Thursday, July 31, 2014

BVG Night 7/30/14


What a beautiful night! With daytime temperatures in the 80's, it cooled off nicely last evening so we could eat dinner and shoot the breeze---although there was no breeze---on my deck. With my husband on hand to grill to perfection the kabobs were put together, it was an especially relaxing BVG night. Beef kabobs and fresh fruit salad............could it be any better than that? Yes, but just in one way, because j could not be with us last night. We missed her, and she missed out on a superb way to de-stress (and Cool and Elletu both needed that last night). Looking ahead, we planned the themes for our meetings during the rest of the months for this year, but that is as far as we went with any agenda. The idea was to let go of any cares in the world we might have. We talked about the fact that all year we look forward to the few months of the year when we are able to sit out on my deck late into the evening without freezing or getting wet.

THANK GOD FOR THE BLESSED SUMMER MONTHS!

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Massacre at Wounded Knee

Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase," "Hawaii K-O," "Things That Go Bump in the Night," "Pop Goes the Damsel," "Not-So-Secret Garden," "Slip Slidin Away," "Brokeknee Mountain" and "California Texting" before reading this post.

And so I come to the end........my LAST fall!

No, seriously, I'm never going to fall again. I learned my lesson many times over. Now, when I walk across the parking lot at the grocery store, I walk very slowly and deliberately, much like the OLD women I used to observe. I always thought they were lazy, or maybe they were feeling dizzy. I never realized they were afraid of falling because they would surely break something if not just irritate their sciatica even further. Hard to believe I have to walk like all of those women. After all, I'm only 66! Surely they were all 99.

I didn't actually save the best for last. I think "Slip Slidin Away" was my best fall, if you define 'best' as most damaging and most embarrassing (although I didn't have to be embarrassed because I was alone, but you could describe the event as 'bare assed' if you so chose). Still, this last fall, which was this last winter, is worthy of its own place of honor because it was really stupid. Blame it on the fact that it came right after everyone left following our incredible family gathering for Christmas and New Year's. There were 14 of us--16 if you count the two unborn babies--and that included our two grandsons, who were 17 and 14 months old. We had people sleeping on Aerobeds, a futon, a settee, a crib, a Pack & Play, not to mention beds, and people were in and out. Obviously, it was a lot of work for me, and I was tired. Keep that in mind when you consider my big mistake.

I love decorating for Christmas. Undecorating is another story. I have nine large bins for storing all of my Christmas decorations. Taking down our 8 foot tree is quite a chore, same with the outside lights. Once I got things back in the nine bins, I carried them upstairs without telling my husband, who was back to work. He was tired too, and I didn't want to bother him when he came home from work. I stacked the bins in an upstairs closet like I always did, along with the bins for all the other holidays.

Getting everything back in that closet was not working out. First I pulled the folded up Pack & Play out of one end of it and laid it across the floor not far from the door. Then I got a bright idea. I decided to move some of the bins across the hall to the empty closet in the guest room. I climbed up on a step stool at the other end of the closet and brought down one of the bins to transfer to the other closet. I was extremely careful coming down that step stool with that bin. After all, I absolutely did not want to fall. Once on the floor, I turned and headed for the door with the black-topped bin in front of me. I was a woman on a mission.

How quickly I had forgotten about the Pack & Play on the floor. I tripped hard, and I fell forward while clutching that bin. It all happened so fast, yet I had the presence of mind to determine that since I had hurt my left knee during my fall at Crystal Mountain six months previously, it would be wise to fall on my right knee this time. How smart of me after doing something so dumb.

Several things worked together to break my fall. There was the bin of course--I never let go of it. There was the lamp I knocked off the cabinet by the futon, there was the cabinet I knocked over with great gusto, and there was futon itself. I didn't exactly fall on the soft part, but oh well. I didn't go down to the floor, and that's something to be thankful for because, as you know, I would not have been able to get myself up off the floor. I was alone, so no one had to know how quickly I forgot about the Pack & Play on the floor. I was alone, so I didn't cry out.

People speak of looking for 'balance' in life. Just because one knee is injured, you shouldn't seek 'balance' by injuring your other knee. In fact, having both knees injured severely impacted my balance. What I thought on my way down was a good idea turned out to be a bad idea. So much for thinking on my feet.

It has been six months since the "Massacre at Wounded Knee," and I am glad to report my knees both feel okay. I haven't fallen again. Elletu did, but that is her story to tell. In fact, I'm going to get the BVG's to tell me about their falls. I remember when our kids were all very young Elletu fell off her front porch, and in the past year she fell at home and fell out of her chair at work. I remember when Cool slipped while taking a shower and had to go get stitches right before she was leaving on a trip. And j had a little mishap going down the stairs from her utility room to her garage. We are definitely a stumbling bunch.

Note to the BVG's: NO MORE FALLS! WE ARE TOO OLD FOR THIS! AND THIS TIME I MEAN IT!

California Texting


Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls, "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase," "Hawaii K-O," "Things That Go Bump in the Night," "Pop Goes the Damsel," "Not-So-Secret Garden," "Slip Slidin Away" and "Brokeknee Mountain" before reading this post.

Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase<" "Hawaii K-O," "Things That Go Bump in the Night," "Pop Goes the Damsel," "Not-S-Secret Garden," "Slip Slidin Away" and "Brokeknee Mountain" before reading this post.

Three years ago we made our fifth move in 13 years, and once again it was from one two-story house to another two-story house. I wonder how many times I walked up and down stairs carrying belongings, whether in a box or not. I shudder to think now, but it was just something we had to do, sciatica notwithstanding. Just a few weeks after we moved we were off to New Orleans for our son's wedding. We were gone for two weeks, and while we were there we rented a large townhouse. Lots of stairs inside, but even more outside. This townhouse was rebuilt after Katrina happened, and it was way high up on stilts. Up and down, down and up, and so on and so on. I had learned my lesson, so I was very, very careful to not fall.

