Journal of a Living Lady #164

 

Nancy White Kelly

 

By experience, I have earned certification in the Nancy Kelly School of Ungraceful Falling. Yesterday I ventured to the local flea market without Buddy. My spirit of adventure was goading my sluggish body. I was feeling unusually spunky.  Buddy was away helping a friend, so I took advantage of his absence and slipped away.

 

Flea Marketing. It is one of my favorite things to do, or used to be, before cancer limited my personal freedom. The longer I am away from the combo, ultra-potent chemotherapy treatments, the more confident I become. I took a chance at being normal.

 

In the rush to snatch up a twenty-five cent bargain, I tumbled in the gravel,  Several nice people rushed to assist me to my feet. Thankfully, nothing was hurt except my pride. Most likely my oncologist would have given me a severe tongue lashing had she been present, “No wheelchair. No walker. No cane. Hmnh! What were you thinking?”

 

Actually my favorite walking cane, a crystal clear one that looks like glass, has disappeared. I checked with the dog, the cat, and the parrot. They all say to ask Mr. Dusty, our banty rooster. The trio insists that since Mr. Dusty crows in some mysterious high-pitched language and indulges in secretive chicken scratching, surely he is the cane thief. As I write, Mr. Dusty is cock-a-doodle-doing.  No doubt he is bragging about making my walking cane a see-through roosting branch. If only I knew where.

 

I’d also like to know where he is hiding Mrs. Dusty. If she is sitting, that tiny hen is successfully camouflaged in a remote hide-away. We haven’t seen her for days. Perhaps Mr. Dusty roosts at night on the sturdy cane near her. We can only hope that one of these days soon, Mrs. Dusty will come out of hiding, strutting my cane like a baton, leading a new parade of little chicks.

 

 

 

nancyk@alltel.net

for May 16, 2002