A Tale of Timorous Terror and Pedestrian Politics
Waking up this morning was an almost terrifying experience. As I floated up from dreamland to what passes as reality in my vicinity, I noted that my sheet and blanket were slowly retracting -- moving downward -- by themselves! For several shockingly slow microseconds, my slumber-saturated consciousness stood half-dressed in the dark hallways of my mind screaming: “Ghost, arrrghh!”
Running footsteps echoed from behind me, and I was spun about to face...right-brained me -- in a frumpy and tattered, striped and worn bathrobe. He slapped my face: a mask that somehow simultaneously shouted “terror” and “vacancy.” As his hands gripped (painfully) my shaking shoulders, he admonished me in his annoyingly avuncular voice. Apparently, I’d propped my now aching, injured leg on a large pillow last night, and had kicked the pillow off the bed in my sleep. The plummeting pillow pulled my covers from the bed. No para. Merely normal.
Underwhelmed, I woke up and voted.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Mr. Workhard and the Staples
Yesterday and today were fine examples of late autumn wonder days. Especially when the thermometer was flirting with 70℉ in the early afternoon. Never one to sit inside when the great weather calls, I spent most of yesterday and a big part of today out in the garage, getting ready for the long winter days when I wished I had cleaned up the space and made room for the inevitable accumulation of cold weather detritus and quick access to snow removal tools.
Yesterday was a good day. Marian was gone to a bowling tournament and I had time on my hands, so I could slowly begin to organize and put away tools, parts, and supplies I left out because I was too tired to clean up when making emergency repairs. Cardboard boxes tend to find their way into the garage until I can break them down and either burn them or package them for trash pickup (if they are plastic coated).
Since yesterday was a success, I thought today had to be better because I had Marian’s help. We were really clicking along, boxing stuff to give away, bags to recycle, items to finally trash, and storing items for next summer’s garage sale. Then came that awful moment when we have to wiggle the bicycles into the basement corner for the long cold winter. Marian rushed to open the back door to the basement and I (slowly) started to walk Amanda’s bike from the garage to the back yard. Easy, right?
Maybe Not So Easy…
I carefully kicked up the kickstand, pushed her bike out into the road and maneuvered it around the car and walked it up the left side of the driveway. I forgot about her tricky kickstand, which decided to suddenly drop downward and hooked the hem of my jeans, nudging me off-balance on the edge of the driveway (over the culvert), and tipping me over. I did a slow motion fall into the ditch next to the drive, with the bike attached to my right leg.
This would have been embarrassing enough, but after I disentangled from the bike and managed to stumble back to my feet, I felt something wet trickling down my right leg. A quick look down confirmed a couple of large patches of red forming on my jeans and turning my white sock a very pretty pink. Great! I managed to get a scratch on my leg!
I slowly lumbered into the house and to the bathroom, so I could clean up the mess and put a bandaid on the scratch. Further observation showed both steady bleeding and substantial swelling on my right shin. This was not good. So I bellowed for Marian advising that I needed help to clean up the scratch and see if a larger bandage was needed.
Marian took one look, became rather pale and suggested a quick visit to the emergency room at Aspirus Keweenaw. So, I stuffed a wad of toilet paper into my pink sock and off we went...she drove.
A Big Surprise
I climbed up on the emergency room gurney and pulled up the right leg of my jeans. After the nurse rinsed my leg, I had my first unobstructed look at my “scratch.” There must have been something very sharp on that kickstand, as it neatly sliced through my skin to open a nasty looking wound on my right shin. Dr. Patton and the emergency room nurse (whose name, to my never-ending shame, I cannot remember) cleaned up my wound, massaged out forming hematomas, and stapled it closed. The scratch was 8 inches long and required 18 staples to close.
My right shin now looks like it has an 8 inch zipper on it. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go elevate my zippered leg…
Posted by Mick at 10:43 PM