Down For The Count

Life is supposed to be easy, isn't it? In reality, what happens is often completely the opposite of easy. And that makes all the difference.

​Last weekend was going to be fantastic. We went over to St John on Saturday to get our island retail and chill fix. I visited the Bajo El Sol Art Gallery, bought a shirt at another shop at Mongoose Junction, then headed to the Sun Dog Cafe for a couple of beers and some lunch.

​We polished off a pain killer or two, had a bit of lunch/dinner, and walked on down to Cruz Bay to watch the water pass drift by with the passing hours.

A great start.

Sunday, we planned another lazy day. That's what Sundays are for, aren't they? They are for me.

After an expected slow, easy start, we headed down the bumpy road in our jalopy for a bit of beach time. We love to walk on Magens Bay Beach. It's somewhere between about three-quarters and seven-eights of a mile long.  You can stroll up and down the beach, watch people playing in the water, smell the grills, feel the thrills, and generally "smooth' off dem edges."

I usually make fun of Andrea for wearing her flip-flops walking on what has to be some of the softest sand in the world. She has a good reason though. A few years ago a bee got in the way of her foot and the dreamy soft sand and deposited its stinger in her foot. It morphed smiling, happy Andrea into frowning, grumpy Andrea in less than a second. 

This particular Sunday, I noticed and commented that she decided to go barefoot for the first time in a very long time.

We were well into our second length on the beach.  Andrea was keeping a proper lookout for bees, and I said I would keep an eye peeled too. We wouldn't want grumpy Andrea to show up again. It was such a beautiful day.

Things change so quickly.

I guess I was paying too much attention to the reggae music, or the sun on the water, or, maybe, I was just bouncing around in my own head. Our little walk was interrupted when I felt like I stepped on a piece of glass, or a needle, or something else sharp. We often find small chunks of this or that on the beach. We do our duty to keep the beach clean, but apparently, some people aren't as diligent.

This time it wasn't a misplaced pop-top, chard of glass, or sharp piece of coral. What I stepped on, was one a pesky little black and yellow buzzer. Those little beggars hurt. My only consolation was watching it writhe on the ground, unable to sting anybody else.

I managed to get the stinger out and hobbled down the beach. I'm pretty lucky. I'm not allergic to bees, and the sting wasn't all that bad. There was no swelling, and the pain went away relatively quickly.  Before too long, I was skipping down the beach like a teenager. Well, perhaps not skipping but at least I was walking without a limp. 

I kept my eye peeled as we walked up and down the beach four times and I did not see another bee in the sand.  According to my Fitbit, I took 6,338 barefoot steps on Magens Bay, and I did not see one other bee on the ground. The one I stepped on just happened to be the only bee I saw on the beach that day and that unfortunate soul ended up under my foot.
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I guess I just bee-lucky.

Having recovered quite well from the great bee-tastrophy, we continued our pleasant Sunday stroll. I waited three and a half miles for my post-walk relaxation libation. So, I was a bit giddy when we stopped at the beach bar for a couple of painkillers before meandering down the beach to set up shop with our chairs, cooler, snacks, limes, rum-n-mixers.

I was sauntering down the beach, painkiller in hand, I must have had my head down. I was probably looking for bees.

Out of nowhere, a football (American football not English football) ended up connecting with my left eye socket from about twenty or thirty yards away. SMACK!

The first thing I felt was a rocketing pain that reached from my left eye socket to the back right quadrant of my head. The synapses must have had a good jostle because the next thing I felt was a complete numbness starting at my knees and traveling back up my spine. The earth started spinning, and my legs nowhere to be found. I collapsed like 245 pounds of slightly set jello into, what turned out to be, a lump on not so soft sand.

When everything stopped spinning, and I was able to get off of that ride, people were gathering around my sprawled beach body. My sunglasses were askew and falling off my head. The only thing left, of my once near full painkiller were little cubelets of ice next to my phone in the sand dangerously close to the next wave coming in.

The guy who threw the football ran up and was very apologetic.  He first asked if I was okay - which I thought I was.  But the cobwebs must have still been clouding my thoughts because when he asked if he could buy me another drink, I can only plead that I had a concussion on this one, I said, "No, I'm alright." I must not have been very alright. Turn down a free drink! How sad is that! I must have been out of my head delirious!!!!

As it turns out, that was the last physical assault on my body for the day. God had stopped having fun at my expense. We sat down and watched a magnificent sunset from an idyllic spot on a beautiful beach.

Just in case you thought I'd escaped the insult after my day of injury, when we got home and sat down to relax and watch a movie, the power cut out, and we decided it was time to call it a day.

Fast forward several days to Tuesday, I woke up and couldn't move my head. My skull seemed to have situated itself on the top of a very painful stick. My neck was stiff, and I couldn't turn to the right or the left. I was just short of going to the pharmacy and buying a neck brace.
Luckily, I stockpile painkillers (of the pharmaceutical type this time). Okay - Ibuprophen, Tylenol/Paracetamol, and Voltarol. Although I wish I had had a bit stronger stuff, in the end, it wasn't necessary.

Wednesday, stiff neck and all, we went for a nice walk with Marty, Girly, and Bob. I really got attached to Marty when he was found on Martin Luther Kings Jr.'s birthday (thus the name) several years ago. Now that we're leaving the island, I'll miss that ole fella. He's such a sweet soul. Girly is another foundling of the canine variety and an excellent walker, as long as you don't mind a bit of tugging. Bob, is not a dog, but sometimes, just sometimes, we do catch him barking at the moon. - just kidding.

That evening, God must have been bored because he showed up and started poking again in the form of a set of stairs, a cactus, and a clumsy oaf (me). Andrea was walking up the stairs in front of me from The Shoreline Restaurant when I tripped over one of the steps. I claim that the earth jumped up just enough to tip me off balance.

Poor Andrea. Her backside ended up snuggling up to a very prickly cactus. I tried to help, so she didn't fall entirely, but as it turned out I just pushed her more into the weeds. 

When the dust settled, her shorts were full of hundreds of tiny cactus spines.  It was so irritating, the poor woman had to remove her shorts and travel home from the restaurant in her knickers.

Yes, you're right, that did not make me her favorite person that night. We even had to stop for gas at which point she put my hat in her lap to disguise her lack of clothing.

I know the great cactus fall was all my fault. I can only plead clumsiness in my part. As Andrea says, "Scott, you don't tread lightly on this earth." I guess she's right.

So, my friends, this week has shall we say, been eventful.

As I lick my wounds and pack for our final departure from St Thomas, I wish you happiness, health, and good fortune. But most of all, I wish you peace.

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