Sleepy Saturday

I have not so much as put away one single item of the scores sitting here and there in my house.

I rose at 6, made coffee, wrote for an hour, and then did whatever it is that I do when I should be working.  By 10:15 I had driven the two blocks to get gluten-free scones for my breakfast with Brenda.  Fifteen minutes later, I stumbled on Unbakery – Juicery’s broken sidewalk and pitched sideways into their driveway, box of scones skittering across the asphalt.

A grandmotherly-looking woman ten years my senior who had admired my tights leaped from her car, leaving it diagonal to mine, her young charge in the passenger seat with wide eyes.   She approached me from behind but I cautioned her that my legs could not bear weight from that position and asked her to come in front.  A jiffy later I stood on unsteady legs looking at my Good Samaritan, seeing for the first time that her polo bore the designation, “St. Luke’s Home Health Care”.  Great.  Just my luck, an over-ambitious septuagenarian with a nursing license.

You really should be using a walker, she admonished.

Don’t start with me — I did not say.  I thanked her profusely, waved to the boy in the car (grandson? client?) and sheepishly accepted my rescued box of scones.  I let her pull safely from the lot before following and driving to Brenda’s house, where a Bandaid and a cup of coffee just barely compensated for my discovery that someone had backed into the Prius and cracked the recently replaced bumper cover.

And so it goes:  My useless, lazy, sleepy Saturday.  I’m not complaining, though.  The scones were delicious, and Brenda gave me a book that she had bought to give me for a present, perhaps for Christmas, but which she thought might cheer me.  And it did.

It’s the first day of the thirty-fourth month of My [Interminable] Year [Almost] Without Complaining.  Life continues.


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