I had a big fall on the cement walk outside of my apartment, and while I lay there offering samples of the sore parts of my anatomy to the waiting ambulance crew, I hear the voice of my son coming to visit me and saying “looks like she’s gone”; in other words “the old girl’s packed it in”!
I admit the whole scene was a farewell, complete with copious amounts of my blood (blue, of course) running from my head. He seemed annoyed when some of my vital body parts started to move.
I admit that my writing’s pretty bad today, but never mind, Margaret at the newspaper will decipher it better than I can.
Needless to say, I’m back on my pins again, with assorted aches and pains to prove it. The lump on my head is taking a long while to heal, hence the gibberish herewith, but I do have a little manure (human, that is) for my not so flourishing garden.
Ah, old age, you’re a real nasty piece of work, but there’s not much that can be done with it.