A Summer Break

I am currently laid up in bed with a possible torn Achilles’ tendon after falling a few days ago.  I get an MRI on Tuesday.  Other than that I am fine.

I don’t seem to get hurt that much in the remote backwoods - where I am keen to consider my lack of youth.  It is only in my own house where I tend to forget about the dangers lurking in the dark, and to go prancing about in socks on hardwood floors, and slide off steps, become airborne like a dove, and to reintroduce myself again to my wine cabinet as I fly by, which I grab to stabilize my arrival into the downstairs dining room.  Lucky for me, the floor broke my fall.  Alas, all I suffer is a torn tendon and a few scrapes.  I am very glad that I am not my wine cabinet, for it is now totaled.   

Today is Thursday.  Zeke lay at my feet, and I celebrate my sixty-sixth birthday in bed, leg wrapped in ice, my head propped up on a few pillows, and feeling older.  The good news is that this has happened to us at a good time.  It is mid-July 2022 in one of the driest summers I can remember, and neither Zeke nor I do very well hiking in the heat.  The whole world seems to be in the swelter of the sun.  At the time of this writing, my publisher says the temperature has topped the thermometer at 41C (104F) in London, a record.  That’s bad news for the hikers, at least the ones who are sane.

It is writing that restores my soul - my body will have to wait until Tuesday. So, instead of going outside and risking further damage to my injury, I will lie here and reflect, and start a blog.