Blogging, Chat

Being Southern Doesn’t Always Mean Having Grace

This week I was reminded not once but twice that I am not as young nor nimble as I used to be.

The first incident was brief yet painful. We had a day of sleet and freezing rain last week here in Northern Virginia. Then the temperatures dropped into the 20’s overnight. School was canceled the next day due to the icy conditions. Knowing my teenage daughter would want to drive down to her friends house a few streets away, I decided I’d head out and check to see how ‘frozen’ our neighborhood was. You can see where this is going, can’t you?

The deadly steps. Didn’t really look any different frozen solid.

I was wearing the very wintry outfit of workout capris and tank top over which I put on a Columbia fleece jacket and pulled on my snow boots (which are really cute when worn with something other than workout capris). I headed out on my front porch eyeing the road. Next thing I know I laying on my side on the steps in a lot of pain, eyeing the sky. I quickly composed myself and to any neighbors who may have looked out, I was simply sitting out on my frozen front step in capris and snow boots, contemplating whatever one would contemplate in that situation. My left hip smarted, my right big toe hurt like heck, but as I contemplated my injuries (ah…), I figured I would be ok.

A few days later I was cleaning our master bathroom, specifically the garden tub and the tile around it. We never use the tub but that doesn’t seem to prevent it from get dirty. I have a plant on the tile ledge behind the tub that I moved over to the sink to give it a good watering. While it drained, I hopped into the tub to clean the ledge then hopped out to to clean the tub. Then I grabbed the plant to put it back. Since I have T-Rex arms I started to hop into the now wet tub to set it back on the ledge. You see where this going?

It wasn’t just that I slipped into the tub. It was the epic amount of time it took for the fall to happen. If the first incident was the Vine or the Apple Live Photo of falls, the next one was the Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings extended edition movie marathon. I honestly wish there had been a camera on me during this.

As I stepped into the tub and shifted my weight to my left leg, I felt the slip start. Remember I’m holding a potted plant, with both hands. In the next 45 minutes of falling I managed to have an entire dialogue with myself. It went a little like this:

The slippery tub now dry and how I imagined it as I stepped in.

“Oh crap, the tub is wet, why didn’t I think of this.”

“I’m going to drop this plant.”

“If I drop this plant it will break and I will land on the pottery chards.”

“I might die. On pottery chards.”

“I’m home alone, who will find my bleeding body in the tub with the plant?”

“If I don’t die, I’ll have to clean up the broken plant.”

“I just cleaned this tub, I don’t want to have to clean up another mess.”

“Damn it! Why didn’t I think about this tub being wet?”

…and so on

During this time I was desperately trying to find footing, on one foot, while holding a potted plant with both hands. I imagine it looked like some sort of homage to a potted plant interpretive dance. I finally swung down in a slow arc and fell on my shoulder, the plant held aloft in the air.

Even though I hurt, I felt some minor victory over the fact I didn’t break the plant, die on it’s chards or at the very least have to clean up that mess.

Leave a Reply