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!!