Why they take your driver's license away

My age caught up with me last week. I am still unclear as to how it happened, but I had a silly, no ridiculous, mishap on a 4-wheeler.  To begin the story, I must say that I met with a cardiologist who told me "You have absolutely nothing of concern going on with your heart, for your age (my absolutely most-hated phrase).  However, I would like to see you do some form of exercise at least four times a week to get your heart-rate up."  I determined that this meant walking down and up my 3/4 of a mile driveway, much of it up-hill both ways (and I am not kidding).  So, I walked to the mailbox.  I saw there was mail, and a fair amount, so I decided to walk home and get the car.  However, the thought occurred to me (certainly not a case of divine inspiration) that because gasoline is now over $4 a gallon I should take a 4-wheeler. This is where I can easily lay blame on my husband for what happened next. 
The vehicle available was not one I was familiar with:  it required shifting gears with one's foot, not hand.  My husband quickly explained what he thought was sufficient information and I was off down the field.  On the way down I began to worry about having to shift into reverse.  For those of you younger readers, 'worry' is something that increases as you get older, it is often unfounded and irrational, but it can become a time-consuming past- time if fostered.
   Anyway, I decided that to avoid a shift into reverse I would make a wide turn at the base of the driveway and leave the ATV facing uphill while I retrieved the mail. All was going well until I realized as I approached the fence that I was not going to clear it.  Now the details get dicey... For some reason (a slight stroke?), I pushed on the gas instead of the brake and I careened into that fence with full force.  My cell phone which had been on the seat flew into the grass with such force that it came out of it's case.  I scraped up my hand, and later realized I had bruised a rib, injured the back of my heel, and hit my right arm.  I discovered the only saving grace for having fat arms--all that flesh cushioned the bones and I came away with a horrific bruise but no broken arm.
    Perhaps the most humorous part of all this was when I called P. to come and get me.  He was working in his wood-shop so I assumed he could drive down to pick up the injured.  Wrong.  I called him and said in a somewhat shaky voice, "Umm, I have had a little accident.  Could you come and get me?"  "Oh, well, you will have to wait--I am in the middle of gluing some wood together."  I  guess I hadn't realized that one should never get between a man and his glue. 
    I am sure if someone had been filming my actions we could have made some real money on "Funniest Home Videos".  Too bad.  I was able to use the event to my advantage for the rest of the evening, though; I had to rest, so P. did the dishes.       

Home Sweet Home

Somewhere in my lineage I have gypsy blood. I have a constant need to move on, to be somewhere other than where I am, and to experience new things. We just returned from being gone from home for over three weeks and already I am thinking about somewhere to go. Perhaps it is my parent's fault, because, as a child every year we would spend the summer somewhere in the country, usually in the east. We would drive across the country, rent a house or apartment, stay for about 8 weeks while my dad taught at the local university, and then head home again. That whetted my appetite for a change of scene. Also, in the first years of my marriage we moved every 2-3 years. I can't say I minded it because every place provided new experiences and new friends. I was younger then, and moving a household wasn't so daunting. It has been twelve years since we moved; high time to be on our way.
For the short term we have a trip planned to Africa, a road trip to Utah and a short visit to southern California (all in May!) My gypsy side is thrilled. Sometime in the spring ( it is spring until June, after all) I am planning some day trips, probably with my darling youngest daughter. Unfortunately (facetious here) she went and got a job and our outings will be governed by her work schedule.
There is just one enticement to coming home--my bed. I do love my bed, and it is great to return to it from time to time. I think my husband bought this bed to keep me somewhat tethered.
For now, though, I am extremely anxious because I have at least 6 weeks this summer with no travel plans. That must be rectified! I am sure this is fodder for psychiatric discussion, but so be it.