The Fall In The Garden

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Clarence, the free-spirited cat who lives with our friends in Piriapolis. Look closely and you can see that he knows what is about to happen to me.

One would not be too far out of line to imagine that the bee event yesterday was what they call “enough excitement for one day”. One would be wrong, but one would be forgiven for one’s imagination.

Indeed. Warring factions of what gave an impressive imitation of millions of bees, trapping us inside our house until sunset, was definitely an image for the ages. In a rather – cough – pedestrian attempt to celebrate this landmark moment in being-able-to-walk-around-our-property-without-being-attacked-and-stung-to-death, Geoff and I took it upon ourselves to stroll out front and chit-chat about dreams we had for gardens around the entrance.

As we were thusly hob-knobbing, I arrived at that chapter in my Inventory Of Great Ideas where I wanted nothing else other than to recruit Geoff to my way of thinking about a sound-muting wall on the east side of the house. To that end, I very carefully strode over to where this wall would tie into the side of the house. Then, feeling quite equal to the inspiration, I faced my audience and, with a sweeping dramatic gesture, I demonstrated where the line of the wall would progress.

This is going swimmingly! I thought to myself. My presentation is WINNING! I have him eating out of my hand! The wall is as good as built!!

And, with that, I swooped both arms upward in one last, grand orbit, striding as I did so in the direction of this to-be wall. I strode so accurately, in fact, that I strode right into a hole.

Strode and crashed.

Readers familiar with ‘method acting’ philosophy will readily picture my commitment at this point. I was, in a word, “on”. Outside of the beauteous concepts I was weaving together into what could only be described as pure enlightenment, there was nothing. And why should there be?!?

So, when my feet landed on the air that filled the six inches, plus or minus, of empty space that could fairly also be referred to as a hole in the ground, it was the work of a moment, nay! a micro-moment, for them to pass smoothly through that six inches.

In what I like to think of as ‘no time at all’, I was OTG (on the ground). No big deal, really. Was it beneath the dignity of me, in my new pos-ish as Purveyor of Truth & Beauty? Of course it was. But we ought not to waste the priceless time that The Universe has seen fit to place in front of us. Rather, we would be wiser to use that time to ask ourselves, “Was any harm done?”

And in so asking, we would be doing the responsible thing, drawing ourselves ever-closer to that Ultimate Truth where Perfect Sound-Muting Wall-ness combines with Solace-Inducing Fact That No Animals Were Harmed In The Making Of This Moment. I was, you likely have guessed, un-harmed.

Or so it would seem, anyway! Again, you would be forgiven for staking out this pos-ish.

Freshly released from the Jaws of Disaster, we brushed me off and continued our yard strolling. A bush here, a mini wall there. Before we knew it, we had amazed even ourselves with our splendiferous plans and in the course of so-doing, we strolled and strolled and strolled. Not vast distances or anything, but significant walking. Later, I made dinner.

All this without a single hint of any physical problems that might be attributed to the fall. I would even go so far as to say, not even a half a hint.

Then, darkness settled around our little cottage. We ate the duly-prepared dinner, even began to digest same. Given the stress of the thread from earlier involving the little honey-makers, there was no shame in aiming relatively early to bed. It would be pleasant to read for a while before sleep. And, with drilling set to commence early the following morning, it would even seem wise to follow the old adage.

These underlying layers of logic in tow, yours truly climbed the stairs to the tower and pulled the pin on The Usual Sequence: brush teeth, take medicine, wash face – doubtless you know the drill. Midway through this little dance, the narrator was, however, somewhat startled to detect a certain something amiss in her left foot. Hmmm, thought she, Odd for a ‘Charlie-horse’ to introduce itself now, independent of any detectable cause, no? 

In short order, the mild cramp gained momentum, triggering a scowl of consternation on our heroine’s brow and casting a shadowy je ne sais quoi or pall over the proceedings, not unlike waking up to an uninvited flock of geese on one’s lawn hours, or minutes, before a scheduled outdoor event where guests will expect to wander un-smudged by geese-ly droppings.

In fact, with each passing unit of time, let us say minute, these pains in the foot swelled, to, erm, borrow a phrase. Demanding attention, they fastened their grip on the foot and refused all reasonable requests to cease and desist. Within roughly twenty of these so-called “minutes”, the pain was roaring like a raucous gathering of, let’s say, agitated lawn-geese. Reading became impossible. Ice, in the form of some frozen tomato juice, was impossible to apply – too painful for anything whatsoever to touch the foot! In the end, even the blanket was too heavy. No, in the end, it was the air itself that proved too heavy.

It was time to put our Uruguayan health insurance through its paces at the local emergency room – surely it was broken (the foot, not the insurance).

Alas, in the end, it turned out that the foot was not broken (we learned that the technical term for this is “not broken”), though it certainly gave an Oscar-worthy performance. The insurance, on the other hand, came closer. This thing, of which I have written hence, where we are not married in the eyes of Uruguay, reared its ugly head again because the names on my insurance card and on my identification card – um – differ.

I may have glossed over the part where I had to crawl on my forearms and knees from the bed to the front door (let us not forget the tiled, spiral stairs that mark the midpoint on that little obstacle course!), be air-lifted into the office chair in order to be wheeled from the front door to the car, and somehow manage to get into the car itself – all the while shaking uncontrollably from some weird reaction to the extreme pain (shaking so hard that I couldn’t even drink water without splashing it all over my top).

I may also have glossed over the waiting. Waiting while they looked around for someone who spoke English. Waiting while they searched for a key to the x-ray room, Waiting while they did a shift-change (as in: start explaining and waiting all over again).

And, finally, I might also have glossed over the part about how it was around 2 in the morning when we finally got back home and to sleep. One is reminded that workers would be coming early in the morning! So, yeah, not much in the way of sleep.

Credit where it’s due, though. I suspect that fatigue was a key ingredient in the rambling nature of today’s blog entry. You have my deepest apologies.

 

 

 

 

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