AND I THOUGHT I WAS INVINCIBLE

I have had a bit of an accident!

Yesterday, my third day in NY, everything was going swimmingly.

I had seen the Cézanne Drawing exhibit at MoMA. I had visited Wave Hill. I had been to Mass at my beloved St. Vincent Ferrer.

I had another blockbuster of a day planned yesterday. I was to walk up to Orwasher’s Bakery on 78th, then  cut across the park, catch the A train and go to the Cloisters (another possible half-hour walk from train as the right stop is closed). And I was making my way up 3rd Ave (I think) or maybe 2nd , all of a sudden I took a giant giant header, splat onto the sidewalk.

Luckily I was clutching my rosary, just starting on the Agony in the Garden, and as I landed I saw the crucifix with a little teeny silver Jesus on it peeping from my left hand, cheered by the thought that if I died, I would be like Antonin Gaudi, on his way home from Mass when fatally struck by a streetcar. Such faith, I imagined people clucking sadly. Why she was praying as she drew her last breath.

I also instantly felt my right knee in pain, hoping it wasn’t too bad but sort of knowing it perhaps wasn’t good. A couple of people stopped to ask if I was okay and I got up and sheepishly grinned and said, “Yeah, I think I’m okay, thank you,” and started limping away up the street. The pain was dull, throbbing, deep, not the sharp pain that I would think indicates a broken bone.

Though who knows.

Of course I insisted on walking probably 7 or 8 blocks to the stupid bakery, for what turned out to be a lackluster almond croissant and an equally lackluster bagel. Then I had to double back, for by this time I had realized there was no way I could make it to the Cloisters, and by the time I was close to home could barely inch my way across 3rd Ave. I did have the presence of mind to purchase a venti Starbucks and then some ice and aspirin and to wend my way up to my fifth floor room, realizing by this time that my day, whole time in NY, and possibly whole trip might have been queered.

I’ve been icing, elevating, and resting, more or less, ever since. Yesterday afternoon I limped laboriously up to Duane Reade. I was going so slow I thought a couple of people might actually stop and offer me money.

My idea was to purchase a knee brace which I figured would both add the C to RICE and also help me walk. Then, once in the store, a thought came to me like a thunderbolt: cane! So I have also bought a freaking cane! And am doing my best as I hobble about to look melodramatically brave and forlorn, so people will feel sorry for me.

I’m so so grateful for my room, which is across the back courtyard from St. Vincent Ferrer and thus puts me in close proximity with the tabernacle, as well as the many priests who live somewhere on the premises even if I can’t see them.

My friend Sheila is coming to visit momentarily.

And all is well.

LILY PADS, WAVE HILL