The Ring has captured motion at the front door. It’s 5:30 a.m. Amazon is already on the move bearing gifts, like a compression sleeve for my knee. I measured, but I think it’s still a tad too small. I don’t think my thigh is supposed to bulge over the “anti-slip silicone grip.”
I see my doctor Friday for part two of my annual physical. Part one involved 200 tubes of blood—okay, maybe just 8 or it might have been a dozen—some of which went to the local lab and the rest to the ClevelandHeartLab. The PA administered one of those mini-mental exams where you’re given three words that you repeat back after you talk about other stuff. I still remember them—captain, garden, picture. I use a memory crutch with those things, so I pictured Captain Jack Sparrow standing in a garden holding a picture of the Black Pearl. She claimed I repeated the words correctly, but I can’t be certain I didn’t say “pirate, garden, ship.” Also, I had to draw the time on an old-fashioned clock face. She did a hearing test, measured my grip strength—and my BMI. Yikes.
Anyway, my doctor will do her thing and share all the results, and hopefully I’ll pass for another year. My plan is to get the swelling in my knee to shrink before I go, so I can say, “Well, I had a little trouble with my knee this week, but it’s all good now.” I have no idea what I did. A couple months ago, I fell, and a mighty fall it was—and my protein shake shot all over the sidewalk. I cracked my elbow, and it swelled a bit, and she sent me for an x-ray and then an MRI and to see Ortho who told me it was all good.
Bob the cat came for breakfast. Supposedly he has a family, but he shows up here regularly for two meals a day and just to hang out on the patio. A turtle slipped back into the lake when I stepped outside, and a tri-colored heron glared at me. I must have interrupted his breakfast plan. Beneath the pink sky, the neighbor’s tree hangs heavy with mangoes. They are moving in a week. They say a family from Belarus bought the house. I hope they don’t care much for mangoes.
That mango tree always reminds me of one of my favorite poems, “Problems with Hurricanes” by Victor Hernandez Cruz. We’re just two weeks short of the official start of the Atlantic H-word season. Here’s hoping it passes us by, but if it doesn’t, Cruz offers this advice.
"Don’t worry about the noise Don’t worry about the water Don ‘t worry about the wind— If you are going out beware of mangoes And all such beautiful sweet things."
Problem: I’m always drawn to beautiful, sweet—and sometimes dangerous--things.
Still,
Sandy
Beautiful Sweet Things
Nearly 8 months post-Ian, our pastor and family just moved back into their home. A week or so ago, Louis and I drove out to Ft. Myers Beach. So hard to see. I felt like I was visiting a place I've never been before. So much was completely destroyed.
Always enjoy reading. Hope your knee improves pronto.