It’s funny how the unexpected happens. Last night at this time, I’d kissed my healthy husband goodnight and waved him off for his weekly two hours of late-night pick-up hockey, and tonight he is climbing the stairs behind me with the help of a crutch, bruised and broken … literally. Apparently, in the midst of the game, his skate “caught an edge,” the ice was soft, but the boards were not, and he struck knee-first, fracturing his kneecap. In an exclusive interview (okay, with me), he said he knew as soon as he hit that it wasn’t good. I woke after 11 to the sounds of someone clumsily prowling the house, and had a smallish heart attack whilst confronting the “intruder” on the stairs. Exclusive photographs of the “shinny knee” below.
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My name is Carrie Snyder. I'm mother of four, writer of fiction and non-, dreamer, contemplative, mid-life runner, coach, forever curious. I'm interested in the intersection between art and spirituality. What if the purpose of life is to seek beauty? What if everyone could make art?