It was a recipe for the sybaritic life.
Two trees properly spaced. A tropical garden. A colorful hammock.
I cannot remember the last time I spent a day in the hammock here in Villa Obregon. After our last hammock was stolen, I rolled up the new one after each use, and stored it whenever I am gone for long periods of time. That means the hammock has not been meeting its primary goal for almost a year.
I decided yesterday was the day. My head was not up to being anywhere but at the house. Between my toot extraction (which is now hurting a bit), what I hope is only a head cold, and a surge in my triglyceride levels (even though I have been faithfully taking my medication), I had no desire to go amongst the people today.
The perfect solution would be the hammock, a bottle of water, and my Kindle. So, out came the hammock from storage. I rolled it out and fastened it with the ropes bound around the tamarind and mango trees,
At one moment, I had settled my butt on the edge of the hammock. In the next, I was splayed on the ground.
Both ropes had given into a tropical constant -- rot. I suppose I should not have been surprised. Those ropes have been there since I rented the house.
The only injury was a scraped elbow and a big dose of disappointment. It would have been nice to slip into the comforting embrace of a hammock. Instead, I sat in a chair and read -- while battling clouds of mosquitoes.
On Saturday I will drive to Manzanillo for a followup appointment for my dearly departed tooth. Based on my experience yesterday, it will be a welcomed examination.
If I do not buy any rope locally, I may pick up some at Walmart. After all, I really do need to spend at least a day or two in my hammock each year. Otherwise, what's the point of having those well-placed trees?
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