Falling Down

I have a propensity to fall down - a lot! Lucky for me, I haven’t broken anything - yet! I feel very fortunate that I still have all my bones and skull intact because the more severe the injury is in direct proportion to the age of the person. The following four missteps - pun intended - can be viewed as the most humiliating.

            The first falling down was a terribly embarrassing moment. It was a lovely day in Small Town, Minnesota. Husband was playing golf, and I had the entire day to do just as I pleased. I took myself to town, treated myself to lunch, and indulged my womanly urge to go shopping. I left the local department store on Main Street carrying a few packages, and I’m sure I was whistling a tune because all was at peace with the world. Suddenly, the toe of my sandal caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and I went flying, face down, onto the hard surface - shopping bags became airborne. Other than the wind getting knocked out of me, I was fine, except for the red gushing to my cheeks from embarrassment. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, a car slowing down. The woman passenger was staring at me with a surprised expression. I’m sure she was struggling with her inner “Minnesota Nice,” trying to decide whether or not to stop to pick me up. With the look of a dog that had just fallen off the sofa, I pushed myself up, picked up my bags, and continued walking down the street with my head held high – and my eyes on the path in front of me.

            The next falling down was simply due to stupidity. We were in North Carolina for a NASCAR race. I was walking with my husband’s cousins back to a motel after eating at a restaurant, and we decided to take a short cut through a field of dried grass and dirt. I saw the wire fence. I observed that part of the wire was lying on the ground in front of us. I watched as everyone stepped over the wire. And I reminded myself to step over the wire too. My mind, however, did not communicate these observations to my feet. I felt my ankle tangle in the wire, and down I went. “I’m ok,” I confirmed to the cousins’ backs as they continued walking. After freeing the wire from my foot, I stood up, brushed dirt and weeds from my jeans, and hurried to catch up.

            The third falling down involved alcohol. It’s a good thing, really, because there could have been blood and a possible lawsuit. It was Super Bowl Sunday and we had been invited over to a friend’s neighbor’s house. They both live on a hill overlooking a golf course and lovely views of the colorful Arizona sunsets. Their homes are just as lovely and upper class. We walked into a tile entryway, and as with the more elegant homes, the entryway had a step down into the living room. My feet automatically stepped down, one by one, without any effort at all. My mind successfully communicated this endeavor to my lower extremities. After a few glasses of wine, and socializing with the elite, the football game was finally over and friends started to leave the party. When my party of four decided to depart, my feet apparently did not recall the step down because they did not mindfully step up. I stubbed my toe on the step and sprawled spread eagle across the tile entryway. This was not only embarrassing; it was humiliating to act like such a klutz in the company of the upper echelon. I’ve never been back to that house.

            The final falling down occurred a few months ago. My friend and I had just left an event where we had imbibed in a few glasses of wine. I was completely lucid, but very relaxed from drinking nature’s calming elixir.  My friend wanted to stop by her daughter’s house for a few minutes. I had been in this house many times before. There is a large entryway, a step down into an office off to the right, and a step down into the family room just beyond that. We stepped down into the family room, I conveyed my pleasantries to their sweet family, and patted their bouncy little yellow lab puppy. We had a charming little chat; I inquired about the daughter’s health. We turned to leave and my brain must have fallen asleep because I tripped on the step up from the family room, rolled around with my feet flying in the air, and fell down the step into the office. Sympathy from my friend burst forth in a belly laugh, and the lovely family could barely contain their chuckles. Had the dog not been ushered outside earlier, she would have come to my rescue with a big slobbery kiss. It was certainly a good thing I had leggings on under my skirt or my red face would not have been the only thing exposed.

            In the future, in order to protect my osteoporotic bones, I must either succumb to using a walking stick, or give up drinking. I think I’ll check out those new canes at the medical supply store.

