dumping the hammock

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?