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Monday, 12 March 2018

Comments

KBO's a great mantra. I hope you are resting your (not-to-be) typing arm on a soft pillow and only moving your fingertips while keeping the blog alive. And have a tourniquet handy.

Great to have you back, Mike! Can't think of a better way to wake up in a hospital. Take it easy, and good luck!

From the way your writing station is set up, my guess would be that left-handed is your natural way.

"The left-handed typist" - could be the title of a future thriller.
John Camp may even share the royalties with you. ;-)

KBO -- that's almost worthy of a tattoo or an epitaph. But apropos of Michael Brown's story, my son's piano teacher once told me a similar story about playing the famous Wanamaker's organ here in Philadelphia. When she had finished, she bent down from her seat on the bench to pick up something, only to have the bench fall over onto her. The loud, discordant, continuously sustaining bass notes alerted listeners to the possibility that something was amiss, at which point she was rescued. Lesson learned: It's much harder to die from embarrassment than one might think.

Thank you for reminding me of that wonderful phrase and the link to Michael Brown's really nice short essay.

For those who would like to take a look around the impossibly pretty village that Mr. Brown lives in, here is a link.

http://tinyurl.com/y7f2rqph

The left-handed typist.

Still being a stubborn-old-man, I see ;-)

It just takes a couple of mouse-clicks to set-up dictation in macOS. It has all the punctuation commands, etc.—learn how tto do something modern during your down-time 8-)

Speaking of something modern, ain't cell phones wonderful! My vascular surgeon performed a procedure on one leg, and asked me to ask another doctor if he'd like him to do the other leg. The next day at my appointment, I ask. The doctor said Joe's on vacation in Hawaii. He pulled-out his cellphone and called Dr Joe. After about a minuet he said call Dr Joe's office, in two hours, and they will tell you the time/place for the procedure. Newport Beach to Hawaii and back to Newport Beach almost instatnty from a cellphone—no phone tag needed. Try doing that with twisted pairs.

That's what keeps me starting my day with TOP: the obstinate adherence to photography. Your little contretemps ( I'm certain that it didn't seem so little at the time) reminded me that you are essential to so many of us. It prompted me to increase my Patreon participation and hope that it will for others.

Take good care of yourself.

Speedy recovery Mike. So don't type, just passively peruse those It Must Be Color photographs to get them down to 13 and then when you're back to normal celebrate by publishing the results.

Well here is the thing. I loved Michael Browns essay ...but the picture .... thats the church Sarah and I married in 25 years ago. We still live in South Zeal next door ( even prettier. Imho) and I walked through the church yard in the snow last week to get to the magnificent if VERY small pub ...the Northmore Arms.

Now a really good recovery from all this AF thingey would be, ( after a suitable period of recovery and reflection),to come over a sup a great glass of not too cold English Ale in this glorious quit little corner of Gods Own after a short walk. Come to think of it you could meet up with Chris Chapman who with James Ravillious has recorded the changing ways of life in Devon over the last half century.

http://www.chrischapmanphotography.co.uk

Speedy recovery and Best Wishes Mike, KBO

@Mani Sitaram: it's on the (or near) the northern edge of Dartmoor, in Devon. Those cottages look beautiful, but they cost a fortune and as a result only 'off-comers' can afford them. Result? - the local population (often unskilled, not well educated and often working in minimum wage jobs) tend to be concentrated in social housing, or short-term lets, in the towns. In winter a lot of those cottages will be empty because they're actually second homes. Facilities in the villages - post office, shop, even the pub - have been disappearing for years. There's a lot of quiet desperation and hopelessness in the beautiful English countryside.

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