Grocery Store Shopping Rant

            I should have known better! It’s my own fault! I went to the grocery store at 4:00 pm on a weekday. I avoid grocery shopping at all costs on the weekends because of the crazies who pretend to
work during the week and need to purchase their food and booze on the weekends; but you NEVER go grocery shopping at 4:00 pm on a Monday. For one thing, school gets out at 3:30. That means all the mothers and their two-year olds have just picked up little Johnny and Jane from school and decided to stop at Safeway to pick up some greasy, chemical-infused food for dinner. Or at the worst, those frozen fish sticks that have more breading than meat. Quick and easy – that’s what we do nowadays.

            Let me describe for you the clientele at the market on a Monday afternoon at 4:00 pm. There is the frazzled mother and her screaming two-year old along with the big brother who just got out of school and wants nothing better to do than harass the younger sibling. None of them wants to be in the store at that moment. The toddler is vocalizing a high pitched alarm sound; the older brother is stashing a variety of chips and candy bars in the mom’s cart because he is starving; and the mother is daydreaming about dumping the kids at grandma’s house and going home to a glass of wine and a hot bubble bath.

            Then there is the after-work crowd. The women are teetering on their 4-inch heels, drinking a latte, tugging at their miniskirts, and staring at their cell phones. What could be so important now – multi-million dollar clients or plans for the next happy hour? They definitely aren’t concentrating on buying the pre-packaged sushi or $4.99 roasted whole chicken they’re standing in front of.

            And what about the over 70 crowd? Where did you come from? Did you nap all day and wake up to discover you are hungry? Or did the bridge game last all afternoon and you forgot you didn’t have any ice cream for dessert in the freezer? Or did you just leave from the 19^th hole and decide you want to continue your beer buzz with a fresh six-pack?

            Every grocery store should be equipped with courtesy signs, because the average grocery shopping Joe or Josephine doesn’t know what the word “courtesy” means. Here are some examples:

1. Stop Signs: Consider the main walkway along the end caps as a main thoroughfare. In other words, it is Main Street; or the drag; or Central. If you are entering from one of the aisles, you yield, or stop, to let the oncoming traffic through because they have the right of way! Common sense, here, people! I was nearly run over, not once, but twice, by some bozo zooming out into the intersection! “Oh, sorry! That’s the second time I’ve almost run somebody over today.” Then pay attention, stop that fricken’ cart, and look both ways!

2. Painted Yellow Lines: Imagine a painted yellow line down the middle of every aisle. DO NOT go to the left of your line! If you need to stop and study the canned vegetables, move your cart over to the shelves. Do not park it in the middle, blocking everyone else from passing by. And pay attention! If someone says, “Excuse me,” move you and your cart over. That is the first in a courteous attempt to get by. If you are deaf or ignorant, the second attempt will be the sound of a large cart collision and the crash of canned peas falling to the floor, along with your fat ass.

3. Free Cookies: Do not go to the grocery store with a hungry or cranky kid. Bribe him with a cookie. It would behoove the store to give out free cookies. They can be day-old cookies, just give them to the screaming kids! Give the kid some Cheerios to munch on while you shop. Tell him if he keeps screaming like he's just been attacked by a zombie, he will not get dessert after dinner, or to play his favorite video game, or, heaven forbid, he will lose his cell phone for a week.

4. Free Beer: You and I both know there isn’t any free beer. But it will distract men shoppers long enough for the women to finish cruising up and down the aisles. Men will be too interested in the latest IPA’s. However, men, I must give you some kudos! You seem to have read the memo on proper grocery store shopping etiquette. In my observation, men are the most considerate shoppers. They pull their carts close to the shelves when perusing the dill pickles. They say ‘excuse me’ when they want to pass. And they usually stay confined to the liquor section of the store. I don’t know if they are threatened by a female-dominated activity; afraid of the PMS hormones emanating around them; or they’re trying to score points with the cute blonde in deli. But I say, “Here’s to men everywhere. I shall raise my glass of Jameson and let you shop amongst all the Type A women wearing ball caps and yoga pants.”

Next week I shall go grocery shopping on Wednesday at 10:00 am. It’s triple Monopoly Day then anyway!

