Social Insecurity

The disgruntled gardener is feeling crankier than usual. I took a spill yesterday while pruning a large shrub rose growing on fence off my driveway. I was on the bottom rung of a ladder when I fell over. On my way down I tried to save myself by grabbing hold of a rose cane. . . . Not smart. I made a crash landing on a rotten bench that broke in two and sent me on a bumpy ride on a pile of lumber stored next to it, that tipped over and rolled under my weight. I ended up on my back in the graveled driveway. I lay there gasping for air before hollering out in pain. . . . All in vain. The two men in my life, my husband and strapping son, were also laid up, IN BED, nursing colds and zonked out on Theraflu. My cries went unheard. The ever dauntless gardener, picked herself up, and hobbled indoors to run a hot bath, liberally sprinkled with Epson Salts.

Today, I feel like I fell off the top rung of the ladder. A re-newed flare up of arthritis doesn't help. My pain is exacerbated by the news, buzzing on the air and bouncing off the page. I'm an information junky and I don't like what I hear or what I read. . . . the Dubbya's continued assault on any and all social progress we have made in the last thirty, forty, fifty years is unconscionable. The Republican brand of democracy in Afganistan, and Haiti, ah, excuse me, wasn't Aristid a democratically elected president? Don't hear much about that lately. . . . Huh. If there is good in the world it seems heavily weighted by the bad. On the local front, and next to my worries about health care, I am particularly worried about the Dubbya's attempts to dismantle Social Security. I worry for my children. . . . . I swear by every creaky, arthritic bone in my body to fight this happening in any way I can. . . . Okay. Enough. Think April showers followed by May flowers.