medicinal

Surely there's nothing that a margarita at Harry's can't cure?  Mind you - having changed the dressing after the approved 48 hours of a pressure bandage - there's quite some dramatic scar under there.  I think I'd have to have been either very brave, or very foolish, to get it in a duel.  But now that I've re-wrapped myself, I look decidedly less scary. For now.

We already had a very, very brief two-night trip to Santa Fe booked, to make sure that the house is ok for first frosts - the hose wrapped up and taken in; the faucets left to drip, gently, and so on.  I am super grateful for it!  

My father always referred to his evening drink (or two, or three) as his "medicine," whether taken in the pub or, in later years, the garden or the garage.  Never have I taken his point so well.  (And, dear cautious friends, I've laid off the pain killers since last night - my face may not be comfortable, but it certainly doesn't qualify as painful, except when wincing, this evening, at the Dodgers).