We had a fabulous time but came home exhausted. I got right back to emptying boxes and getting things settled. The following summer we flew to North Carolina for a week for our son's recital before receiving his master's degree. A few weeks later we flew to Greece for our daughter's wedding. We were there two weeks, came home, turned around and flew to Hawaii for the birth of our first grandson. Three months later we drove to California for the birth of our second grandson, and two months after that we once again drove to California for Christmas. Nine months after that we made yet another trip to California. It was during this trip that I suffered my next fall. It was October, so it was a fall fall!!!

Let me point out that my daughter's house has lots of steps in front and back, and it is a two-story house. We sleep upstairs, which means going up and down some incredibly steep wooden steps. And we sleep on a futon, which isn't the best for my back. One night we had climbed those stairs to go to bed. I was exchanging texts with Elletu while standing, and my husband said, "Why don't you sit down to do that?" I thought that was a good idea, so while I continued to text I walked over to my son-in-law's desk chair. I backed up to it and attempted to sit down. I had neglected to note that this chair was on casters. Just as I went to sit, it went, well, 'slip slidin away' from me. I was already starting to sit, and there was no stopping my downward motion. With a loud thud I went down on the hardwood floor. Can I be somewhat indelicate here? Thank God for cushioning buttocks! In spite of my ample cushioning buttocks, my tailbone didn't like my fall, and neither did my sciatica.

My husband had to help me up. I don't think it registered at the time that I couldn't get myself up. He was there, and he helped me. I'm glad he did. Then he held the chair in place so I could sit down properly.

And then, back to texting. I told Elletu about my fall, and I told her, "We must never fall again," but did she listen? Did I listen? 

Brokeknee Mountain

Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase<" "Hawaii K-O," "Things That Go Bump in the Night," "Pop Goes the Damsel," "Not-S-Secret Garden" and "Slip Slidin Away" before reading this post.

One of my favorite places in the whole world is Crystal Mountain. Skiers love it in the winter, but I love it in the summer. I have happy memories of riding the chairlift to the top with our young children on warm sunny days. It was such a day when my husband and I made a trip there last July. We parked in the large parking lot at the resort and headed not for the gondolas but to check out a bridge and the quaint Bavarian building on the other side that houses a restaurant.

As we neared the bridge I could hear the sound of a bubbling brook. "Oh, there's water," I observed, and then like a little kid I started to run to the bridge. Me? Run? Never! But for some reason, I took off ahead of my husband, reaching the bridge made of uneven boards before he did. I was wearing my sandals, not the best for good footing, and I hadn't gone far before I tripped. I was thrown forward, and bending over at the waist, I wondered if I could pull myself up and avoid falling. But my forward motion was too much for me, and at some point there I realized there was no avoiding it, I was going down.

I slammed down hard on my left hand and left knee as I fell, and soon I was flat on the bridge. To be in your 60's and in that position is scary, but doing it in public, that is humiliating. An older couple was coming along behind us and of course witnessed my humiliating fall. They join my husband in inquiring, "Are you okay?" This brought back memories of the doorman in Boston (see "The Accidental Tourist") and the two male customers outside of Olympic Coffee in Port Orchard ("The Latte Show"). The three of them helped me get to a sitting position, and my knee was bleeding. My hand hurt. I was truly shaken.

At this point I told this nice couple I would be okay, they could go on their way, but they wouldn't hear of it. "We're not leaving until we know for sure you are okay," the husband said. Then the wife told me she had fallen twice in the past six months, and from one of the falls she had needed dental surgery. My teeth were fine, but my knee was not. Still, not wanting others to try to help me get up, I insisted I needed to get up on my own terms, and gritting my teeth, I got on my knees and began to crawl. And crawl did, all the way over to the side of the bridge, where I was able to pull myself up to a standing position. I thanked the nice couple and said I was fine, and convinced of that, they went on their way.

My left knee hurt for many months. The fall didn't help my sciatica in the least. I told the BVG's about it and said, "No more falls for us," and I really believed it. I thought I would be careful from then on, but three months later I was at it again, and then again three months after that.

What part of 'no' do I not understand???

Slip Slidin Away

Note: Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase," "Hawaii K-O," "Things That Go Bump in the Night," "Pop Goes the Damsel" and "Not-So-Secret Garden" before reading this post.

It is as if every fall I had ever taken served as a rehearsal for 'The Big One.' I don't think it's too unusual for someone to suffer a fall in the bathtub. I know Cool has done it. The fact that I wasn't even bathing makes my story a little more unusual. It was my fastidiousness that did me in. I should have left those tiny black dots on the bottom of my large oval garden tub, but a split second decision to go for perfection led to a perfectly dreadful body slam. My body has never been the same.

It was a hot summer day, and I had been working hard cleaning our two-story house. The last thing on my agenda was to clean the master bathroom. I decided to give the shower a thorough scrubbing, top to bottom, so that included getting down on the floor and scrubbing the shower stall floor with Scrubbing Bubbles. At this point in time, four years ago, I could still get up off the floor by myself. When I did, I got back in the shower and cleaned all the glass walls with the shower running. I didn't step out until the shower was absolutely as good as it was going to get.

I exited the shower and headed for the sink in the large vanity. On the way I passed by my garden tub and got a quick glance at these tiny little black spots on the bottom. I just couldn't let that go. Without thinking, I quickly lifted my left leg and planted my left foot in the tub. I was planning to reach down with my Scrubbing Bubbles-soaked sponge to blot out the tiny black dots. Instead, in the blink of an eye, my left foot, which was obviously also Scrubbing Bubbles-soaked on the bottom, slipped and slid clear across the width of my oversized tub. This action made my right knee slam hard against the outside of the tub, at which time my body was catapulted forward with incredible force. My chest was slammed into the arc of the silver water faucet. I cried out in pain, and I continued to cry until I remembered that no one was there to hear me. Did I mention I was naked? I am SO GLAD no one was there to hear me!

