Busted!

Yesterday I tripped over an alligator.

Busted my left leg.

Appointment with Dr. Woody tomorrow.

Here’s how it happened:

While waiting for the galley proof pages of my fire history book to arrive, I got sick of my computer and did yard work to get outside into Florida’s clean, fresh air. I edged and mowed and pruned and moved garden flagstones…

And I tripped over the gator, a cement lawn ornament weighing about 50 pounds.

Back when preparing the yard for Tropical Storm Fay, I’d moved the gator into a nook where it wouldn’t blow away. And I forgot that I’d moved it. So when I went striding through that corner of the garden, I barked my shin on the gator’s open mouth.

I also kicked it hard enough to cut open a place on the top of my foot.

Suppose I can get a storm damage grant from FEMA?

Oh, they don’t give grants for stupidity.

So I limped inside to cool off—only to find our air conditioner is busted--again! Hotter in the house than outside—about 87 degrees. That’s dangerous . for the computer so I shut it down to avoid its overheating.

Decided to go outside again to clean the pool and cool off myself—only to find the pool pump busted.

Limped back inside to sit in my favorite living room chair—it’s busted too. My elbow has worn the arm’s fabric away, and the hole wallowed through the cotton batting to bare wood, which chaffs my elbow. Ginny’s favorite living room chair is busted too; a spring in the seat. Our kids say we should get rid of the chairs and buy new ones, but our chairs sag where we sag.

Besides, they fit our home décor.

So much is busted around here. Parting the Red Sea was fine for Moses, but the miracle of the Exodus that impresses me most is that during their 40 years wandering in the wilderness, God did not let the soles of the people’s shoes wear out.

At my age I feel just about everything around me is wearing out, getting busted, or just flaking away.

That’s as it should be.

Is there any valid reason I should keep a cement alligator in my yard?

Things are not as important as people.

Anyhow, with the A/C busted and the pool pump busted and the living room chairs busted…

Ok, so I’ll prop my gator-bitten leg up and watch tv…Almost time for Oprah.

The recliner/love seat in the tv room is—busted. The footrest on Ginny’s side will not come down; the footrest on my side, will not come up. Yet both backs recline part way at different angles and the seats twist.

Now Ginny and I are both robust people.

So, once we sit down to watch tv, we have a horrible time getting up out of that recliner. A horrible time…

Yet we often laugh like fools at our own antics and contortions as we try to get out of that love seat. We frail and huff and twist and wallow and laugh… There are worse places for a loving couple to get stuck than a love seat.

We remind me of an old joke from my truck-driving days:

This guy is telling his buddy about a new girl at the strip-tease club.

“You should see her. Her measurements are 48-26-34!”

“Wow. That’s impressive. What does she do in her act”.

“She crawls out on stage on her hands and knees and tries to stand up”.