Today was such a nice day that I simply had to get outside and enjoy it. Warm, sunny, and pretty deserted, what with everybody else trapped inside at a desk on a Friday afternoon. ("Neener, neener," I could put in here, were I so inclined.)

I decided to do a promenade down lovely downtown Perrysburg. Not that downtown Perrysburg could be considered large by any stretch of the definition. Picturesque is a better word; quaint, even. The bulk of the main drag extends no more than three blocks, and contains lots of tiny little "Mom and Pop" shops, including an old-time candy store and an ancient-looking drug store. At the end of the street, there's a small park that runs up to the Maumee River, where many of the locals like to launch their boats or go fishing. A statue of Commodore Perry stands at the entrance to the park.

The interesting part is that the street slopes downward toward the park, and then sharply drops off toward the riverbank, which is invisible from the road. To a person driving down the street, it looks as if the road ends in a cliff, and Commodore Perry is the only thing standing in the way of one driving right over the edge.

I parked in the lot of the library, which is also on the main drag, and right next to the railroad tracks. Veering on foot off toward the street, I climbed the slope toward the tracks, began to cross them - and felt my foot catch on the first track. Off balance, I did one of those crazy running steps, windmilling my arms and trying to get my feet in front of my body. Unfortunately for me, the rocks around the tracks decided to politely slide out of my way, and I ended up landing on my stomach and rolling down the other side of the slope.

When I finally raised my head, I saw that my purse and its contents were scattered over the rocks. I was covered in dirt, from my face to my toes. I did a quick examination: no cuts, no bleeding. Lots of bruises and some swelling on my palms. My face felt scraped, and my wind had been quite thoroughly knocked from me. I hadn't managed to gather my wits and breath enough to stand up when, to add insult to injury, a guy in a truck pulled up next to me.

"I saw you fall," he said. "Are you okay?" I nodded yes, and thanked him. "You sure?" I was a little annoyed, though I realized that he was only trying to help, and if I had been seriously hurt, I would have been thankful for his presence.

"I'm fine," I said, wanting to be alone so that I could wince and grimace in private. "Just knocked me silly, that's all." Dubiously, he drove away; I was sure I looked quite the sight, covered in filth and apparently unable to collect myself or my belongings. Even after he left and I was finally able to transport myself to a nearby bench, it was a good five minutes before I felt calm enough to continue my excursion. It's been a long time since a fall has affected me like that; it took me back to the days of learning to ride a bike, when the worst of the topples would send me inside, crying, for the rest of the afternoon.

I went into a florist shop and asked the clerk if she had any Leonidas roses, such as Amy is using in her wedding. She did not, in fact have any. She looked for a picture, though I tried to stop her and explain that I'd already seen several photos of the rose. Her search was fruitless, and she looked extremely embarrassed and grateful when I thanked her and left.

In a bridal shop, I thought to try on a bridesmaid dress similar to those Amy is considering. I was unable to do so; all of the sample dresses on the racks were in small to not-quite-medium. Wondering at the fact, I tried to remember what I had done when I took my own bridesmaids out dress shopping. Certainly, that shop had been larger, but I just couldn't fathom the difference between the two trips. Had I been in the market to actually purchase a dress today, this shop would have been unable to collect my money.

In a rubber stamp store, I looked at stamps of animals, thinking about storytime hand stamping. At another collectible shop, I asked for beach-related gift items, thinking of making the apartment feel like Spring. In the doorway to the Kelly Assisted Living office, I asked for the location of the nearest oxygen supplier; Rita is coming for another visit, is flying this time, and is unable to bring the oxygen tank on which she depends at night. (Have I ever mentioned that? She needs oxygen at night due to the fact that smoking took one of her lungs years ago, and she still hasn't kicked the habit.) As I passed the local pizza joint, I heard "Mrs. Richmond!" and looked up to see a couple of my teenagers waving to me. When I finally got back to the car, I felt rejuvenated and exhausted together at the same time.

By the time I got done grocery shopping afterward, though, the rejuvenation had given way to the exhaustion. Oh, will I sleep well tonight! As will the guinea pigs, for I bought them spinach leaves, on which they are happily munching as I type. I have a good day, everybody has a good day.

Dad sent me his own notes. His were usually no more than a sentence, hastily scrawled on an index card: "The Red Sox won, so you did too." He would affix this card to a second card, folding a five-dollar bill between the two. The true entertainment lay in trying to separate the cards to get at the money; he would have stapled all around the edges of the cards, sometimes then putting tape over the staples. Some of his other messages: "Have dinner on Daddy." "Buy a book." "Put this toward your phone bill." The bill amounts varied, but the scribbled messages were always the same.

I wonder if he sends Cory the same little "packages." I hope that, if he does, that Cory saves the cards. I wish I had.