As I straddled the side of my tub, I took stock of the situation. I wiggled my toes--no paralysis. I pictured what I must look like from any angle--good sign, my sense of humor was intact. How I got myself off the side of the tub could have consequences, so I thought things through and did it in an orderly fashion. The fact that I could do it at all was a blessing. I managed to get dressed and in my recliner before I fully surveyed the damage. Bruises covered my chest and my right knee. My back hurt, but not as much as I would have imagined. Still, this dramatic slip and slide has had a lasting, negative effect on my mobility in the form of sciatica.

The important thing is, while I was in the prone position straddling the side of my tub, before I got up to survey the damage to my aching body, I had the presence of mind to clean up those tiny black dots that caught my attention in the first place.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Not-So-Secret Garden

Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase," "Hawaii K-O," "Things That Go Bump in the Night" and "Pop Goes the Damsel" before reading this post.

In 2009 we moved from Virginia back to where it all began, Port Orchard, WA. We moved from a two-story townhouse to a two-story house. Before we left the townhouse I spent hours and hours scrubbing it from top to bottom. Every inch of that place was spotless. Typical of me, I got up on a step stool and cleaned every closet shelf, every kitchen cupboard, every mirror--I even washed clean every single light bulb.

The house we rented out in Manchester was big and, unfortunately, dirty. The spectacular view of Puget Sound, downtown Seattle, Blake Island and Mount Rainier made up for it, I guess. I had to clean everything, and I would like to point out that every light bulb in that big house was dirty/dusty and needed to be cleaned. I am nothing if not thorough.

The yard, too, was a mess. The property management company had failed to keep it up the way the owner in New Mexico had expected. I spent eight straight days, all day, working in that yard, and my husband spent his two weekend days doing the same. There was an upper yard and a lower yard, and in back, a walkway of uneven stepping stones going up. Whatever I trimmed down below had to be carried up the back to the upper yard. On one expedition, with both arms totally loaded with yard waste, I tripped and fell forward to the ground.

You could say the yard waste protected me from my fall. Nothing could protect me from my embarrassment. This walkway was in plain view of the house right behind us, and on that day, at that very moment, several people were standing in the yard and witnessed my fall. What do you say? They had to have seen me, but no one came to my rescue or inquired of my condition. The truth is, I hurt. My hands hurt especially. At least I could still get up off the ground, but the way I had to do it must not have made a pretty picture for my new neighbors. If you're going to fall like that, the least you could do is do it in private. But not me. I had to do it in my not-so-secret garden.

But the most damaging fall would come a year later, in my 'garden tub,' and it's a good thing it was a 'secret garden tub' because I was naked and.....well, I'm getting ahead of myself. Next up: "Slip Slidin Away."

Pop Goes the Damsel

Note: Read "Legends of My Falls, "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase," "Hawaii K-O" and "Things That Go Bump in the Night" before reading this post.

During our two years in Virginia, thankfully, I did not fall to the ground. Yes! Oh, but I came close. My grocery cart saved the day.

There was no Safeway store in our area. We had Farm Fresh and Harris Teeter to choose from. It was late on a Sunday evening that my husband and I stopped by the Farm Fresh near our townhouse. We were finishing up a typical weekend of exploring and needed a few things for breakfast the following morning to begin the new work week. My husband stayed in the car while I ran in to do some quick shopping.

Since it was late there was just one clerk on duty at a check stand in the otherwise empty store, and she was reading the newspaper. I grabbed a cart and made my way across the front of the store. Right by this clerk my cart suddenly slid forward rapidly, as did my right foot. My left foot stayed behind, because it did not land in the sticky Sprite that had oozed all over the floor out of the opened two liter bottle laying on its side. Like a pair of scissors, my legs did the splits forward as far as they could go with me still standing. Thank God I was holding onto the cart with all my might or I would have gone all the way down.

I hate to think of how I looked through this whole split-second ordeal. What I can't believe is that the clerk never looked up from her newspaper, even though I was right by her! It wasn't easy getting myself righted again, and I was apprehensive about walking further through the sticky liquid goo. I had to get the attention of the clerk engrossed in her reading and advised her that a Sprite spill had occurred in her store. She shrugged and called someone to come clean it up. She never inquired about how I was. No offer to buy my groceries.

To this day, I can't do the splits.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

Note: Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show," "Up the Downed Suitcase" and "Hawaii K-O" before reading this post.

I had one more chance to tweak my back before we left Hawaii. I didn't see this coming either. I had my back to the menace. I was in the greeting card aisle at our Safeway store one fine night, doing what I always do when picking out cards, checking them all, reading the words, seeing if they really fit the person who will receive the card.

All of a sudden, BOOM! I was hit by something big from behind, something that knocked me over although not all the way to the floor. This was such a shock, not just for me but also for the store clerk who was pushing the loaded bread cart toward the front of the store. She couldn't see me in the aisle, so she slammed right into me.

I was shocked, she was horrified. I didn't want to cause a scene, she was petrified that she might have hurt me. Granted, a lot of people would have seen this as a perfect opportunity to sue Safeway, but nothing like that would ever enter my head. This woman was scared to death she was going to lose her job. She felt so bad, she went and bought a Safeway gift card for me and brought it back to me to pay for my groceries. I was sore for days.

Who would have thought that bread carts are 'things that go bump in the night'.......

Hawaii K-O

Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," "The Latte Show" and "Up the Downed Suitcase" before reading this post.

