In other news, my knees have just about healed up. In other, other news, my knees had something to heal up from. When I visited New Jersey for work, I'd figured I could drop in on my sister-in-law's and her family the morning I was scheduled to fly out. (They had plans which kept them away the weekend I was over, and evenings just didn't work out.) That was fine for seeing my sister-in-law and my niece. My brother I wouldn't have seen at all except for my flight's cancellation and rebooking the next day and at that I only sort of saw him at all, another story.
One thing I'd looked for while on honeymoon was potential souvenirs, although the only really good ones I found were for my nieces and my father (I found another for my other brother but I have to admit it's not very good). For my elder niece, I found at the Utrecht Railway Museum --- the one that promises ``You Will Believe'', for all Dutch children who can't believe in the existence of either trains or museums --- a station master's stick, with the green and red discs and the end to say whether it was safe to go. A stick that tells people what they can do? Perfect for my niece. My father, mother, sister-in-law, and brother agreed.
My niece agreed too, and wanted to play train, with me as the train. So as she flashed green I chugged my way forward on hands and knees, and at red I stopped and scratched or arched my back or otherwise tried to make the pretense of me as locomotive absurd. I haven't run around on my knees in a living room in a long time, long enough to forget what rug burns this turns up. I didn't think they were that bad, but my sister-in-law was horrified and insisted on cleaning them with more than just soap and water (maybe justified) and putting a (Kermit) Band-Aid on the left knee. bunny_hugger was similarly horrified the next day to see my right knee and what of my left knee was outside the bandage's area.
Still, barely a month on, you can only see where my knees were rug burned if you look at my knees, so that's healing nicely.
Trivia: The earliest uses of ``minx'' (as in the disparaging term applied to a woman), dated to 1542, define it as a pet dog, and the Oxford English Dictionary holds it to be a contraction of the term of endearment ``minikins'', from Middle Dutch, ``minnekijn, minnekin'', meaning ``sweetheart'' or ``darling''. Source: Semantic Antics: How And Why Words Change Meaning, Sol Steinmetz.
Currently Reading: When You Were A Tadpole And I Was A Fish: And Other Speculations About This And That, Martin Gardner.