Oddments

In search of story

February 18.21: Coping

13 Comments

One of these is my muse, dear reader. Standing stodgily and stupidly on the frozen pond. Hanging out with someone else’s muse, no doubt, both determined to be useless.

So, uninspired, I will write about what is.

Snow and more snow. Cold and more cold. A world in pandemic, a country in turmoil, and, at the moment, with millions battered by the weather with no power, and some without running water.

Monday the winter storms barreled into Indiana. In my best swaddled shmoo look, I shoveled the first wave of snow, which was fluffy and light, and, having congratulated myself on that, I decided to start the car and let it run a few minutes. I was walking in the garage when one of my booted left feet found something to slip on and went its own way. I grabbed the car and went down in one of those memorable slow-motion falls. It was not a serious fall. Except. Except that my cheekbone hit the rim of a plastic flowerpot. The crack heard ’round the world.

This in a monster winter storm. I was scared.

My son was able to get me to Urgent Care the next day. Nothing is broken, but if you are picturing an old lady with half her face the color and shape of an eggplant, you’d be close.  An occasional Tylenol is in order.

The past twelve months have taken a toll on us all. We’d be foolish to understate that. Everything that happens to us right now hits hard and cuts deep. We all wish our muses would bring us magic words to make things better for each other. Failing that, we can only write about being human.

 

 

 

 

13 thoughts on “February 18.21: Coping

  1. Love the photo because I’ve been wondering what those missing muses looked like. 🙂 Very sorry about the fall but glad that a Tylenol and some time will heal it. It’s also interesting that there are slow motion versus fast falls. I can picture each vividly. You hit the nail on the head – after 11 months of this pandemic it seems like everything, big or small, “hits hard and cuts deep.” I’ve never been known for my patience yet every time an authority figure opens his/her mouth they tell us to have patience. The United Nations Committee Against Torture banned the use of solitary confinement for more than 15 days straight. By my calculations we’re on day 324. No wonder our left booted foot has a mind of its own. 🙂 Stay well, heal quickly, and don’t do any more fancy dancing with gardening supplies. 🙂

    • Have I mentioned it hurts to laugh? But I couldn’t help it at your last comment. Yes, no more cheek-to-cheek dancing with flowerpots! And I bet you are right about that other muse — it’s yours! The two of them had better not be expecting any bonuses this year. Your observation about solitary confinement is right on the mark. This entire time has been so unnatural that we are in constant rebellion against it whether we’re aware of it or not. Patience? Mighty low on that commodity.

  2. Sorry about your slip up. But you’re not making public appearances these days anyway. And I’m glad nothing was broken. You’ll be white again soon.

  3. You’ve got that right about public appearances, but even a private look in the mirror gives me a bit of a start. Wearing the mask serves a whole other purpose now!

  4. I love your muse! Indeed, the past near-year has been such that no one (and nothing) need add further misery. I’m so glad you’re okay(ish!) but winter is not done with most of us, so I’ll be wishing you a neighbor who shovels!

    • Thanks! You’re so right about how the past year needs no more misery. And certainly more winter ahead, which I’ll be taking one careful step at a time!

      • And I’m sorry you got hurt — I meant to say that FIRST. It’s very scary to get hurt right now, and it’s so sad-making — as if one must thoroughly live one’s orphanhood! 🌷Stay safe!

  5. I’m sorry to learn about the encounter with that rude flowerpot. Thank goodness for urgent care and no broken bones. May you heal quickly and be visited by a far more congenial muse.

  6. Oh no!!! I can imagine hearing a crack would be very frightening. I’m not going to say ‘at least…’ but instead am muttering ‘mean old snow!’ and am wishing you the speediest of recoveries. I suspect that might be my muse next to yours. I count myself lucky to have plenty of pictures to put out when words are not forthcoming. It’s nice to imagine the stories our muses are telling each other, one neck up, the other down, turn by turns, prattling away even though we can’t hear them.

    • You’ve got that right: they’re out there prattling away to each other instead of to us. I am sure they’re enjoying taunting us, and I most ungenerously hope their feet are really cold. Thank you for the imprecation against the snow; that is therapeutic. My face is a veritable kaleidoscope, changing colors by the minute, it seems. I’m thinking of writing a book titled “Fifty Shades of Bilious.”

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