And the Little One Said, "Roll Over, Roll Over"

There's a song from my childhood that I don't think My-Mother-The-Dowager-Duchess knows. Most of my friends have been unfamiliar with it, but I always enjoyed it and love to share it with new generations. I thought of the song this morning — with good reason.



Today is Corpus Christi. It's an Andalusian holiday. And, yes, there was a procession. This one didn't come by our house, however. It proceeded from the Cathedral at 8:30 in the morning and continued with a large schedule of events in the Plaza de San Francisco. I didn't want to miss any of the procession, especially since Great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-Grandpa San Fernando (the most important paso in the procession) was going to be paraded through the streets in an ermine cape (not that I was specifically thrilled about the ermine cape). I set my alarm for 7:00.

I woke up during the night and rolled over to check the time. What I didn't realize was that I was already right at the edge of the bed. There was nothing remaining to roll over onto — except the floor.

The bed has a heavy wood frame that creates a small ledge along the sides. It's got a hard, sharp edge (sharp, if you're descended, as I am, from the princess of "The Princess and the Pea"). I hit my leg on the wood frame before sliding from there to the wood floor, hitting my head and shoulder as I landed.

My head, neck, and shoulder simply hurt. The leg wasn't pretty. The only adhesive bandages ("plasters") we had were small, so I created a patchwork to cover the cut and scrapes and went back to bed. I didn't sleep. At 7:00, I rolled out of bed — much more carefully — slid a pair of jeans over the achy, pulling, patchwork, and headed out for the festivities. I walked 10 minutes there, spent more than 2 hours watching the processions, and then walked back to meet San Geraldo for breakfast. (He had slept through my entire mishap.) By this time, the hodge-podge of bandages were painfully pulling at skin and hair.

After breakfast, Nurse San Geraldo went to the store and picked up a collection of gauze, cloth tape, and adhesive bandages. This time around, I used ointment and did a slightly better job patching myself up. (San Geraldo wanted to do it for me, but I insisted.) Given the sizes and positions of the cut and scrapes and the sizes of bandages San Geraldo could find at the only store open on this holiday, the patch-job looks absurd. And it doesn't adhere well, except to the hair on my leg. But it's definitely better than before.

We had lunch downstairs and, when I told Teré what I had done, she burst out laughing (although she tried really hard not to). After lunch, Jerry went upstairs and I stayed to pay the bill. As I walked out the door, Teré called loudly to me in Spanish. "Be careful." She then smiled wickedly and continued "in bed!" It may have done wonders for my reputation. I received some [admiring] glances.

Tomorrow I'll share with you what I saw on the streets this morning — despite my injuries. Right now, I need some ibuprofen and a nap. I'm fine, Mom.