Heal[e]d Pond.

Healing is a slow process.

I wrecked my knee. Perhaps a few times. Which has resulted in an inconclusive doctor’s appointment and walking around like a drunken pirate.  And I do a lot of walking around here, giving my co-workers and visiting strangers ample opportunities to point and laugh or ask me what happened.
I’ve been bracing.
I’ve been icing.
I’ve been eating ibuprofen for breakfast.
Or rather with breakfast, but that made me feel tougher and less like a ninny for nursing an unknown injury.
I’d just like it to heal.  Now.  Or more like yesterday.

I also sliced a portion of my finger nail off recently.  Tucking the fingertips is day one stuff.  [Unfortunately, I cycle back to day one more often than I’d like to admit.]  After this flub, my finger had a heartbeat. It hurt like the dickens.
I gritted my teeth and just squinted at it for a minute.
Then I slathered it with antibiotic ointment.
Bandaid-ed it.
And waited for it to heal.

There are things you can do to speed up the process.  Keep it clean.  Stay off it.  Wrap it. RICE it. Walk it off. Write it down. Find some place quiet.  Pick up the pieces.  Let someone else help you pick up the pieces. Talk it over. Shake it off.
But most importantly, just give it time.

This summer I’m living on Heald Pond.
Pronounced healed.
Despite my laundry list of injuries thus far, is this a coincidence?
I think not.

I stole this photo from the owner of the couch that I have been glued to all day.  

Many thanks Michelle for your photography and your home. And a million other things.