Home safe and sound (sort of)

Well, I’m back. Very sorry for the delay in posting and all that, but I think you’ll agree my excuse is pretty reasonable. I spent most of yesterday in the hospital emergency ward waiting to have a cast put on my left leg – which appears not to have listened to any of my lectures about stepping carefully on icy surfaces (my driveway, in this particular case), and so deserves everything it gets.

What it got … I’m sure you’re curious to know … is a fractured fibula – just above the ankle. Thankfully, there was virtually no displacement of the bone so no pins or other metallic accessories were required (or requested!). I walked – well, limped … pathetically, I might add! – out of there with just a snazzy white fibreglass cast, a burnt-orange and sunny yellow knitted “toe warmer,” and a big brown vinyl bootie with a rubber sole and velcro straps (size: medium).

I’m scheduled to escort my wayward leg back to the hospital in two weeks, where it will meet the orthopaedic specialist and, I hope, graduate to a less irritating form of punishment for its absent-mindedness.

In contrast to the very end of my vacation, the beginning, middle and beginning-of-the-end were thoroughly enjoyable. I stayed up late, got up late, ate far too much, and talked just enough to be glad of a solitary 5-hour drive back to Ottawa on Monday.

One of the high points of this particular long weekend was seeing the debut of Measha Bruggergosman, a 28-year-old soprano and future international diva (in the best sense of the word), at Roy Thompson Hall. Her voice is absolutely superb – a true, clear soprano with almost smoky undertones and a remarkable degree of control, expression and genuine warmth. Her repertoire ranges from classical opera to cabaret to spirituals to jazz – and even if you’re not “into” opera or classical music her talent and genuine love of the material is obvious.

The other high point was, naturally, an altogether too-rare visit with my dear friend Sister StaceyPatrick. She fed me tea and many muffins (they were delicious!), and we gabbed for three hours without stopping about: cats; food; families; books; neighbours; friends; jobs; tv; and all sorts of other life-crap. The good Sister, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know, is looking wonderful and is maintaining her sense of humour … despite her very understandable frustration with the evident stupidity of employers in the GTA. Sister – for the record, you are just fine (better than fine, actually). It’s the HR guys who are poop-heads!