Friday, April 2, 2010


I just got home from the doctor's office and I have torn something in my knee (ACL maybe? Dr. Magnin took x-rays, said my bones look nice and strong, but I have a bit of arthritis in my knee, and she didn't like that it snapped when I hurt it.) so next week I get to see the orthopedist, and I have exercises to do and probably PT later. I don't have time for this! It hurts, I want them to make it better NOW so I can get back to walking and Wii Fit-ting and doing stuff around here. I'm already tired of RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation); I'm ready to take off the itchy Ace bandage and get moving, but I guess I have to spend at least today with my knee wrapped and up on the couch with an ice pack. Grrr. Stupid old body.

April 1--Grand Anse, Grenada. The kids thought of the bay off the beach at Grand Anse as their private pond. They learned to swim in its calm waters on the lee side of the island. Their moms brought them down for lunch when they were smaller and the babies napped away the shady afternoons when the soft clatter of the breeze in the palm fronds overhead was all the lullaby they needed. By the time they were all in school they were allowed to be there alone. The moms had spent years camped there watching and came to realize that they really did watch out for each other, so gradually they stopped coming every day. Wars were fought on those sugar white sands, pitched battles plucked from the pages of old adventure stories and their history lessons. The tales told by the eldest people in town, tales of pirates and slaves and cannibals all were fodder for their games. More than one of the mothers wished that their children tackled chores around the house with half the enthusiasm they had for their beach games. After the last of the winter storms that had backed into Grand Anse bay roiling the water and sending waves washing further up the beach than anyone could remember, Julie and Leo were scouting the beach for anything worthwhile when they found a gray canvas bag half-buried in the sand above the usual high-tide line. They dug it out and with difficulty they opened the straps holding it shut. Neither of them was prepared to find the bag full of plastic bags filled with American money banded in thick bricks. "It's gotta be drug money," Leo said. "Yeah," said Julie, "but if we turn it in they probably won't give it back to us, and if we don't the police might think we're drug dealers." "Or that our parents are."

Sitting hurts. I think I'm headed for the couch and a date with an ice pack and a Motrin.

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