More small, fun, beautiful. Sea lions and porpoises, dolphins and seals. No wind. Some sunshine. Dawn patrols, sunset surfs. Let’s surf every day in June! we said, thrilling to the consistency of spending hours in the ocean.
And then, an hour past sunset Wednesday night, while crossing a friend’s yard lit only by the flames in the fire pit, I failed to see a trench dug out for a future sidewalk. Down I went, skirt billowing, ankle twisting. The pain that arced up my fibula failed to subside when concerned friends pulled me to my feet. I sat back down. The host wrapped an ice pack around my ankle. That helped. The hostess brought ibuprofen. That helped, too, hours later, as I tried to sleep with my foot propped on a pillow (Rest, Ice, Compress, Elevate!). In the morning, no bruising, but still some swelling and tenderness. I missed a planned dawn patrol surf for my friend’s birthday. I caused the breaking of my and Nick’s surfing streak. Today’s better, but I can’t walk normally, won’t be able to pop up with nonchalance, so no dawn patrol – and the rest of the day is scheduled to be absorbed by work, Germany packing, 8th grade graduation.
I know a couple days of pain and restricted physical activity is so not a big deal, but losing any of the few activities on which my sanity depends? The balance is indeed precarious.
Spent hours at the beach last night chaperoning a high school party (last day of school!). Hanging out with teenagers who laugh and run around, hug and converse with intelligence and empathy, all sans the alcohol and attitude I felt so necessary at that age warmed me as much as the successful bonfire we’d built. I’d been worried we’d started with too few sticks, but some planning and attention turned a small blaze into a fire big enough to warm the whole crowd.