I was going to make a crack about Wounded Knee but thought better of it. . .

Hey, now! You want to hear the latest? I've sprained my knee!

It is exquisitely painful and it turns all of life's humdrum activities (like getting dressed and feeding quats) into a real adventure!

I have no idea how it happened, but I think it involved my fat quat Pandy Bear sitting on me.

For two days I did what guys do -- ignored it. It kept getting worse. Finally on Sunday I thought to myself, "Do you think. . . ?"

Obviously, the answer is, "not much, and not very deeply."

I checked in with "Dr. Google." They said not to walk on it.

Riiiiiiiiight! I live alone in a house the size of the Ponderosa with five hungry quats! My bedroom is about a mile and a half from the kitchen. Don't walk on it!

So I spent Sunday in bed as much as I could, with an ice pack on my knee. This did help -- I can now walk without screaming. Can't remember the last time I spent a day reading. I did ultimately become engrossed in the book, but at first it was just frustrating. I have so much to do around the house, and it all involves getting down on my hands and knees. Also, I cope pretty well with grief as long as I keep busy. Lying in bed reading is a nice thing to do, but it's not the same.

The temptation to drink during the day was as strong as it has ever been. Pain killer and grief-number. But I've been beating that temptation down long enough that it's getting easier. Just read and sip on your Ginger Ale, idiot.

The book was The Last Greatest Magician in the World, a biography of Howard Thurston and, around the edges, an account of his mild rivalry with Harry Houdini.Thurston was by all indications hands down the better magician, so why don't we remember him? As Walter B. Gibson, creator of The Shadow and editor of a magic magazine, puts it, "All of Thurston's publicity was aimed at getting people into the theater; all of Houdini's publicity was aimed at creating a legend."

Thurston was welcoming and urbane on the stage -- but what a life he lived! He was a con artist, a hobo, a carnival barker, a rough character; it's doubtful that anyone in the packed houses of his later career dreamed that he was a more colorful person than they imagined.

On Saturday, the crew from Auction House number two came around to "clean me out." The less said about that, the better. I limped around the periphery, and didn't let them in the house, but even having them  pick just from from the shop and barns, it still felt like an assault. They tried to take my roller skates from my childhood! Plus, I was in pain. There were a lot of tears this weekend. Glad to get back to work. Especially since the boss is out!

Oh, and the car? Yeah, it was the battery. That guy from Triple A needs to get a new tester!

-- Freder.