After 22 years in our Port Orchard home, our family moved to Hawaii in 1998 due to my husband's job transfer. This move was to be for one to two years, but as it turned out, we lived in Kailua, HI for nine years. During that time we had so many amazing experiences. The move turned out to be the best thing in the world for our family, but it wasn't good for my back. Let me explain.

I turned 50 just a few months before we moved. I doubt any fall prior to that had any lasting effect on my health. Perhaps I should have paid attention to what happens to your body once you hit your 50's. Maybe I would have been more cautious about my activities. Before the big fall I call "Hawaii K-O" I did two things that I ended up being scolded for. I guess I should have been more careful, but who knew? I sure didn't.

First, I got a call from a friend back in Port Orchard who wondered if I had a copy of a certain song. I told her I would check and call her back. All my music was stored in an old buffet in my living room. I sat on the floor, legs spread out, pulling music books out of the buffet, then stacking the books on the floor in front of me, between my outstretched legs. That was fine for most of the time, until the floor between my legs was all full of books and a few stray books remained in the back of my buffet. I could hardly get on my knees to get those books, not with all the books between my legs. I was in a pickle of my own doing. I hadn't found the requested music yet. I had to check those last few books, but how to get there...and a 'bright' idea came to me. I lifted my body up and stretched forward as far as I could in order to reach the elusive music. In the process of doing so I felt something snap in my back. It was the oddest feeling. It was not long before I felt some numbness in my scalp. I tried to get up to walk, but first I had to twist and turn and move all the books to the side. The upshot of the whole deal is that I had to spend the next week flat on my back, all day every day. I would feel the numbness creep up into my scalp. It was scary. I don't like staying down, but we were flying to Seattle a week from then, so I had to get better for our trip. That week is all it took. The numbness disappeared. Our trip went off as planned. Problem solved.

A few years later I was bugged by the foliage growing up past the top of our board fence separating our yard from our neighbor's. One day I decided to do something about it. I had a window of opportunity between my morning and afternoon piano students, so I got busy and really went to town on the whole thing. It was very hot outside--it was, after all, Hawaii--and the sun was beating down on me. The fence was six feet tall. I'm short, so I had to reach as far as I could while on my tippy toes, and the vines were so thick I most often had to twist them in order to cut them. All of the trimmed yard waste was thrown on the ground until it was time to fill the garbage bags. This included having to bend down every time, and I could tell my back wasn't liking it. But once I started this project, I really needed to finish it.

I found out later that after 50 your should never get up on your tippy toes. No one had ever told me that. This is where the sciatica began, and that is where it stayed. There were two major events that same week that further aggravated my little problem. When I should have spent the week resting on my back, one day I was on my feet all day at a hospital, walking all over several floors with no chairs available to me (long story). Another day we had tickets to a concert I didn't want to miss. We had to walk a long way from the parking garage to the arena, and our seats were at the very top of this cavernous venue. We sat in those small bucket seats for four and a half hours. Then came the long walk back to our car.

I don't mean to be melodramatic, but bear with me--it's all part of my story. This all led up to my fall walking downhill in the dark at 4:45 A.M. This is back when I could still get myself up off the ground, but I didn't want to. It was amazingly comfortable down there on the ground. I fell because of a torn up sidewalk. If I had been walking in the daylight I would have seen the unevenness of it all, but it was not light yet. This is when my husband and I liked to walk. We put in two and a half miles almost every morning, and we weren't walking on flat ground. We lived at the top of a steep hill, and the course we laid out for ourselves took us up and down other steep hills. This did wonders for our weight and my asthma. Falling was the furthest thing from my mind when it happened, and it happened so fast. Like I said, it was comfy down there on the ground, so comfy that my husband was afraid I was knocked out (hence the K-O). I knew that once I got up I would have to deal with my bloody knees and other damage. Down on the ground, I was feeling nothing. It was quite surreal.

For our remaining months in Hawaii, I was not quite as enthusiastic about our walking as I had been. I still did it, but going downhill took on a new, sinister vibe. To this day, I'm hesitant even walking down stairs.

That was it for Hawaii. Four months later we moved to Virginia. After living in three different one-story homes during our 31 years of marriage--one in Port Orchard, two in Hawaii--we moved into a townhouse with very steep stairs leading to the second floor. That's where our office and my music room were located, as well as our guest room and guest bath. The movers dumped all our tall boxes of belongings on the first floor, and while my husband was at work, I did the unpacking and moving in. I carried so many boxes up those steep stairs---and down again when we moved two years later! Most memorable: LP's and music books. Oh dear, my poor back.

And the next move we did ourselves. We packed it all up and headed across the country in a 26-foot U-Haul towing our van behind on a trailer. We were 60. After many weeks of fetching and packing and carrying and loading, we spent seven days sitting in that U-Haul. For me, it was quite a fete to make it up into the cab and also back down out of it. I'm thinking my back probably didn't like that. And once we got to our destination---Port Orchard!!---what did we do but move into a two-story house. More carrying and unpacking and putting away, up and down stairs, up and down step stools.

So in spite of "Hawaii K-O" I was able to handle that move quite well, although I remember complaining about my "right hip, left foot. Prior to "Hawaii K-O, that was not an issue. Who knows what I did then, but really, when I look back, all I think about is how truly comfortable it was just laying there in the street, which is where I ended up.

Firstelle, a street person. I never saw that coming. I was down for the count:

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1................................

Monday, July 28, 2014

Up the Downed Suitcase

Note:  Read "Legend of My Falls, "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away," "The Accidental Tourist," and "The Latte Show" before reading this post.

When our daughter, our eldest, went out of state for college, her youngest brother took over her bedroom. When I look back now, I wonder if that hurt her. She was such an independent girl, I knew she wouldn't want to come back to live at home again. Meanwhile, her two younger brothers, who were four years apart, had been sharing a room since we needed a crib and a single bed. Then we went to bunk beds. Then, in August of 1995, we took our daughter to college, then came home and work feverishly for three solid days to convert a blue, white and pink room with wall-to-wall carpet into a dark green, white and dark wood-trimmed room with hardwood floors for our youngest son. Then my husband was off on a series of long business trips and our sons were breathing a sigh of relief because they didn't have to share a room. That part was good for me, but of course I missed my husband and I missed my daughter. Life would never be quite the same.