Torture in the Chair

            The sharp, curved tool scraped the very roots of my existence until the tips of my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands, bruising my skin and drawing blood. She adjusted the light. More scraping . . .this time sending electricity down my spine. A tube squirt moisture . . . ice cold water . . . onto the white porcelain. I don’t know which hurt worse, the pointed metal on the roots or the cold water spraying on the thin spires. Once again the light was adjusted to illuminate the dark cavern so the torture could be continued. Squirt . . . suck . . . scrape. Finally, the gritty, minty paste twirled around each element, softly polishing the pearly surfaces. The pain minimized somewhat to a dull ache; the whirring sound replaced the jerky scratching. Peace at last. My fists released their tension, leaving imprints of my nails in the skin. She twisted the light once more and inspected, searching for wayward bits not visible to the eye. More cold water was sprayed, this time everywhere in the dark hole, erasing the calm with a violent jolt. Another tube . . . close, suck . . . the excess moisture was drawn forcefully out and down into the sewers below. The light grew brighter. More inspection. She reached for the pointed metal again . . . my silent voice screamed, “NO! NO MORE!”

            “We must! It’s not all gone! It must be done!” The sharp, curved tool scraped the very roots of my existence; my soul lost the battle and died in the chair.

            Somewhere in my DNA lives a gene that blessed me with receding gums. A birth mother, or donor sperm, passed along a curse known as periodontal disease. I’ve had two gum grafting’s over the last five months, the first one three days before Christmas. The surgeries take two hours to complete, and six weeks each of chewing on one side of my mouth, swishing with a teeth staining medicinal rinse. Having a mind of its own, my tongue searched out the sutures and played tag with them during every waking hour.

            I’ve tried so hard to take care of my teeth. I floss, I brush with an electric Oral B, I have a tiny brush for in between my teeth, I have a smaller brush for the narrower openings, and I use Sensodyne. But there is always that dreaded tarter buildup the hygienist has to scrape, and this means disturbing the roots with that torturous metal pick. And the cold water spray . . . that can be worse than scraping the tarter. I think I am the only person alive who has to zap in the microwave such foods as fruit, pickles, salsa, and anything cold that normal people can pop in their mouths and chew away.

            More grafting is scheduled for October. More nasty staining mouth rinse. More yogurt for breakfast, Ensure for lunch, and soup for dinner. And more teeth cleaning. Just give me some drugs and let me sleep while she tortures me in the chair.

Friends Who Help Us Grow

Relaxing on Adirondack chairs in the protected garden of my brain sit a handful of friends who have contributed to my personal growth. They don’t know this, of course, so they will remain anonymous. I believe everyone we encounter teaches us a lesson. These lessons help us grow as they multiply and spread to other gardens in life.

Phillip - Tolerance

I was active in the theatre group in high school and part of college. Phillip was a fellow actor and a friend. We acted in plays together, painted sets together, and traveled together with other drama students in a children’s theatre ensemble to elementary schools around the state. Phillip was gay. No one was supposed to know that he was gay because, after all, this was the 60’s…and that was just something no one talked about…but everyone knew, and nobody really cared. Phillip was a terrific dancer, and I loved to dance. We went to the Junior/Senior prom together, and made quite an impression with our unique twists and twirls on the dance floor. I learned tolerance from Phillip, and I learned to accept everyone no matter how they differed from me or from the norm – whatever the norm is. Phillip made the music sound sweeter. And when I think of Phillip sitting there in my mind’s garden, I have more tolerance for other people.

Kathy – Supportive

Kathy has been my friend since junior high school. We did a lot of crazy things together. She is the type of person who, after not seeing each other for a long period of time, can pick up the conversation where we left off without skipping a beat. The day after my mother died, I called Kathy to come over to my mother’s house because I just couldn’t stay in that big house by myself. She brought a bottle of wine, and we found a big fat cigar that my cousin had left behind. We sat on the back porch, drank wine, shared that cigar, and reminisced about all the craziness in our life growing up and in that house. We stayed in touch. I sent her birthday cards and Christmas cards, but for some reason she didn’t respond after awhile. I haven’t heard from, nor have I contacted, Kathy in a long time. I think about her often – every time I go to Albuquerque and whenever I see October 21st on the calendar – her birthday. I just don’t have the courage to call – strange isn’t it, since I’m using her as an example of being supportive. But there she sits in my memory garden reminding me of the night she came over to support me after my mother died, and I try to be supportive to others.

