Paul Tillich defined life as “one damn thing after another.” I like to think that he was smiling slightly as he said it. Rueful. So it was with us yesterday as the wheel of karma played games with us. It was to say the least, one damn thing after another.
It was our first full day of our winter retreat to the balmier climate of the south coast of Oregon. Lydia spent the day getting us settled in, nesting, a thing she does so well. Making the best of wherever we are. I did what I do best; I sat and read.
In the early afternoon I put together a turkey and rice soup with a broth thickened with carrots and onions. Once it was complete, we turned it off and walked to the beach. I say walked, though I stop often to catch my breath. It would be more accurate to say I paused my way to the beach. Lyd and Annie were patient with me.

The tide was out and, burgeoning rock hound that I am, I quickly began filling my pockets with any rock that came close to looking like an agate. Lydia took pictures. Annie sniffed sand. A slight fog hovered over the long grey beach. The waves a distant white storm of crashing water. It seemed the perfect winter day on the beach.

We started home, picking our way carefully over the small boulders that were the theoretical path. Reaching the sidewalk, we had only gone a few steps when Lydia fell, face down on the gravel. She lay still. As I reached down to her, she said she was ok. (True or not, we all say that at first.) I helped her up. She was shocked and embarrassed, not seriously hurt, not bleeding. We took a few moments to gather ourselves. At our age there is nothing as frightening as having your partner suddenly fall to the ground. A few bruises is a best case scenario. We headed for home, me frequently pausing to catch my breath, her limping and cradling the arm she had fallen on. We must have been a sorry sight.

We arrived at the RV only to find that the rocks in my pocket had bent door key! Trooper that she is, Lyd climbed through the front cabin to let us in. (Are you remembering what Tillich said?) Once inside, we began to assess Lyd’s injuries. She had a huge, bulging bruise on her forearm, she had a swollen hand rapidly turning purple and seemed to have jammed her middle finger. We began icing her bruises and catching our breath.

It was early still, but I suggested that aspirin, a hot shower and pajamas after would be therapeutic. She agreed.

Some of you may remember from my previous post that I had run over the hose bib in the adjacent site. Lydia was two minutes in to her shower, when the plumbers arrived to fix the break. They shut off the water. She was now cold, wet, bruised, and unencumbered by clothes.
Enquiring of the plumbers, they smiled, waved, and said the water would be back on in 15 minutes.
I do not know if I have ever seen anything as sad as Lydia, wrapped in a Boise State blanket, towel over her wet head, sitting on the bench, waiting for the water to return.
Ultimately, the water returned, she showered, had a splint put on her finger and ate some soup with crusty Italian bread. The soup may have been the best part of the day.

Post Script
Lydia woke this morning after a solid night of sleep. Though sore and bruised, she is well, and even smiled ruefully at the description of her waiting for the water to come back on.

The Road