The first time our daughter came home for a visit she walked in with her things and started to turn right to go down the hall to her room. Then she stopped herself and said, "That's right, I don't have a room anymore." She turned back to the left and headed for the family room, where the sleeper sofa awaited her, and for the three years she was in college--yes, she did college in three years, and with a 4.0, because she is an amazing go-getter---the family room is where she slept when she came home for a visit.

One of those years, when she was home for spring break, I had finished doing all the laundry and carried hers to the family room to leave for her. Walking across the room with the folded laundry piled up in my arms, I neglected to see her suitcase on the floor. I didn't just stumble, I tripped across it and fell all the way to the other side, landing on my face.

This seems to be a theme with me. Just like I didn't spill the lattes in "The Latte Show," I didn't mess up my daughter's folded laundry either. There should be a metal in there for me somewhere. Instead, I have sciatica.

Friday, July 25, 2014

The Latte Show

Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls," "Snow White Falling on Cedar," "Down, Down and Away" and "The Accidental Tourist" before reading this post.

There is an expression, "No use crying over spilled milk." I would cry over a spilled latte. That's why I look back on one of my memorable falls with a certain amount of pride. Though I had a latte in each hand and ended up flat on my face in a busy parking lot, the lattes remained upright in my hands and not one drop of them of was spilled. How is that for finesse? (I can hear my husband replying, "How's that for STUPIDITY???)

It was for my husband I was bringing one of those lattes. The other, of course, was for me. And now that I think of it, it is kind of ironic, because I was bringing him a daily latte after he had spinal surgery! He had ruptured a disc on a business trip to Italy the previous October. He had to jump off a boat onto a dock at an awkward angle, and he was carrying his briefcase in one hand and his laptop computer in the other. When he landed he could feel something 'give,' and pain in his hip and down his leg was immediate. It grew with each passing day and week until he came home. When I saw him at the airport I knew something was drastically wrong. His journey from there until his spinal surgery the following February makes for an interesting story, but this story isn't about him, it's about me.

Prior to his surgery my husband was off work and confined to either the bed or the recliner loveseat in our family room. He was in excruciating pain that was only partially helped by drugs. His daily latte was his treat, and I picked the lattes up at the only coffee shop in town at the time, Olympic Coffee. This one fine morning I had the lattes in hand, went out the door and headed for my car in the parking lot as I always did. I'm not sure why on this day I didn't see the difference between the drop-off from the sidewalk and the ramp right in front used for deliveries and probably wheelchairs. I breezed out of the shop, across the sidewalk, put my left foot on the ramp and expected my right foot to land at the same level of concrete. But there was that drop-off, and that threw me off---off my feet, that is. I totally lost my balance and fell forward.

If I hadn't had the lattes in my hands I would have been able to break my fall with my hands. Instead, my hands stayed wrapped around those latte cups. It all happened so fast, I suddenly found myself up close and personal with the parking lot concrete. This all happened within full view of other customers sitting at the bar along the windows. Two nice young men saw my plight from inside Olympic Coffee and rushed out the door to assist me.

Them:               Are you alright?
Me:                   I'm fine, I'm just embarrassed.
Them:               That's okay, we're never going to see you again.
Me:                   Okay then, my name is Sally. Good to meet you.

Don't get excited, I didn't make a blog faux pas. Sally is not my real name. That's the point. It was all a joke. They laughed because they knew my name wasn't really Sally. They helped me up and helped me to my car. They left, and I got inside. And I cried.

The year was 1996. My husband's spinal surgery was a big success, thank God. No surgery for me, but I hurt something in there that day. Not to mention Sally's self-esteem.

The Accidental Tourist

Note:  Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs," "Snow White Falling on Cedar" and "Down, Down and Away" first.

The year was 1994, and my daughter and I had the opportunity to join my husband on the East Coast for his three-week business trip. With Philadelphia as our home base, we also spent time in Washington, D.C., New York City, Boston, the Amish Country, Atlantic City, Connecticut, and as far north as Kennebunkport, Maine. Our daughter was going in to her senior year of high school and wanted to check out some East Coast colleges, especially Berklee College of Music in Boston. We were glad to spend a few days there because Boston is loaded with historical sites.

The top thing on our list of things we wanted to do in Boston was to walk the famed Freedom Trail as my husband had done on a previous business trip. It was July, and it was hot and humid. The three of us dressed in shorts for the seven-mile walk. Undaunted by the uncomfortable heat, we set off walking with great anticipation for the experiences ahead, experiences to be shared with the oodles of other eager tourists. The trail is an urban one, winding through downtown Boston where old cemeteries, old churches and old government buildings are interspersed with tall, modern skyscrapers and posh hotels.

In my excitement to be where I was, I just didn't see the torn up sidewalk we came upon. I tripped, and I fell forward, hard, to the ground. My glasses flew off as my body was sprawled, in all its glory, across a Boston sidewalk. Almost immediately I was surrounded by concerned citizens and tourists. The doorman from the hotel across the street came running, asking what he could do to help. Nice young men voiced their concern and offered their help. Talk about being embarrassed! And talk about pain!

It was no surprise that both of my bare legs were scratched up. I could not understand why both of my hands hurt so horribly, a hot, searing pain. When my husband helped me sit up, I could see my knees and shins were bleeding and were covered with gravel from my knees down my calves. I also discovered the source of the hot pain in my hands, both of which were red. I looked down on the manhole cover they had fallen on, and I read the name engraved on it: Boston Steam. Those were steam burns, and ouch, did they every hurt.

