In Dependence

How to go from super-strength to incapacity in the crossing of a finish line: run a half marathon with acute tendonitis in your achilles heel by telling yourself its just those quite new and not properly run-in running shoes pressing a bit, and the camber in the road going the wrong way. Upon crossing aforementioned finishing line in reasonable time, find nice St John Ambulance people for an ice pack, then leave all shame at the door as you try–unsuccessfully–to get up again and listen to them radio one of their famous ambulances for a lift to the doc and crutches.

Oh dear, housebound and having to enjoy my beloved but humble garden-on-the-steps from a removed angle. It does look nice from up here, but there's nothing like being close enough to see the pollen on the bumble bee's legs as it drinks. I do miss being down there, my patient space of idea and prayers alongside things that grow.

Yes, this is the latest drama going off in Lizzieland, though it feels quite lovely to sit down all day eating choc without being assumed lazy or greedy. Kind, kind friends and neighbours coming to cook supper and water the plants, and lessons in dependence and being in a lot, neither of which come easily.

Thankfully, I've had so many gorgeous offers of help I've almost had to invent things for people to do so they don't go away feeling unwanted! (It's amazing the looks of "alright suit yourself" you get when you try to suggest you don't need anything.)

Thank you friends, I'm on the mend again. By the way, if anyone is going to the shops I could do with some cake ingredients...


{Today's soundtrack: radio4 + 6music, for the company}