Falling Down

This was the view from my back yard at sunset after our recent snow storm. I was standing out on my deck trying to focus on taking this picture while balancing myself in the snow and ice, because I have a proclivity for falling down. It's genetic, I can't help it. Speaking of falling down, here's a story about just that.

Chesapeake Bay Mother shares a story on the topic of our gracefulness.
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On Falling Down Stairs
by Chesapeake Bay Mother

"Having physically plumbed more stories than all the fire poles in three counties, I fear I have lost my amateur standing as a stair tumbler. While I don't hire myself out for pay, perhaps I should at least consider that option.

I began these feats when my parents moved into our first two-story house. Mother believed in floor wax and about once a month the whole house smelled of "Bowling Alley" floor wax, a thick, translucent paste of amber hue and strong odor--best described as a marriage of petroleum base with a whiff of equine liniment. It lubricated the old wood and when dry, buffed to a handsome shine. Along with the shine came the slip-and-slide feature, which was deadly to those in sock or stocking feet. Since I was young, agile, and wearing socks, my virgin tumble was just bruises and a learning experience. It only happened once because after that I clung to the banister like a cat on a tree limb.

Years later, we moved again, this time to an apartment with treacherous steep steps. Going to work early one morning, my high heel betrayed me on the top of the landing and I wound up going to work in hose with runs spreading over goose eggs on my shins.

Fast forward to 2001. Husband and I fall heir to his parents' three-story farmhouse. Opportunity to try all three! And I do!

The first occasion was the cellar stairs. The old house had a cellar built with the original house circa 1910. Obviously constructed for a family of midgets, the stairs required the average person to bend forward preventing head bumping while stepping down an incline of short steps ending about three feet from a concrete wall. One could hear sirens just contemplating the scene.

When the cellar light burned out, I grabbed a new bulb in one hand and held a lit candle in the other; then I set out to put in the bulb, thereby preventing anyone from falling down the darkened stair, lying helpless, bleeding, and undiscovered for hours after being thrown against the concrete dead end by force of gravity plus added momentum. Since the light was well into the center of the cellar, the candle was my only light.

There's something awkward about having both hands occupied, your feet exploring unfamiliar landscape, and your head bent forward against your chest. Suddenly it becomes evident that someone neglected to give me the tightrope walking training required and crash went the bulb, out went the candle and down went the bulb changer ending up nose to the concrete wall.

I got up, went upstairs on hands and knees and repeated the process. Finally I got it done and there were no bad juries, and even better...no witnesses."

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Chesapeake Bay Woman's Addition to the Topic at Hand:

Once upon a time in a county called Mathews, a daughter lived next door to her parents. One day, the father had to be admitted to the hospital for intestinal problems. Around 2:00 a.m. that same night, while fumbling for the light switch on the way to the bathroom, the mother fell down a huge flight of steps and crawled over to the daughter's house wearing very little, if not less. The daughter awoke to what sounded like a bull thrashing around her living room, and went out to discover her mother babbling incoherently with a big knot coming out the side of her head. The daughter rushed the mother to the emergency room and waited for medical professionals to diagnose a broken finger, a concussion, a fractured ankle, several abrasions and a host of incidental injuries.

The daughter, satisfied that her mother was going to be OK, strolled down the hall to the opposite end of the hospital where her father was recovering from the intestinal problems.

So, once upon a time--on her wedding anniversary no less--a mother fell down the steps and nearly did herself in. She was rushed to the same hospital where her husband had been admitted earlier. In case you're not familiar with this mother, it's the very same one who was run over by the Cub Cadet lawn mower about a year later.

And the daughter just shook her head and said, "How is this possible?"

The End.