An Odd Sort Of Day

After promising to be a Good Girl and look after my knee, of course, I didn't. Yesterday, some bizarre will o' the wisp invaded my body and convinced me to vacuum the house. Then I tottered around to the Gallery to relieve Michael and ended up in the shape of a corkscrew, due to misguided attempts to keep the knee in mid-air on a chair. Epic fail.

As a result, my knee was shuddering in pain when we set out for Friday night at the pub. On our way home, we encountered Julie and her excellent husband Dave-the-Brave on their evening constitutional. After dark, they go to the gym. And then they walk back home.

Julie is my kind of holy roller. She enjoys a drink, a decent expletive and is never backward about coming forward. I refer to Dave as the-Brave due to the force of nature our Jules is. She also is an astonishing layer-on of hands.

We ended up having them in for impromptu drinkies. They were suitably impressed with the outdoor progress and were equally impressed with the warmth of our house.

Julie worked on my knee. For the first time in the day, I had some tangible relief. And she also removed some lurking demon from inside Michael. As whatever it was, vanished. His eyes flew open like an extremely startled chook and then he instantly relaxed. Ladies and gentlemen, we all witnessed this moment.

Feeling slightly shell-shocked, we bade Julie and Dave goodnight and retired to bed. However, in my delight at leaving hospital and feeling suitably invincible, I learnt last night that I wasn't. Invincible.
Bollocks.

After an exceedingly ordinary night in terms of sleep and comfort, I decided I needed to stay put. On the bed. For a day. Holy cow! I can't remember the last time I was on a bed for an entire day, excluding hospitals of course.

The morning did not begin well. As I sat up, my left nostril decided to haemorrhage all over the bedsheets. Great start. Now I had a left leg the size of Babar the Elephant, suspicious splodges of blood everywhere on my bottom sheet and a whole day to fill.

Fortunately, my beloved husband left me with necessary amusements. Laptop - check. Phone  -check. Camera - check. Tea - check. TV magazine - check. He then disappeared to open the Gallery.

And so, I filled the day. I only left my exalted position in bed to attend to ablutions or grab a bite to eat. Plus, one comedy of errors taking the dogs outside as Michael was busy with Gallery guests.

I caught up on the day's news. I checked my e-mails at leisure. I booked a campsite in July in the Murchison. I followed the ongoing angst regarding the Middle East. I discovered that the United States had experienced two school shootings in the last week. I shared some appallingly politically incorrect feeds to lighten the mood of extremism.

Then I pondered the current world situations.

What has happened to gentleness, to thoughtfulness, to compassion, and to consensus? Why does the world seem such an angry place?  What can we, as individuals, do to lessen this paranoia, this fear, this fury?

If we are all going to survive, in this time of upheaval, not to mention climate change, how can we be more giving and less taking?

And then I remembered the Desiderata. I love these words. I love the message. Surely, surely, we can find a creed that fills the void between all religions.

When was the last time that we went "Placidly amid the noise and haste..."