After the Great Deck Debacle of July 2009, I once more decided to see if I could, perhaps, learn to fly.
Didn't work.
I'm here to tell you that 48 year old women can't fly. Try as she might, this one just can't get her butt airborne for more than a couple of seconds. Maybe it's the middle age spread. Or maybe the laws of physics apply more unilaterally the older you get, but there you have it.
No flying was gonna happen last Saturday afternoon.
Let me explain. We were at the cottage and surprisingly (as in bowled over and stunned into speechlessness) the weather was good. I decided to sweep the porch. See that little black square in the white area there? That's the front door. The porch is maybe four feet wide on two levels, maybe four inches high each.
So there I stood, sweeping, facing the door (yeah, I know that was very bright, blame it on the fact that I hadn't seen the sun it what seems like eons - she types as the rain pours down. Again.)
As I backed up bit by bit I got to the end of that level of the porch. This tends to happen when you back up. I took one more step back, expecting to land on the same level, but, oops I was past all that and my foot landed 4 inches lower. Yeah, you do see where I'm going here.
As I tried to regain my balance on the second level of the porch, I stepped off there too.
'Cause dontcha know, I'm still trying to learn how to fly.
And so I fell three feet straight down, tried to regain my footing, didn't (of course, because then there'd be no blog post would there?), and tumbled halfway down the hill in front of the cottage. The hill that is flanked by 42 (count 'em! - 42) steps to make it up to the damned front door.
Luckily I came to a full and sudden stop on one of the numerous rocks that jut up from the ground otherwise I'd have ended up in the street and probably rolled down the hill into the lake.
And you know how it is, lakes, mud, bleh, so thank whatever deities live at the cottage for that rock.
And no, there will be no picture of monster bruises because they were all pretty much medium sized. Thus, I'm once more coloured blue and green and yellow over numerous parts of my anatomy. People must think I'm abused.
I'm not, I'm simply pathetic.
I can't help but wonder though, when in my life was the last time I've been bruise and cut free. Pristine as it were. Probably the day of my birth.
Yes, pathetic indeed.
But I have finally come to the realization that I'll never learn how to fly. More's the pity actually.
.
21 comments:
I assume Mr. Jazz is berating you for sweeping a deck with your back facing the hill? If not, I'd like to remind him to do so. Cuz, you know, if I were there visiting, I'd channel my mother and start nagging you.
Then, I'd laugh. After making sure youre ok, of course. LOL
Jazz - you have a fabulous sense of humour - especially when describing your own debacles. I'm so glad you were able to get up and laugh at this - you could have been seriously hurt.
I think a lemonaide or a glass of chardonnay with your feet up - while you stare at the water would be a good thing to help the bruises heal. Take care!!
I believe if you were meant to fly you'd have wings, not a broom. Although I've heard some fly that way. LOL
Good you have a sense of humor about you clutseyness. However bruises are no fun and bones do get more brittle as we age. They're not hollow like a birds.
Glad you're OK but please be more careful. You're way to young and funny to loose to an accident.
Hugs! (Carefully so as not to hurt)
Oops! . . . you did it again! (As Britney Spears might have said).
Glad to hear you're not too damaged.
Ah, see, you have to knowingly step off of high places in order to fly. If you do it by mistake, it doesn't work.
Now that you know the secret, try again!
Rachel - I didn't tell Mr. Jazz right away cause he would have freaked out. Sometimes I think he's afraid I'll accidentally decapitate myself, thus prematurely ending my blogging career.
Bonnie - I could have been, but I wasn't. I have a whole herd of guardian angels that I keep extremely busy. Or really really good karma - depending on what you choose to believe.
Gaelyn - Damn, I should've told you about this beforehand. The broom angle would've been brilliant!
Dumdad - I'm a tough old broad, though the Britney Spears reference had me shuddering.
Suldog - OH!! So that's how you do it!!!
The answer to your klutziness is simple: you do nothing, Mr Jazz does everything. You can just drape yourself gracefully on a chaise longue, sip copious glasses of wine, and direct him with a languorous wave of your perfectly-manicured hand.
Glad the damage isn't too bad, though. Take it easy for a while!
pinklea - you're exactly right! I've been telling her this all along.
Jazz, as for being abused, you are. Except it's by yourself. I plead not guilty your honor....
Pinklea - it seems that's the only way of keeping me safe!
Mr. Jazz - not abused, as I said, just pathetic. Or maybe, come to think of it, a bit masochistic...
Well, I am glad you can't fly.
There are too many trees around to be hitting - and you'd find them, I'm sure.
Why doesn't it surprise me lil sister? Good thing that you weren't sweeping on the balcony, you might have dislodged that rock and caused some real damage. ;o)
Jazz One, flying is for children and the hired help. Please in the future keep at least one foot on the ground at all times, proceeding with a nice leisurely stroll, saunter, or mosey. And -this is important- in a forward-moving direction.
There's nothing like a bit of multi-colouredness to help realize what a close shave it was. That's one heck of an incline.
I am convinced that I could fly if I just tried hard enough. I have a terrible urge to give it a go when I'm on the top of cliffs and high buildings.
To date I have managed to avoid the urge but if you ever hear of a suspected suicide in San Jose you'll be one of the few people that know that I really can't fly.
Cheers
I'm going to have to urge you to drink the bruises away, then. At some point in the drinking, of course, your tipsiness will result in a whole new crop of injuries. But it won't hurt much.
Jazz rhymes with spazz. But really, what were you thinking? If you're holding a drink and I ask you the time, do you pour it all over yourself?
Huh, so I do a post about learning to fly with broken wings, and now you tell me 48 year olds can't fly. So I have a year and a month to get into the air.
Hi Jazz! I figure, bruises and scars are the signs of an adventurous life! (I tell myself that because it sounds better than, 'I'm just really clumsy'!)
The book I've just finished reading was "The Time Traveler's Wife". It was simultaneously 'the best book I've read in a long time', and 'a source of unending & emotional frustration'. I feel all wrung out and in dire need of comedy.
Hope the rest of your summer continues without incident or injury!
Violetsky - That made me laugh out loud!
Jeaux - That's a lot of instructions to keep straight...
Maddy - I'll check the news... ;-)
Jocelyn - Come drink with me and you can save me from myself.
XUP - No! I wouldn't spill the drink. And the operative word here is "thinking". Obviously I wasn't.
SAW - Get to work.
Kimber - I'll keep that in mind. Adventurous, yeah, sounds good. I never read that one - I keep hesitating I really can't figure out if it appeals to me or not...
I'm starting to worry about you. And you were doing a chore! You're only supposed to hurt yourself when you are doing something fun. I have a mad line of bruises on my left arm from getting beers from an overly large ice chest while reaching into it from the front seat for several days. But they were worth it. All you got was a clean porch.
You've got to be careful, my girl. There are some of those that love you. So, for you, ouch and more ouch.
Eeek! I'm glad you made it through in one piece.
I'm pretty sure you would have flown if you'd known in advance to flap your arms.
Post a Comment