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Nick Wyman's avatar

I loved the beachfront condo on the lake of fire during murder hornet season

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STEVE PETERMAN's avatar

As the author knows, and I think, some who read this wonderful blog, I destroyed my knee playing softball when I was 35, and have to do yoga pretty damn often or everything goes out of alignment (one leg is now slightly shorter than the other and I slowly get crippled and blah, blah, blah), but the accident wasn’t the worst day. That was several days later. Here’s why: When it happened, Susan was in New York on an important business trip and I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want to mess up her trip and the damage was done and she couldn’t have done anything anyway. I figured she’d find out when she got back and I’d have more information from consulting surgeons and I thought I was being both noble and, I’ll just say it, heroic. Well, she didn’t see it that way. She was pissed. Hugely pissed that I had not told her. But I was going to have to have major reconstructive surgery so she couldn’t really yell at me because I was clearly a wreck. So she kept it in until the morning I was to go to the hospital for the surgery, and while she was taking out the trash all the repressed anger jumped on her back with both feet and sent her into spasms that left her on the floor in agony. When her brother, Peter rang the doorbell to drive us to the hospital I was upstairs on crutches with my leg in an immobilizer. I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t answering the doorbell. I mean, she knew I was on crutches. So I hobble to the top of the stairs and call for her and I hear this weak, strangled, “I’m coming.” And then I see her crawling across the floor toward the door and struggling to reach up and open it. Peter looked at her on the floor and then me trying to work my way down the stairs and it was like the scene of the Confederate wounded and dying in “Gone With The Wind.” Which is a long way of saying, ya gotta be careful with repressed anger, ‘cause that can mess up your back, too.

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