Splat!

I haven't fallen down very often in my life, but when I have it has always been spectacular in one way or another, if only in lack of sympathy.

Yesterday morning, as I was leaving the grocery store, I nearly did a half-gainer off the curb. I managed to avert disaster by twisting and launching myself into the parking lot. When I got myself under control, tempted to throw my hands into the air, like a gymnast, I looked around to see if anyone had observed my feat, and I saw that a number of people had seen me. Of course. There was a car beside me, as I came to rest, and it was full of people. There was a woman in the passenger seat in front, and three children in the back seat, and they all wore the same horrified expressions on their faces. It was probably the first time those kids had been quiet all day. I waved at them and made for the safety of my car.

Years ago, I fell in that same parking lot. I slipped on some loose rocks and pitched forward, landing on my nose, hands, knees, and ego. The young man taking my groceries to the car was struck dumb, watching me bounce and skid along the concrete, as was my daughter, who was a teenager at the time. Neither of them offered to help me up - NEITHER of them. They were either in shock or trying to figure out how to pretend they didn't know me, although my daughter did utter a rather accusitory-sounding, "Mo-ther!" I struggled to my feet and made it to the car upright.

Another time, my son and I were walking across an expanse of lush grass, when my foot found a hole and I went down like that tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it. I didn't make a sound, and my son just kept walking, unaware of what had happened. He finally realized I wasn't beside him, and turned around just as I was getting up. He said, "Wow, Mom! You didn't holler or anything!"

When we lived in Yellville, my washer and dryer were in a little room off the carport. I had to go down a few steps into the carport to get to them. So, you know what happened. I tripped on the first step and bounced down the other two and landed in a puddle of grease. Still, I wasn't hurt, just thoroughly shook up. I crawled back up the steps and called my husband for some sympathy. He said, "Well, do you want me to come home, or what?" So much for sympathy.

I was wearing new black patent shoes, when I was about 8 years old, and in a hurry. We had floor furnaces in our house. I fell and carried the scars from the burn on my leg for a a long time. I also carried the admonishment from my mother, "You should have been more careful in those slick shoes."

The only other time I was actually injured in a fall was when I was dog-sitting at my daughter's house one Hallowe'en, and her dog was the only being to witness it. I was sitting at the computer in the den, when the phone rang. I jumped up, turned and tripped on something, maybe my own feet. I pitched forward, bounced off the bookcase and went down like a felled ox. My ankle was sprained, so I crawled over to the recliner and pulled myself into it. I heaved a sigh of relief and then saw the dog looking at me as if to say, "Ahem. You do know that is MY chair, don't you?" And, in the family room, I heard the answering machine click on, and my daughter said, all the way from Scotland, "Where are you? You're supposed to be giving out all that Hallowe'en candy I bought."

Now that I'm in my dotage, I need to be more careful, I suppose. These brittle old bones won't take much punishment before they snap. And, I know better than to expect a large outpouring of sympathy.