Stasis

I am in stasis. I try not to move or breathe too deeply. The rib is still floating around and is becoming worrisome. It announces its presence with the slightest awkward movement. Last night I slept sitting up on the couch as the added back support seems to help.
Yesterday I attempted a walk but have you ever noticed how many stairs there are in this world? They are a surmountable barrier but not an easily surmountable barrier.
So much for the whining of an old man coming to the end of his warrantee. This morning has the grey clouds of Fall drifting by. It is nice to finally be in the weather of Russian plays. I have never been a fan of blue skies and puffy clouds and gentle breezes. This is my kind of weather. It is time to sharpen up the swords, get out the longboat, and go and pillage England.
There is some kind of heritage at work here. When the Swedes came to this country, they could have gone anywhere. Florida or California or the Southwest. Where did they go? Minnesota and Maine and Washington state were their prefered destinations. Snow and dampness and big trees, skoal to you my brother and throw another ox on the spit. We will light a fire at each end of the longhouse and tell tales and recite poetry until the mead is exhausted. Live for today for the damp cold destination awaits.