict between well ingrained muscle memory and more recently acquired caution about new movements.

 It felt very weird to be back on the bike. I found that it was hard to keep my left foot in a consistent location on the pedal. Once or twice, it went so far forward that it bumped against the front mudguard. I haven't been back on the bike since, partly because of bad weather, partly because of fear and partly because of another source of stress that has emerged.

A week ago, I got an email from a real estate agent about buying my late neighbor's ground floor condo from her estate. The price was a bit higher than I hoped it might be, but it was enough to prod me into action about talking to my bank about getting a loan to buy the place. For various reasons, I don't want to sell my current condo before having moved out. I'm lucky enough that I can be so indulgent. I will be meeting with the bank to get pre-approval in two weeks. Fortunately, the inheritors are in no rush to sell. They want to sell, but given that some of them are in Ireland and that person who is in Canada lives in Ottawa and has the complication of a new baby, who is very cute. I know this as I have seen the baby.

The ground floor unit will present some challenges as the hallway has a different configuration. I am planning to follow my neighbor Jacques' example and having a bike storage space in the front hall. However, I would not be able to keep a spare bike box there, at least, not with any pretensions of elegance. It would also mean I would have to rethink the storage of some of my books, DVDs and CDs. There is only so much that can or should be weeded. It will be quite a job of packing, finding people to move the stuff and unpacking. Not to mention making some changes to suit my needs, including adding some railings to the three steps up to the new place.

The day after getting the call from the agent, I had a meeting with the ortho doctor who cheerfully told me he didn't want to see me again. He meant, of course, that my tibia was in sufficiently in shape that his services were no longer required. Among the qualities he described about my leg was that it was the same length as my other leg. I had heard about broken limbs sometimes ending up shorter than their counterparts but had not given the matter any thought. While I had him, I got him to give me document telling the Library that I was reasonably good to go, particularly in the matter of a mobile staircase that my immediate superior was reluctant to let me use. I also decided to use the letter to justify returning to work full-time. I had been hemming and hawing about this, but finally came to the conclusion that the best course of action was bite the bullet and just do it. When I went the Library the following day, my immediate superior told me that another manager had agreed with her that I shouldn't use the mobile staircase. I promptly presented the letter to her. She relented.