hat began as a leisurely drive to San Antonio to spend a week in a cabin at Medina Lake and visit grand-kids turned out to be a trip to (pardon my French) hell and back. First of all, I can’t even take a leisurely drive due to so many pit stops, not to mention all the aches and pains I tend to go through these days. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the weather each day was bright and sunny, cloud-free, with the temperatures reaching as high as 68 or 69 degrees. On this trip the only thing that went south was me, and I’m not talking about the route Cynthia and I took, either.
On our last trip to Heavener to see Bo Shupert about trying to sell a car for Aunt Mable (more about that later), he told me about having trouble with gout. Now I’ve had gout from time to time and it can be very, very painful, but I haven’t had it in years. No sooner did we get back from Heavener, I started having a few flare-ups, in my right ankle first then in my left knee. I shrugged it off and said to myself, it’s probably Bo’s fault. I had a slight case of gout just a day or two before we went to San Antonio, but I guess the drive to Medina Lake and having to keep my knee bent for so long in one position was too much for me, because when we finally arrived at our cabin, I could barely walk. The pain was excruciating, I tell you. That was late Saturday night, and the next evening, we had planned to go listen to McKenna’s choir at church. I had to stay at the cabin, off my knee while Cynthia went into town to see McKenna’s performance. McKenna, you see, is only 5 years old and getting to see those little children sing would have been a blast. Cynthia confirmed it, and said it was a blast as was going to an Italian restaurant with Kenny, Tammi, McKenna, and her little sister Kenedi, afterward.
The next day, after taking I don’t know how many Tylenol to ease my pain, I was up and around again, thanks to the trusty cane Cynthia suggested I take. Just in case, she said. The cane was given to me by a friend Ken Alsup, Jackie’s husband, a little over a year ago when we visited them in Missouri. On Tuesday we celebrated our 8th wedding anniversary. Nothing fancy, mind you. We just enjoyed the time together, and the fact I could once again walk.
Wednesday was the night Cynthia and I, along with all the kids and grandkids, had planned to see the famous Riverwalk in all its Christmas grandeur, but it wasn’t to be for me. I slipped getting out of the shower (one of those enclosed kind with sliding doors) and I was sorta trapped with me right leg out of the tub and the left still inside. In other words, I was doing the splits, only the one leg out couldn’t reach the floor and I couldn’t bend it enough to get it back inside. The other one, naturally the one I had trouble with only two days before, was still stiff and wouldn’t bend either. I struggled, with Cynthia’s help, for over an hour but couldn’t get out. After almost two hours, Cynthia went for help at the Rangers’ station. She came back with this fella named Joe, a big, burly hulk of a man who was able to help me get out of the tub. I don’t know if I was any more embarrassed than him at the prospect of helping a butt naked man get out of a shower. But as a result from being so sore, bruised and dizzy (from being in there and struggling for so long), I spent that night, as well as the next day and night in bed, again with as many Tylenol pills as I could take.
Needless to say, I was more than ready for the “leisurely” trip back home.
As I said, there would be more about Bo selling Mable’s car. I put a classified ad in the Heavener Ledger, as well as Craig’s LeFlore County Journal. It came out on Thursday, Bo had the car parked in his yard with a For Sale sign in the window, and it sold the very same day. A lady drove by Bo’s house, stopped and inquired about the car, liked it and bought it on the spot. So, it’s true about what newspapers say, “classified ads do sell.” Either that, or Bo Shupert is one heckuva salesman! As Bo laughed, “I guess I missed my calling.”