Today we
went out to our usual weekend garage sales to seek books and other treasures.
Slim pickings, but we managed to find a couple of old erector sets and
some books, along with our fair share of some really useless items,
including some of that gooey stuff that makes fart noises when you mush
it around in the can. That's for the granddaughters. I wonder, am I
setting a good example as a gramma if I buy them disgusting fart noise
makers?
But to
keep things interesting and to cap off a relatively boring day, I had
a scary accident at the last sale.
We had
been focusing on the ever present used exercise equipment being unloaded
at garage sales because a friend came with us and she was sort of interested
in getting a treadmill. So we had even tried out a few paces on a couple
of them. I guess my mind just got fixated on exercise equipment. So
when I looked up and saw the strange looking arc shaped thing sitting
on the grass with the ski poles stuck in the ground in front of it,
I was instantly drawn to it. The mechanism that the sight of it triggered
in my mind must have been similar to that which motivates any two-year-old
to fearlessly explore everything in their environment. I just felt compelled
to explore further.
My friend
was looking around inside the garage, and my husband had gone to look
at another sale across the street. Without anyone to hold me back, I
edged closer to the device.
It looked
like it was something which moved from side to side when you put your
feet into the rectangular slots. Clearly you were meant to hold on to
the poles while you were doing whatever it was the device was designed
for. I got closer and tentatively put one foot on one of the treads.
So far it seemed harmless enough, so I put the other foot in and I grabbed
the poles stuck in the grass. I could tell that the foot pedals were
meant to slide one way or another down to the right or the left of the
arc. I wasn't completely clear on what the purpose of this was, other
than helping with some sort of skiing technique, but it looked like
it might be fun to try it out. So I leaned a little to the right and
it started to slide rapidly and the rest of me just did not know how
to follow the lead of my right foot properly.
Disaster
was happening and there was nothing I could do about it at all.
My arms
flailed, The one ski pole came out of the ground and went flying, and
so did I. I tumbled forward, all the while trying to catch and balance
myself, and thinking I've got to avoid hitting all the stuff around
me. One of the owners of the stuff had just come out of the garage and
he tried to reach out and catch me, but it was too late--I was on the
ground, having hit my shin against something and caught my finger in
something else.
I was very
fortunate that I had not hit anything too hard except the ground. I
knew nothing was broken because I broke my ankle last fall and I did
not have any sort of pain which approximated that horrible feeling.
But I was lying there--56 year old heap-- feeling mighty stupid, and
trying to figure out how and when I could get up. I would not let anyone
help me as I needed the time on the ground to regroup and make sure
everything was really working OK. Finally, I managed to pull myself
up using the other still standing ski pole.
The guy
said, "That's for learning how to do slalom skiing." The woman
said, "If you fall in the snow it isn't as hard." I said "The last time
I skied 30 years ago I skied into a tree, so I don't think there's much
hope for me."
I slunk
away to the car with a huge bruise on my shin my finger definitely feeling
sprained. I felt about as stupid as anyone could.
As I looked
back over at the scene of the accident, I saw a huge air conditioner
sitting on the ground directly in the path of my fall. I was just amazed
that the back of my skull had missed hitting on the corner of it. At
that point I forgot the pain and was suddenly extremely grateful that
my head had not hit that sharp corner; because had it, I could have
very easily been dead. It's going to be tough enough to hear the humiliating
jokes about my stupidity on getting up on that machine and falling.
But just think of the ignominy of dying at a garage sale.
For some
reason it brought to mind a freak accident that happened to a slight
acquaintance a number of years ago. She and her husband were responsible
for an art fair held in one of the suburbs here. One year she was out
marking the spaces and a car jumped the curb and ran into one of those
parking regulation signs right near where she was as she bending over.
The car did not hit her, but the sign sliced down and decapitated her.
Just a couple of inches in another direction and she might still be
alive.
The more
I thought about it, the more it reminded me again of how much our lives
depend on the chance outcomes of chance events. The line between life
and death often has a margin of clearance of just a couple of inches.
Even though it was a seemingly minor accident today, my feeling of gratitude
for not being more seriously injured was never so strong and clear.
I am so fully aware of how narrowly I escaped and I am feeling so lucky
that the margin of clearance was in my favor this time.