Dr. Emily – Ambitious, Gracious, Respectful

Emily held a respected and influential position at the state department of education. When I first heard Emily speak at a conference, I placed her high on a pedestal, much like the raised podium she spoke from. She had earned her PhD, she visited teachers around the state, ensuring that they were following the business and marketing curriculum, she was an excellent speaker, and she organized and directed teacher workshops to help us hone our teaching skills. She was untouchable, a queen . . . she was intimidating. I respected her for all that she had accomplished and was accomplishing. When she became the president of the state professional education association, I was elected treasurer. I was humbled. I wanted to do everything I could to please her. I taught myself Quickbooks so I could keep the organization’s books in order. I served on her committee to help organize the state conference. I busted my butt to impress her. Then, years later, we became friends, and I discovered that she was just a regular person, who had a dog. We actually played golf together, drank wine together, and went to a casino together in Reno . . . yes, this queen actually enjoyed playing craps. Here are the attributes I try to emulate to this day: Ambitious. Emily is ambitious, working her way up to be one of the top people at the department of education and earning her doctorate in mid life. Gracious. Emily is very gracious, always giving little gifts of gratitude to me and others if we have lunch together or gather at other ladies’ houses. Respectful. Emily respects all people and has never talked about anyone behind their backs. Emily is enjoying retirement in my little garden, and she sits there to remind me to be ambitious, gracious, and respectful.

Mary – Generous

Mary is the most generous person I know. She will do anything for you. She lavishes her grandchildren with wonderful gifts; she buys her daughters beautiful clothes and jewelry; and offers to pays when her friends cannot. When Mary came to visit me in MN last summer, she insisted on buying our wine for the weekend. Mary enjoys her expensive wine. We opened one that had turned to vinegar, so after Mary left, I took it back to the store for a refund and mailed Mary a check for the wine. After getting several month’s worth of bank statements without the check clearing, I asked her if she was going to cash my check. She simply said no. She always is gracious in opening up her house for friends and neighbors. One year after a Christmas party, and the wine had been flowing, I found myself curled up on her living room sofa, asleep. She was covering me up with a blanket. I asked her where my husband was, and she told me he’d left. Mary insisted that I go into her back bedroom to sleep until morning, and then call my husband to come pick me up. Mary enjoys toasting me in my mind’s garden, reminding me to be generous to others.

Sorority – Unconditional Love and Acceptance

One thing I’ve learned from joining the sisterhood of my social sorority is everyone’s unconditional love and acceptance. We all have different backgrounds and professions. We migrated from a variety of different locations around the United States. But none of the ladies are judgmental or catty. We share stories, we play cards, we support each other, we laugh until our sides hurt. I can truly say that they have contributed to my personal pleasure, making the music sound sweeter, the wine taste richer, and the laughter ring louder because they are there. My garden is blooming.

She Grew a Garden of Life

She was barely visible to the eye

Growing on the barren tree…a tiny bud

Protected tightly in green layers….a sign of new life.

She was nurtured by the love of two

First loves of her life…ones who knew her best

Rain and sun…father and mother…sustenance of life.

She burst forth into a blossom

Discovering another love…her mate

Wind and air…husband and lover…breath of life.

She unfolded her petals to give birth

Loving unconditionally the new little bud

Sunshine…a child…blossoming from her love of life.

She spread her leaves beyond the grove

Forming friendships of sisterhood

Wrapped with the sun’s warmth…enhancing her life.

She lost her blooms…they fell to the soil

Scattering her love across the garden

By the wind…nurturing other young buds…full of life.

She disappeared from sight

Trailing after her a colorful aura

Beautiful flowers that had been touched by her life.