This is a “Once Upon A Time…” story. But the events happen to be true.
Once, we were visiting my wife’s folks of a weekend.
We had our granddaughter with us, and with her came a great number of school
supplies which were carried in plastic boxes with lids that clipped on. On
those lids were carrying handles. I’m not sure why I’m going into such detail,
but my mind must think that it’s important.
Of course, all good things come to an end. So, while
everyone else were finishing up Sunday night activities, I was taking things
out to the car, which was parked in the back.
It was nighttime, and it must have been winter, for
there was snow on the ground and it was cold. I was carrying out two or three
of the school-stuff boxes when I tripped. Not able to catch myself, I fell flat
on my face. I was a bit shocked, to say the least. I called for help, then
realized that I’d shut the kitchen door against the cold, and, since everyone
was in the front room they weren’t likely to hear me.
So, it was all up to me to pick myself up, dust myself
off, and continue. With some difficulty, I rolled to one side and was able to
draw my legs up and get one foot, then the other, under me.
I got to my feet, and did a status check of myself,
then of the boxes I was carrying. I was shaken, but not hurt to speak of. One
of the boxes lids had popped off, and some of the contents had spilled. I put
that to rights, gathered the three boxes (it had been the top-most box under my
left arm whose lid had come off), and proceeded to the car. I loaded them into
the back seat, locked up the car, and headed back in.
I don’t remember if I ever bothered to tell anyone about
my trip-and-fall. I most likely went into the front room, found a place to sit,
and joined in with the conversation.
Fast-forward a few years. D__ and J__ are staying at
her folks, helping Dad take care of Mom. They have the car, so I take the bus
to work. It was really handy, the bus stop for where I worked was right outside
the employee entrance, and the stop at the home end was right around the corner
from our house. In all, a sweet arrangement.
Except for Saturday shift.
At that time, I was working the graveyard shift Tuesday
to Saturday, which meant I came in on a given day for my start of shift at ten
pm, then left the following morning a little after six-thirty. That was fine
most days, except the busses didn’t run on Sunday. Every Sunday I needed to
walk from the north end of town, to the south end, pretty much a straight shot,
just like the bus.
That was fine, I needed the exercise. A few blocks
from home was a strip mall, and in the strip mall was a buffet-style Chinese
restaurant. Having just walked most of five miles, I often chose to kill some
time in the modern five-and-dime store until the restaurant opened at eleven-thirty.
This was fine most weeks, but inevitably there would
be weather. One Sunday morning we had a fine mist, and dew point was just below
freezing, and the ambient temperature was just below dew point.
Now I love misty days. If I have nowhere to go and can
grab my camera and walk around, fog and mist lend an air of mystery to
otherwise familiar surroundings. Great enjoyment.
This kind of mist, however, was more of a gentle
sleet, than a friendly cloak. I knew the sidewalks would be slippery; I also
knew my sense of balance had been going south on me.
Nothing for it, though. I drank some break-room coffee,
pulled my coat’s hood over my head, and set off. I found that if I kept my
stride a bit shorter than usual I tended not to slip. With that in mind, I
sallied forth.
About a half a mile into the walk, past the bridge
over the Cache, it happened. I strode a little too long, my left heel slipped
in front of me and I did the splits on the icy sidewalk. I was down, and no
mistake. Like my stumble in my in-laws’ back yard I was alone. The only other
people were the occasional pedestrians, easily hundreds of yards to the nearest
one. Yelling for help was pointless.
I rolled onto my back and brought my legs together,
and took some time to catch my breath. I started feeling the cold seep through
my coat, into my body, the chill causing my body to stiffen. I couldn’t let
that happen.
I had to move, so I rolled further onto the grass,
pushing myself up onto my hands and knees, then straightening up, and getting my
left foot flat on the ground, knee bent. Straightening my left leg, and
bringing my right leg into action, I walked beside the sidewalk on the frozen
grass until I got near to a post to lean on and catch my breath.
Still another four-and-a-half miles to home, but it’s got to
be done.
Later that morning I had hot tea at the Chinese
restaurant.
Sometimes the only one you have available to depend on is yourself and your own strength. When that happens, you may not be at the height of your powers; for whatever reason, the bounce you had when you were young is no longer available. Don’t give up. You still have strength.
Decide
to find that strength, find it, and do.
One step at a time.
Yes, you can.
