"I walk ...."

 

It's something most of the world takes for granted.  Not I.

Over the past few years, the effects of my 15 year-old stroke, which I thought I had largely conquered, have gradually started to kick in. 

Nowadays, I have often to use a walking stick. Even two. I have refused a frame. I fall over occasionally. But not if I'm careful. I cannot bend down to pull the weeds in my garden: I topple into the greenery.

So, most of the time, when at Gerolstein, I sit at my desk and write. I rarely, even, go outside to visit the horses. And when I leave the farm it is, nowadays, always under the guidance of Wendy and her wheels. I try not to let it get me down. After all, in one's 80th year, one can't expect to have all one's faculties, and I have -- thank the Gods -- still got my mental ones.

But, right now, I am not at Gerolstein. I am in Yamba, NSW, in my little Winter Palace (2rms, k&b). And Wendy is on the other side of the ocean. I have to fend -- with more than a little help from my friends -- for myself. If I, suddenly, find I need or want something from the shops or (more likely) the pharmacy, for example ... ? Up till recently, I could just pop down the hill ... And the wonderful Wednesday weekly market ... a trip up and down the hill, and the return journey laden to the gunwales ..?

And an unkind voice whispers in my ear 'if you can't do those things, you cannot spend four or five months a year on your own, on the top of the hill, by the seaside'. So, will my years of Yamba soon be over. Could this be, even, my last winter in my Palace?

I woke, this morning, at 5am, and made up my mind. I would try the Market trip. The worst that could happen would be that I'd end up in a bruised heap on the ground. Best-friend Robert had taken me to the supermarket on Monday to stock up on heavy things, like bottles and cans, so I would only have to carry my 'delicacies' ...

As soon as the dawn cracked open, I set out. No stick, as both hands were needed for shopping bags .. across Flinders Park (beautifully maintained by the local council) with its views out over the ocean ..

I took the slope slowly. Breathing was fine, but feet were a little unsteady on the dewy grass. And eyesight was a tad fuzzy. I fear I was inelegant; I got one or two curious glances. Past Robert's house -- where he was on a conference call to European parts -- then downwards to the coast and the Market. 'Down' is actually trickier than 'Up'. You feel you need crampons. But I reached my goal safely ...

Goodness, all those people! At 7am! The queue for Woody's Tomatoes was 30 metres long! I couldn't stand in line that long, so no tomatoes today!  Smoked trout and gravad lax, lamb fillets and patties, bananas (Jupiter, a bunch of bananas is heavy!), raspberries and blackberries, a big tub of excellent olives, avocados from Wendy's favourite stall ... 

A littlle chat to Pete, the orchid man ... whose stall is right by the road of return. Well, here goes! Oooh those bananas are heavy!

Up the hill. Very slowly. Five steps. Stop. Regain balance. Look at the view ..

Five more steps. Cheery hellos from other folk, heading downwards, and the odd 'are you all right?'  'Yes, I'm just a wobbly man!'. Up, up to the top of Flinders Park, and home is in sight. Downhill. A handsome young man in a nice car pulls up and offers to drive me home. A lady I've met before offers to ferry my bags home, on her bicycle ...  but I'm only 100 metres from home ...

Like a racehorse in its last furlong, I dragged myself to the Cove gate ... each step shorter than the last ...

It was an hour and a half since I had set out. But my mission was accomplished. I CAN still do it. Just. But next time, a smaller bunch of bananas!