The Lost Weekend

It would be a nice few days, catching up with a few (a very few) jobs and culminating in a dinner the girls and I were giving on Saturday for our old friend John who was soon celebrating his 60th birthday.

The first sign that all was not well was on Wednesday when I went running downstairs to pull some laundry out of the dryer and throw in another load that was already washed. The dryer contained some warmish items but it was clear it had not been rotating. "It's the belt", I announced, but it was already past 5, so I would have to wait until next day to call my very efficient appliance man. And when I did call on Thursday, they told me he would be here between 3 and 5. Great. But he wasn't and when I called next day, it was the family emergency story. But he is worth waiting for, so I agreed to Monday.

During this period the weather was warming up, snow was beginning to melt slowly and I was thinking that spring was perhaps coming. I was glad to wake up early Saturday morning. I could drink coffee and read the paper before Ernie woke up and before I had to start my preparations for the evening. I looked outside. No paper, though I was delighted that no longer would we have to burrow under piles of snow. The porch was clear. So I made coffee, emptied the dishwasher and by that time, there was the paper. Out I went—and found myself flying across the porch. My right leg went out straight and my right arm knocked the porch bench into the burning bushes. What my left leg did, I am not sure, but it was kind of crooked. The whole porch was a sheet of invisible black ice, and too slippery to stand up. Where are the joggers and the dog walkers when you need them? So I grabbed the paper and crawled back into the house. I sat (on a towel: my rear end was wet) and read the paper until Ernie surfaced and then began to get ready for the dinner. Fortunately I had marinated the meat the night before and didn't have a lot to do, except peel potatoes, thanks to my girls who were bringing major contributions. We sat around after dinner talking until I couldn't take it any longer and crawled off to bed. John is a doctor: he understands. My daughters and sons-in-law did a perfect job clearing the table and stuffing the dishwasher. After a while I needed to go to the bathroom and got in a right old pickle when I managed to crawl into the bathroom but was totally unable to stand up to accomplish the object of my mission. Thanks, Ernie.

Timing again. I had to wait until yesterday to go to the doctor. She sent me to the hospital for an X-ray and I am hoping it is just a sprain. My ankle certainly feels somewhat better today, so all is right with the world. And then . . . Please, no!