One dark night I went down when I snoozed a few moments at 3 am on the toilet. I’ve never done that before, fallen asleep on the toilet. I do take good sleepy time drugs. So I didn't realize my legs were numb until I attempted to stand and then I crumbled to the floor like a wet towel. I woke up enough to pull my head back so I gently positioned it on the wall instead of smacking it there. In this small room, between the porcelain god, the tub, a close wall and a strategically placed bathroom scale that gave me a small bruise on my knee I contorted about until I could wake my legs and then walk back to bed an immediately fell back to sleep. Like I said. Good drugs. Nothing was hurt but my pride, but only for a moment as I later found the whole experience quite comical.
It was just a week later, eight days actually but who is really counting here? There was a kitchen rug episode in which a rug that had existed, or at least an ancestor had been there, more than 20 years, unexpectedly became a villain. While in a rush to put a bowl in the sink and go about my business I tripped andI flew head first like a bat out of hell for the lower cupboards in front of the sink. I pulled back my head in time that it didn’t hit a thing so I only fell on that sinister, now folded fake piece of carpeting. But the bowl made it safely into the sink just fine, flying like a duck on the wing. And the 4” by 8” rug was pulled from the kitchen immediately after Craig helped me up. There’s nothing like a man hearing a crash in the next room rushing to save the day! My hero! That must have been the end of last year as D-I-L Alisha bought me a cushy padded mat that sticks to the floor with tapered edges, so I’m good in the kitchen now. It’s more comfy to dance on while I’m at the sink, too.
The next time I fell was while I was painting a border on the dining room walls just after enlarging the room 2 feet. Yes, 2 feet. Craig’s mom had a table that was huge, but still Craig insisted it go in our miniscule dining room because he grew up with it. And it is a fine table. Just enormous. Without the 2 leaves. We couldn’t back up to get out of our chairs as they were already pressed against the wall! So one day I casually said (in a I’m-kidding-but-no-not-really-voice) that when we move my studio to the basement and before Son Shawn expands his space into the room adjacent to the dining area we should move this wall 2 feet and enlarge the dining room. He loves me very much and after measuring and calculating and tapping on walls as all Tim the Tool Man men do, he said that he could. I knew he absolutely could as I believe my man can do anything, like jack up our house 4 feet and build a basement, where my said studio was promised, and turned out to be just awesome. That’s another story for another time.
Well, impatient Craig started removing the wall before I was even packed to move the studio and he started asking me move my things so he could work. Anywhoo, Craig, he likes to leave his tools in the room until it’s done, which meant moving the two tables (Yes two. One was his grandmothers that we used before his mother’s that arrived 5 years ago and he said Nanny’s table was “too good for the barn or the basement” and so for 5 years it sat at the far end of the gi-hugic table up smashed between the wall and the afore mentioned Mother’s table in our room.) Anywhoo (again!) so I needed to move his circular saw that was where I needed to sit on a stool to hand paint a leaf border just above the chair rail. The saw was heavy so I just rotated it so I wouldn’t have my leg up against anything dangerous while I was distracted painting. You may have noticed I’m a klutz and an accident waiting to happen so I was trying to be cautious. I didn’t notice that this 7-inch-stick-out-handle-looking-thing stuck out. It was black. Over dark burgundy carpet. While I had my glasses off because I was hand painting details. So I stood up slowly to pay attention to the sore knee then tried to scoot backwards so as to not spill the paint I had sensibly sat on my stool when said handle reached out and grabbed my leg and knocked me on my behind. I slammed into a corner of the Grandmother Clock dead center between my shoulder blades. I didn’t break the clock glass and the hit was placed just the right way between my shoulders and missed my spine, fortunately, where I had back surgery a year ago. I’m still protective of my little surgery spot. The clock chimes made a colossal racket for a couple jiffies while I was a wee bit dazed and I just sat there, being glad that I had started carrying my cell phone on me at all times as Brian insisted about 7 years ago, and so I pondered whether I needed to call anyone. Shawn worked evenings and Craig was at the church for worship team rehearsal which is 15 minutes away in Galena. So I sat quietly and I looked up when Shawn came around the corner from the stairs and into the kitchen. He had the night off for no apparent reason but to rescue his mommy. As a good son he flew across the floor to make sure I wasn’t dead yet. I actually said, “I’m not dead yet.” (We’re serious Monty Python fans.) So he helped me up. Again, no injuries, not even a sore spot between my shoulders. This happened less than a month ago.
And then there was the studio chair incident of 5 days ago. I was seated, leaning over to pick up a small box, lightweight and all, while sitting on the edge of my studio rolling desk type chair. I felt myself inching forward, half inching actually. I didn’t feel like I would take too long to lift that lightweight box before needing to adjust my position when all of a sudden I skated off the chair, slammed to the concrete floor and I smacked my head on the chair’s rounded seat bottom that was abundantly harder than Mt. Rushmore as it suddenly stopped against the shelving behind the chair. 6 days later and I still have a sore spot! So, son Brian was helping to carry studio supplies to the basement. He heard the crash and laughed thinking I just knocked over the big stack of boxes on the table. Well he apologized profusely when he found me on the floor. He’s a good son. Both my guys are. Trapped between the table, a big heavy box and a wooden stool, I couldn’t get up. Craig appeared with another stack of boxes, he shook his head, then he and Brian each took an elbow and lifted me up. Besides my head, again I was fine.
Honestly, I think I have about a dozen Guardian Angels around me ALL THE TIME! They are not quick enough to keep me from hitting the floor, but they do make it a bit easier by always having someone nearby to pick me up and they keep me from sending a call to my beloved paramedics for a joyous trip to the ER. Thank God for Guardian Angels!