It is dawn. Mark is asleep but I have been awakened by pain. I had actually considered buying insurance for this trip. Probably will next time.
I had so much in mind for these 11 days and now it will be simply scenic drives for the foreseeable future.
Yes, I have pain pills, but I take them sparingly because one very quickly builds a tolerance to codeine.
Mark is fetching and nursing - something, I'm sorry to say, at which he has a lot of experience.
At least I was still able-bodied for the MFA, one of America's truly great museums. Come for the John Singer Sargent. Be amazed by the Jamie Wyeth. Mark was gobsmacked by the latter, thus we made the exit through the gift shop and grabbed the exhibition book, adding serious pounds to the luggage.
I am blue. Mountain hikes and beach combing plans gone. Historical walks? Nope. Getting old sucks. I'm not saying I fell because I'm old. I fell because I walk fast and don't look out for obstacles. But a twenty-something would recover in a snap. My wrists will still be aching at Thanksgiving.
Paul Revere or Jack Black?