I debated with myself whether I should post this or not, see'n's how I don't want to portray myself as a whiner, but thought it too funny to pass up; Ideations of a Jayhawker not being the place for personal issues, I decided my hunting blog would be the best spot to put it. Particularly since I haven't posted anything on here for months, even though I've eliminated several pests and modified my Ruger 10/22 with a lovely, true-folding stock and sling... but I digress.
Setting up air conditioners and gardening in the Kansan spring heat had only barely begun to affect me, but I had plenty of energy to burn. Mom and I were walking over to the barn, the one closest to the house, to determine the exact size of the strawberry bed I was to till up.
Remembering Dad had already gotten the loppers out to trim the vines off of the gate, though not getting them all, Mom asked Dad where they were. He said they were on that bale of straw over by the garden. I dashed off to get them at top speed.
Within feet of the bale was a rock, which I believe to be a local mineral which had been deposited in large quantities around our pond, over time breaking up into smaller pieces. I didn't see it.
Flying up the cement, the purpose and placement of which is still a mystery, I stepped on the rock with only part of my left foot, thus wrenching it. My foot, that is.
I fell more gracefully than I normally do, but I lay wallowing in freakish misery on the ground, clutching my pain-ridden leg.
Blinded by the sun, I held as still as my adrenaline-rushed body would allow.
Son4 walked over, so I told him to take Mom the loppers and to remember me fondly when I pass on. (Not really, but this story is seeming more and more lame as I write it.)
"Go on without me. Save yourselves! Water! One last drink before it's too late! There are only twelve rounds left in my clip and one already chambered, take it, but leave me my sidearm and a grenade!"
Okay, back to reality.
I'm fine now, but my ankle is swollen; it doesn't hurt at all, but I'm sure tomorrow will bring that awful stiffness I hate.
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Ouch! Sounds slightly painful!
ReplyDeleteSo, when is the funeral?
I don't know, no date has been set.
ReplyDeleteWhenever it is, I would like to have pipers playing "The Minstrel Boy", a jawharp quartet of "The Anvil Chorus", and a poem by the same person that did Obama's inauguration; I don't care what the subject of said poem shall be, but it should be something sobering.
Perhaps there should be a rendition of the
"Liberty or Death" speech afterwards, but that's very much optional.
I will pen a death poem for thee, kind sir. It was great knowing thee.... *sniff*
ReplyDelete;-P
Spencer
Thank youeth, dear friendth.
ReplyDeleteI could write a poem of great sorrow and sadness and post it on my writing blog. Then I could get your official approval.
ReplyDeleteThat would be fine!
ReplyDeleteSorrow, sadness, and suffering: just what I need to brighten my day. ;)
There. I wrote you a funeral dirge.
ReplyDeletehttp://storiesbyrebecca.blogspot.com/
Thank you, it's pretty funny!
ReplyDeleteLOL!
ReplyDelete