I have a contract to produce a memoir that will be published in the spring of 2014. It's called Seriously Not All Right. So I planned to take a couple weeks up in the mountains to finish off the draft of the manuscript; I booked a cabin in the Catskills for two weeks.
The morning before I was supposed to drive up I wound up on the operating table for an emergency appendectomy--I think that's slightly redundant because I suspect all appendectomies are emergencies, but it sounds more dramatic that way so I'll leave it in. That was my second trip to the ER in 30 days. On Memorial Day I was giving a public reading at The Navy Memorial, and my back went out. I bent over to pick up a book, and nearly went all the way to the floor. It seems I have some degeneration of the discs in my lower back. Evidently, I am not aging gracefully.
Anyway, a couple days after my surgery I was cleared to ride to NY. The doc was pretty funny about driving versus riding, "You can drive once your wife will agree to ride with you." So Ms. F took the time and drove me up. My dog Harry was not impressed with the drive.
