It was very funny, but in the strangest of senses. No matter how hard she wracked her brains, she could only remember falling, but not the subsequent getting up. But then that was one of the countless little tragedies you suffered as you got old. In a final, concerted effort to recreate the scene and restore the lost piece of memory, which for some unfathomable reason seemed particularly important, she refocused her mind on the moments preceding her fall.
Margaret Dobson, widowed and 83 years young, was fiercely independent. Unlike many of her friends, she had stayed on in her cottage, tending her garden, sewing (although these days she had need of strong glasses and a number of arthritis aids), reading the daily newspaper from cover to cover (except for the classifieds and sports sections which bored her), doing the odd competition, and generally keeping in touch with her family which by now had spread out in all different directions.
One of her grandsons had kitted her out with his old computer and, although she didn’t know how to use most of its functions, Margaret had very carefully written down the instructions for sending and receiving email and for how to join in on the video phone calls and conferences they had at Christmas and birthdays. Outside of her very clearly defined limitations, this new technology defeated her, but she had to admit that being able to chat to her family on the other side of the world, as well as being able to see both them and their own children in real time, was a fantastic boon. There was no place for a Luddite in the Modern World, she told herself every time she got into a flap over which button to press.
Anyway, what was it that had brought her into the garden today?