While the doorman offered to get me an ambulance, I would hear nothing of that. He did say there was a drug store at the bottom of the hill we had been starting down, so as soon as I was up and had my glasses put back on me we started to walk, only in my case it was more like inching along. There was a park across the street from the drug store, and my husband had me rest there with my daughter to keep me company while he went to buy things to clean me up and sanitize me. At this point I wished he could have gotten me a general anesthetic!

This downtown Boston park was a busy little place, and while I was surely a spectacle with my bleeding, gravel-studded legs, Not wanting to draw further attention to me, I refused to cry. That proved nearly impossible a task when my husband sprayed something on my burned hands to help them and when he painstakingly removed pieces of gravel from my legs. I've never been one to say bad words, but could I be blamed for thinking them that day?

After I was all doctored up and both legs were covered with gauze, my husband just assumed I would want to leave and go back to the car. "No way!" I said, "I flew all the way across the country to walk the Freedom Trail, and I'm going to do it." And we did, for me, one painful step at a time.

Three years later we returned to the East Coast and to Boston, this time with our two sons. This time the temperature was 96 degrees with 98% humidity. In spite of those horrid conditions we walked the Freedom Trail, stopping first for a photo op by the Boston Steam manhole. In case you are wondering, they still hadn't fixed the broken sidewalk.

I was 46 when I became the Accidental Tourist, so this is the 20th anniversary of my Boston Steam fall. This is when the real Legends began

Down, Down and Away

Note: Read "Legends of My Falls," "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs" and "Snow White Falling on Cedar" before reading this post.

I wasn't exactly unpopular in high school. I wasn't a cheerleader like j was, but I was pretty involved at my Seattle school--feature editor of the school newspaper, school choir, select girls ensemble, swing choir, Madrigal singers, Homecoming chairman, Executive Council, Honor Society, on the winning "Beat the Brains" team, Vice-president of Youth for Christ, etc. I was not unattractive. I had lots of fun friends, and I looked forward to going to school every day. My family's church was, like my high school, just a few blocks from our house. We had a large, active youth group, and about 60 of us wouldn't dream of missing our Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings and nights together. Sunday mornings we were together for our 'opening exercises," as our church called our time of singing together before we split up in to our Sunday school classes.

Music defined my life, and one way I used my talents was accompanying the singing on Sunday morning. What had originally been the parsonage next door to the church became our youth center, and we all gathered in what had been the living room of the parsonage for singing. There was an old upright piano for me to play, and instead of a piano bench I had a swivel-top piano stool to sit on. This one week, unbeknownst to me, the stool had somehow been broken and the top came off. Instead of repairing it, someone just sat it on top of the ailing stool and left it there. This recipe for disaster was just waiting for me.

And so, on this particular Sunday morning I sat down on the stool, played the introduction with my usual gusto, and then just as everyone began to sing, BOOM! The stool fell apart and went crashing down on the hardwood floor, taking me with it.

Make no mistake, this was extremely painful, and the humiliation of it all is what I remember most. What teenage girl, no matter how thin she might be, wants to have people think she broke a piano stool.

Just for the record, I don't think anyone inquired about how I felt. I just remember this big roar of laughter. Was it really all that funny? No. Should someone have come to my rescue? Yes.

This is where the phrase "I wanted to fall through the floor" really has meaning for me.

Snow White Falling on Cedar

Note: Read "Legends of My Falls" and "One Flew Over the Basement Stairs" before reading this post.

It's not that my nickname was ever Snow White, but back in the day when I would be delighted by the story of Snow White and could finally read it myself, I had my second memorable fall. Instead of falling forward, as I did off my basement stairs, this time I fell backwards. Fortunately, something broke my fall, and unfortunately, its life was cut short.

I was at a plant nursery with my parents in North Seattle, and as we walked around in the area of potted trees, I somehow slipped and fell. You've heard of 'face planting'? Well, this was more of a 'butt planting,' or rather 'one-half butt planting.' There is no way to put it delicately. One 'cheek' fell directly on a metal pot. Too bad about that little cedar tree that was in that pot. It never had a chance.

As funny as this might sound, it was actually quite painful. The funny part was the resulting round bruise which changed colors for weeks, touching every color of the rainbow. I admit I spent a lot of time looking at my backside in the mirror.

Now that I look back, I wonder if my parents had to pay for that little cedar....which had been in that one-seater.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

One Flew Over the Basement Stairs

NOTE: Read "Legends of My Falls" before reading this post.


You might think I'm a little cuckoo, but I have a few vivid memories from when I was just two years old. I can remember standing near the top of the basement stairs in my Seattle house and bending practically all the way over in order to see what was down there. I remember seeing the cuffs of my grandfather's dress pants. Then I lost my footing and went tumbling down, through the air, straight for the concrete floor below me. My head hit the floor, and thankfully my injury was only a concussion, not that a concussion is no big deal. My other distinct memory is of being in the hospital, in a crib. I remember the bars on the bed, thus it was a crib, and I remember a woman in white coming to check on me. I'm pretty sure I was in the hospital for several days. I have many of those crib memories. I must have been afraid, being away from my mom like that.

While I don't think that fall had anything to do with the fact that I can't get up off the floor anymore, it was a beginning. It means there were 63 years between my first fall and my last fall, and yes, the "Massacre at Wounded Knee" fall was my last. So this is where the legends begin.

Next up: The broken swivel top of a piano stool is plunked down on its base and looks like it's attached, but it is not. Pity the poor pianist who sat down and started playing for her large high school Sunday school department. It only took a few spirited chords on the keyboard to bring that pianist down with a loud crash right on top of the broken piano stool on the wooden floor. Ouch!!

