Today is a slow hip-related news day. This is a good thing, since it means that I have not gotten into a fistfight on the street over my aggressive pedestrian habits, I have not been subjected to the pick-up line, "Hey, baby, what's wrong with you?" (Answer: leprosy!), and I have not damaged my hip by any of my usual misadventures. No news is good news!
It is therefore time to give a little update on the raccoons who were upset (very upset) that I was doing my daily physio swim in their chlorine soup. Daddy raccoon must have gotten his Rolex back from the shop and realized that, whoops, they are nocturnal creatures and they've been out working on their suntans in the broad daylight and threatening creatures roughly 8 times their size. Whatever happened, the entire raccoon family is back on the graveyard shift. It has therefore been about a month since I've fended off a raccoon attack or performed my exercises under the critical gazes of five little raccoons all standing up in a row as if they were holding little raccoon scorecards. They have, however, been leaving me little gifts: a chewed-up watermelon rind, lots of muddy pawprints, the bones of some creature, scraps of garbage bag. (Everything's more delicious when you season it with a mixture of chlorine, dead bugs, fallen leaves and a little dash of Arley sweat). Perhaps they climb the tree outside my window and watch me while I sleep.
Either way, this is one more sign that Fall is coming and the universe is slowly going back to normal. Perhaps I'm slightly more intimidating now that it no longer takes me 15 minutes to get from one side of the yard to the other. At the very least, if the raccoons made another appearance, I have enough speed to run in the other direction. One more reason to outfit the cane with spikes.