July 30, 2014

Will left me a note saying the first great assault-by-weed-whacker comes today, so yesterday I hurried to 62 to see what else I could save. Got a rose (it may be another Mr. Lincoln, but who has too much red?) and a cinnamon fern, went back for the two hart’s tongue ferns. As I was digging them up I ran afoul of another yellow jackets’ nest (or the same one grown imperially huge) and was stung repeatedly before I could pull the last fern from the ground. Somehow this attack didn’t infuriate me as much as the first one did, though like it, it smarted all night, and I still feel the stings this morning. I believe that I’ve raised my lifelong sting count by a half this summer alone.  Before I had quite got the re-planting done, an attack of gout roared up in my right big toe, an immense one, the kind where there is nothing to do but sit and writhe. Took the pills. Writhed. Moaned a little. Had to go to Ann’s for a meeting with a student about the Roman plays of Shakespeare and, figuring it wouldn’t hurt in one place more than another, I went. Forgot that it would be additional agony pressing the accelerator and the brake. Especially the brake. Prayed for the idiots in front of me to get away from the green light before I had to brake. The pills made me so groggy I hope I didn’t fall asleep talking to the bright and eager kid. Made it through the night. Sending my bit of Hungarian lace to my niece this morning.