Legends of My Falls

We have all done it. The latest was Elletu. It was after my fall a year ago that I told the other BVG's, "We must never fall again. We are getting too old for this. Things are going to start breaking." Yet, two times in the following six months I broke my own rule and fell, with great gusto I might add. No, I haven't broken anything yet, but my sciatica? Lordy, lordy, I wish I could go back to forty!

Alas, yesterday I took the time to sit down and note what turned out to be my Top Twelve Falls--yes an even dozen! These falls were dramatic enough to warrant their own name and own story. I even have two 'Honorable Mention Near-Falls.' When they are done reading my stories, I do believe my Sisters will show up at my door with a wheelchair, walker, pain medication and offers to take over cleaning my big two-story house for me. (I can dream, can't I?)

Future posts will be, in this order:

One Flew Over the Basement Stairs
Snow White Falling on Cedar
Down, Down and Away
The Accidental Tourist
The Latte Show
Up the Downed Suitcase
Hawaii K-0
Things That Go Bump in the Night
Pop Goes the Damsel
Not-So-Secret Garden
Slip Slidin' Away
Brokeknee Mountain (or, "Help! I've Fallen, and I Can't Get Up!"
California Texting
Massacre at Wounded Knee

You will read how the two-year-old me fell from near the top of my basement stairs, head first onto the cement floor, landing in the hospital with a concussion. You will learn what can cause a large circular bruise that changes to every color of the rainbow, but in a place no one wants to look. Picture the humiliation as a broken piano stool hurled me to the floor in front of 60 fellow teenagers. Relive with me the pain of falling on a hot manhole cover marked Boston Steam just after starting our family trek on the Freedom Trail. Be embarrassed for me when, in full view of other patrons inside a coffee shop, I fall off the sidewalk, flat on my face. But cheer with me when you realize I did so without ever spilling a drop of the two lattes I was holding. Cringe with me as I fall over a suitcase on my family room floor, my daughter's laundry in my arms, and as I fall walking down a steep hill near my Kailua home in the dark early morning hours. Picture that large, loaded bread cart slamming in to me as I stood with my back to it, reading cards in my local Kailua Safeway. What a shock. Gasp with me as I describe a shocking, painful moment in my local Farm Fresh grocery in Chesapeake, VA, when I slip dramatically in the spewed stickiness of the contents of an opened two liter Sprite bottle. I guess it was a game of "How Low Can You Go?" For the record, I got as low as you can go without sprawling all the way down on the floor. Imagine my arms overloaded with yard waste as I walk up the uneven steps in the back yard of our Manchester rental, after eight full days of trying to clean out the overgrown mess of a yard we inherited. Then imagine my fall forward, all within full view of my new neighbors behind me, people I had not met. One thing I don't want you to picture is what happened to me as I made a split-second decision at that same house to put my left foot in my big bathtub so I could reach in and clean the tiny black specks on the bottom of the white tub. Too bad I had Scrubbing Bubbles residue left on the bottom of my feet after having just scrubbed my shower floor with the cleaner. Too bad I was naked. No, no, no---don't picture this! Please! I have learned that just because you hear some water running under a bridge is no reason to go running in sandals to see the water under the bridge. True, it's all water under the bridge now, but I learned a valuable lesson one day a year ago up at Crystal Mountain. I found out that just because you hear some water running under a bridge, that is not a good reason to go running to try to see it. I also learned a horrible fact: Now, when I fall, I can't get myself back up again! The police warn us not to text and drive. I shouldn't text and try to sit down at the same time, not when the chair I'm trying to sit on is taller than I am and is on casters. And may I never again get up on a step stool to get a large black-topped storage bin out of a closet, then step down to walk straight toward the door to take the bin to another closet in another room without checking to make sure my Pack & Play isn't in my way on the floor (where I left it moments earlier). This was a recipe for disaster. I am glad to report that nothing broke, not even the ceramic lamp I knocked over on my way down, nor the cabinet I knocked over, nor the contents of the bin, not even my knee, but honestly, I don't think my knee will ever be the same. Rejoice with me when you realize I had the presence of mind to land primarily on my right knee, as opposed to my left knee, which is what took the brunt of my fall on that bridge some five months earlier.

This is why I don't jump up on chairs anymore. This is why Julene, our BVG massage therapist tells me not to iron or vacuum, at least not without some special techniques for people like me. This is why, when I stand up after sitting, I don't just take off walking but rather take a few moments to straighten out a few things, and I'm not talking about my purse, my clothes or my coat. This is why I ask for a table instead of a booth at a restaurant. This is why I don't go out walking by myself anymore. This is why I dream of living in a one-story house. This is why I don't walk as fast as I used to.

Now, about that wheelchair..................................



Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Police Blotter

My friend Rosalie and I began working at the Southeast Office of the Department of Social and Health Services (DSHS, or, more commonly in those days, the Welfare Office) in the late '60s (that would be the late 1960's, not OUR 60's--we were young, vibrant 20-somethings back then). In the beginning, all of the offices for King County were housed in one big building in Seattle's Rainier Valley, close to the old Sick's Seattle Stadium where the Seattle Rainiers' baseball team played its home games. When new local buildings were built in various areas of the county, our office moved out to Kent where Rosalie lived in a house with her husband  and I soon found an apartment. I'm not sure exactly when she and I became actual friends, but I see her close to me in a picture from our 1976 wedding, as my husband and I are preparing to drive away from the church. Within a few years of that she and I were both having babies and raising them together, even though I had moved away from Kent to Port Orchard, eventually to become a Bethel Valley Girl.

