On Saturday, my friend Jan called me up to see if I'd like some plums from her garden to take to the Food Pantry on Monday. Sure! That would be a treat for the clients.
When I didn't hear back from her by Saturday evening to make plans for me to collect the plums, I vaguely wondered what was going on.
Yesterday morning she called from the hospital to tell me she'd fallen out of a pear tree and shattered both heels. She's awaiting surgery. Her doctor called this "a life-altering event," which she didn't want to think about, and I don't blame her. We're the same age, and we share the same views on changing our behavior just because we're older. To hell with THAT.
She was surprisingly--heroically, I thought--matter-of-fact. Her husband was going to pick the plums and leave them by their front door for me to pick up. No point inviting yellowjackets into her garden by leaving windfalls. She's thinking she'll be on sick leave from her job for awhile, but can probably work from home.
During the fracas with the young Catholic woman blogger over my generation and their views on Planned Parenthood, someone left a comment on that blog referring to me and my cohort as "elderly ladies." That stopped me cold. But a couple of weeks ago I tripped going upstairs, banging up and cutting my right pinkie and and denting my laptop. My friend Claudia fell taking ice skating lessons and broke a bone in her arm. You see where this is going. Jan's husband has forbidden her to climb any more trees. Ugh.
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