Wednesday, 04 February 2009

• Help! I've fallen and I can't get up 'cuz I'm laughing too hard!

  In a trip to the optometrist a couple of years ago, I finally had to face up to the reality that I’m getting “old”.  The years and years of reading computer screens, reading books in bed, up close and fine needlework have taken their toll and I must resign myself to **whispering** bifocal glasses.

   

  Granny glasses.  Why would I want to wear a pair of spectacles with the telltale granny line of a bifocal lens?  Sign me up for those no-line bifocals!  Never mind that Mother told me years ago that the no line bifocals she got made her so sick that she couldn’t wear them.  That statement comes from the woman who couldn’t watch a merry go round without becoming nauseous.  Even if said merry go round was standing still.  The mere thought of it made her head start to spin.

   

  I place the order for the glasses.  Whenever one gets new glasses with a new prescription, there’s always that time of adjustment.  Adjustment of being able to see better, and the adjustment of the new shape of the frames.  Usually, this adjustment takes about a couple of weeks.

   

  For me and the no line bifocals, it’s going on two years, and I’m STILL not quite used to them.  Number one, the lens shape and width are smaller than my previous frames, so if I want to see something out of the corner of my eye, I either see a fuzzy blob, or I must turn my head completely toward the object I want to see.

   

  Then, there’s number two.  The bifocal itself.  Basically, if what I’m looking at isn’t 6 inches from my face, I can’t see SHIT out of the bottom of my glasses.  The bottom half of the lens goes from the distance lens to a close up, reading type lens.

   

  And I have stepped in shit because I can’t freaking see it lying on the ground.  And I’ve tripped over things.  And fallen down.  I have increased my falling down exponentially since acquiring my new specs.  I’ve had all sorts of bruises, scratches and contusions all over me the past couple of years.  I’ve tripped over tree roots on hiking trails and fallen on my face, and slid down a hill, all the while Dog is standing patiently by, waiting for Mom to pick herself up.  He doesn’t even bother to walk back and check on me anymore.  He just stands there and furtively glances about, as if to make sure no one else was around to witness Mom’s antics. Again.  And, if he could, I’m sure he would shake his head in disbelief that Mom cannot walk upright.

   

  I’ve managed to fall down while wearing my Elizabethan dress.  Yup.  Stepped in a hole I couldn’t see, and was on the ground before I knew what happened.  And, being strapped in a corset and wearing a large hoop skirt, how does one gracefully recover and get up from said position on the ground without, hmmm, exposing oneself?  I don’t think it’s possible.  A very nice gentlemen standing close by helped me up.  As he lent his arm, he said, “I thought you did that on purpose!”

   

  Even at home I’m not immune to the falling down.  Last winter, I tripped over a box in the garage, and in an effort to prevent myself from crashing head on into the garage door and knocking myself out, managed to twist around and sit down very hard on the floor, onto the metal tipped snow shovel propped up against the wall.  That contusion on my butt lasted all winter. 

   

  And my reaction once I find that I’m not hurt?  I laugh.  What else can I do?  I guess Mother Earth wants me to be a little closer to her.  Literally.

   

  My friend Cara has been visiting my home regularly the past month, for the purpose of having a space to sew since her new digs don’t have room for her garb making business as of yet.  One night, she’s sewing away, and I walk by, step on something I don’t see, and in an effort to not step on whatever it was, end up on the floor.  Cara just looks over in shock, then begins to laugh hysterically.  She comes over to help me up, which is made more difficult because I’m laughing too hard to be able to get up.  You know what I tripped over?  A dog bone.

   

  This past weekend was the piece de resistance of falling down.  Cara called, saying she and her man were at the bowling alley, bowling a few games and did I want to join them?  I haven’t been bowling in awhile, so what the heck?

   

  I get to the bowling alley, and it’s packed.  All those families with cabin fever have busted out and are at the bowling alley getting rid of all that excess energy.  I strap on the silly fluorescent bowling shoes and find a ball.  14 pounds ought to work.  It’s my turn.  I stand at my usual approach spot, take careful aim, 1, 2, 3 steps, ball back, forward and release.  There goes the ball down the lane, with Lisa not far behind.  You see, the approach was not as slick as I expected, and when I got to the line to release the ball, I didn’t slide.  I was stopped dead in my tracks, which then led me to take a step forward to recover.  A step forward over the line onto the newly oiled lane.  Slip, slide, BOOM!  I’m on the ground, again.  But I haven’t stopped moving!  I feel myself slooowwwly sliding towards the pins.  Cara and her man are looking on in shock (again), then, seeing that I am again laughing hysterically, join in with me.  Cara runs out and helps me get up.  That floor is slick!  I can’t get up, and Cara ends up pulling me (and I’m sliding) back to the edge of the lane where I can get a solid footing and hoist myself back up.  We are laughing so hard, I’m crying!  I can’t believe I did it again, in front of so many people!  A few minutes later, as our laughter is dying down, a woman about 5 lanes down does the exact same thing that I did.  OK, I don’t feel so much like a fool now.  I went on to bowl my worst games ever, for fear of repeating my first throw.

   

  And the glasses?  I still have ‘em.  I figure this is the tradeoff for not having to look over the top of my glasses while doing closeup work.  Just a tilt of the head, and I can see just fine, and no one’s the wiser.  Although someday I’m bound to break something. 

   

  I belong to a webgroup dedicated to Rottweiler owners and one owner/breeder has regularly been posting her progress in teaching her furry children to pull a cart.  She’s uploaded videos of the dogs pulling the cart down the street, while she’s sitting on the cart.  That’s what I need.  I need to harness the boundless energy Dog has to get me to where I’m going with a minimum of injury to myself. 

   

  Well, unless the cart Dog is pulling hits a large rock and I overturn…

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