Over the years Rosalie and I, as friends do, established some traditions together. Every Christmas we would meet for lunch at Issaquah's Gilman Village and do some Christmas shopping. We would get our children together to color Easter egg. Our families got together for dinners, or with our husbands we would go out to dinner. Rosalie knitted large, gorgeous, incredible Christmas stockings for us, our children, and eventually our children's mates and our grandchildren, while I made Christmas decorations for her every year. We kept in touch during my 11 years living out of state, and then when I moved back five years ago we began a new tradition. Once a month we meet for lunch, most often at the Red Robin near the Tacoma Mall. This is our chance to catch up on our busy lives and family stuff. We never run out of things to say, and I know we never will. After 40 years of knowing each other, our friendship remains a RENEWABLE RESOURCE!

So yesterday was one of our once-a-month get-togethers. We met at Red Robin at 11:30, and two hours later our conversation was still flowing, long after our salads were devoured. I was chattering on about something when Rosalie interrupted me to say, "The police are in here." I turned to look at who had passed right by our table, expecting to see a group of officers stopping in for their lunch. What I saw instead was a policeman walk down a few steps to the lower section of the restaurant, and as he was turning the corner to the right I could see he had both hands on his gun as he started to run toward someone. A half wall and potted plants obscured my view, but right away we could hear,  "Get on the floor! Get on the floor!"

You see scenes like this on TV and it's ugly, but of course you don't feel threatened because it is, after all, TV. This was no TV show, this was real, and when I think back on it now, some of our reactions were comical. We remained calm as we weighed our options. I observed that we still needed to pay for our lunch, so walking out of the restaurant was not an option. This shows how honest a person I am. Meanwhile, Rosalie was contemplating obeying the police officer's command to get on the floor. She mentioned that to me, and I guess, in retrospect, she was right, we should have gotten under our table in case bullets started flying. However, we realized that being of a certain age and in a certain condition, once we got down on the floor we would have required help getting back up again. That is so humiliating, we didn't want to attempt that. I thought of escaping to the ladies room---certainly the perp would not go in there, as it is a 'dead end,' but then what if the perp was not in his--or her--right mind? The perp wouldn't be able to think that through. Then it crossed my mind that there could be more than one perp, and they could have guns, and there could be a big shoot-out, and Rosalie and I were sitting right near the exit to the front foyer, and.........

And then here came a policeman and the perp--the only perp I guess--walking within a few feet of us, the perp in handcuffs and being led out by our knight in shining armor, a now calm Tacoma policeman. When our waitress came by we paid our bill and swapped stories with her about how that all went down. She had come out of the kitchen and then saw a big man on the floor. It was, in the end, a bonding experience for everyone at Tacoma's Red Robin yesterday. I must said that was the most exciting lunch Rosalie and I ever had together.

That is my Police Blotter story. I guess it's not all that exciting, and perhaps it is not really blog-worthy. I was thinking as I wrote it, not just about yesterday and my long friendship with Rosalie but also about the fact that we BVG's all have other friends---old friends, new friends, young friends, fun friends, other groups of friends, friends with which we have traditions. But there is something unique about this quartet of ours. Maybe it was something in the water on Bethel Valley Lane. Maybe it had something to do with the Piggy Park. Maybe it had something to do with the babysitting co-op we set up at church together. Maybe it had something to do with the couples Bible study we did together through Christian Women's Club. Maybe it was Christian Women's Club. Whatever it was, the four of us know we are incredibly blessed, and not just because of the BVG's but also because of all the wonderful friendships that define our lives, especially now in what might be described as our 'golden years.' (Which doesn't really make sense, because if you took away all of our hair dye, you'd be more apt to call these our 'silver years'!)

In closing, yesterday's lunch might have ended in a different way and could have been much more dramatic and traumatic. My thanks go out to the policemen who protect us on a daily basis, and to God for keeping me safe so I could live to write another day.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Time for a Cool Celebration!

Two years ago today I became a grandma for the first time. And today the BVG's celebrated----but not that. Yesterday was Cool's birthday, and since j couldn't make it to lunch yesterday we delayed the birthday luncheon until today. Then today came, and by 10:30 Elletu realized, with dismay, that she couldn't get away from work because her boss didn't show up. So we were a group of three at Home Made Café at noon. Translating that to BVG demographics, 3/4 of the BVG's were at the Home Made Café at noon today to celebrate Cool's 61st birthday. Speaking of BVG demographics, 3/4 of the BVG's are in their 60's. That means 1/4 of the BVG's remain in their (her) 50's, and what a coincidence, that same 1/4 of the BVG's missed Cool's birthday luncheon. (I do not want to harp on that, because Elletu felt really bad about having to miss the occasion.)

I liked the card I found for Cool. It said something like this:

"You're so cool that if you drank wine with a straw, other people would see you do it and say, 'Oh, I guess that looks cool,' and they would drink their wine with a straw too."

And she is just that cool.

Love you, Sister. Happy birthday! You were my very first friend on Bethel Valley Lane, and you introduced me to j and Elletu. We share a common bond: You were there to witness my Blender Cole Slaw fiasco. That means something. And you mean a whole lot to me.

Thank you for being.........................that COOL!

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

This is Where it Happened



This is where it happened. Well, not at this very place, but it was on Cathie Ave. SE that Elletu's car was rammed by an inattentive driver. Not cool!!!!!

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

A Tale of Two Cars


One car receives oohs and ahs as it is admired for its preserved beauty at a car show, and the other evokes groans and expressions of pity as it is towed away from the accident scene. One car is checked under the hood and pronounced trophy-worthy, while the other is all messed up in back and is sent away to have its rear put back in gear. One car is safe and sound in j's garage, but the other is in car rehab for some 'spa time.' If anything needs a 'beauty make-over,' it is Elletu's beloved Kia.

When a friend gets in a car accident and makes it through relatively unscathed, you can't help but think of what might have been. What if she had been a second or two slower? The vehicle driven by the crazy driver who slammed in to Elletu's car would have crunched her instead of the back of her Kia.

You deserve a trophy, God, for keeping Elletu (and her grandson) safe. Thank You!!!!!