if I am on the floor it is hell to get back up off of it.
I wrote something on that while living at the cabin;
Falling down
At the age of four, one falls on a regular schedule.
No big deal
Yer close to the ground anyway
Get up
Run
Fall down
Repeat
When in yer late sixties, falling down is akin to plunging off the edge of the Grand Canyon
Seems about the same space of time to mentally adjust with several choice expletives
Once you’ve determined yer goin’ over, and have made one or more feeble attempts at grabbing (helplessly flailing) at something on the way down, like a small animal or a board with a rusty nail in it, you come to the grim reality that there’s just no stopping you, yer gonna hit.
Hard
Fleeting thoughts of childhood pets, Felecia Moorhead’s heaving cleavage, and health insurance premiums rush thru.
The landing..style points
I’ve never ever landed well.
Even in high school football, where you practice it, forever it seems.
Drop and roll for me was slowly crouching down and flopping over, immediately losing any location orientation.
I was a pretty good second baseman and shortstop, with good hand/eye coordination, but range...didn’t dare stretch out for the hot liner, could topple over, those were for outfielders.
The somersault has been an unattainable challenge, since early on in life, even though Connie Ekbert and her holey underwear showed me the main gist of the mechanics,
in slow motion,
several times...
Types
There’s the falling up
A couple/three months ago I stubbed my toe on a curb, going in to a Goodwill Store.
Went down
Landing on my palms
But that one didn’t count so much.
I fell kinda across, not down.
Now, coming off a curb, where the front half of the foot begins to point down, while the back half remains on the curb..heh...that one’s a beaut.
There’s a forward thrust, like some hit man from behind just pushed you into the subway rails.
That one doesn’t give you the grace period of fond childhood memories
Maybe a broken expletive
Maybe
Then there’s the WTF one, where it seemingly takes nothing more than a pebble on the road, or twig in the forest.
This may be attributed to the gait of a vague shuffle after a day of performing feats of long gone youthful brawn in the company of younger folk half my age.
Pain
I used to just wince, then find my way back up
But I no longer experience pain....if...I land on my palms (scar tissue).
If I happen to go down around a crowd of people, I notice they are the ones doing the wincing and grimacing.
Now I just crawl over to an object higher than my waist, hoist myself up,
give the concerned crowd a Nixon victory sign,
and hobble on my way.
So far, I’m good with it all.
Figger it’s God’s way of keeping me humble.
(fell on the ice yesterday...thought I better write these thoughts down while my wrists still function)
