The cool weather has inspired me. Having not written a blog for weeks now, a pleasant evening walk with our dog Bella has given me renewed energy. Perhaps a new book is in the mix???
There's something else, too. I have a dreadful story to share.
It began as a perfect day for my beloved husband, Jamey Propst on Lake Guntersville in Alabama. Perfect for HIM, no sun, dark clouds, misting rain.
We should have known.
"I'm ready," said the Man of My Dreams as he jumped into the water and signaled our nephew to bring his boat around to the front of the dock.
I tensed up as the crowd of family and friends gathered in anticipation of Jamey's magnificent return to his former glory as an ace water skier.
(Only later did I discover he'd been lifting weights for weeks in preparation.)
Jamey gave us a thumbs up and curled his fingers around the rope.
"GO!" he commanded.
Less than five seconds later, he shouted, "I'm done."
Indeed, he was.
Our niece's husband is trained as a physical therapist. Thank goodness. His news: "It's not serious, Uncle Jamey, BUT you'll be in a great deal of pain."
That was Sunday. Jamey moaned and groaned, packed his body with ice, and limped about like Chester on the old TV western "Gunsmoke."
**For readers decades younger than are we, my poor husband's gait looked as though he had flaming rods up both legs. It only gets worse.
As much as Jamey hates pain, he hates even more being bored. So on Monday, while I was occupied in our room, my extremely uncompliant patient escaped my jail-keeper's watch and got on his computer. Well, that is, he attempted to do so. Actually he missed the desk chair all together and crashed down onto the floor injuring his shoulder The man howled like a wounded moose.
I ran to the scene. It's a full blown miracle I didn't plunge down the basement steps and kill myself.
The headline would have read: "Two elderly people were found dead in the basement of their Sandy Springs home. Police are investigating the mysterious circumstances. The husband was so badly hurt, the late wife is considered the primary suspect."
In a scene like this, sometimes it helps to laugh. Once I saw Jamey was breathing, I did. He didn't.
Long story short, we ended up at St. Joseph's Hospital where a very kind and patient staff diagnosed the Man of My Dreams with a severely pulled groin muscle along with a badly sprained shoulder. We came home with pain pills, a walker (which he plans to sell on Ebay), and a gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
The lesson to be learned here is people can be too old to ski, especially, if they've not practiced the sport within the last twenty years.
I may have to chronicle our disaster in a sequel to "Creola's Moonbeam." However, fans of the Newberrys would never believe Beau tried to water ski (he's much too wise) or that Honey laughed at her beloved's tumble. Honey Newberry is much more compassionate than am I.
Then again, Honey isn't married to Wile E. Coyote.