Saturday, May 12, 2012

Personal Pride vs Actual Injury

Picture Title: Mud on Wall
On a walk, I took a slip that brought me to the ground, flat out, looking up at the clouds.

Bonnie asked me if my recovery involved physical injury, or if it was a case of personal pride.

No physical injury, so I can put that aside. although my first thought was, “That crack on the head felt just like the time my feet slipped out from under me when I was trying to learn to speed skate at the University of Calgary Oval.”

Yes. I was wishing I had been wearing a safety helmet.

... the pool? ... more mud than water ..
...the pic doesn't capture the ooziness of the mud ...
The slap to my personal pride came in the form of the next thought. “I have been warning myself that I shouldn’t go out without having some form of ID on me, since I might get interred in a pauper’s grave before anyone noticed that I didn’t come home here.

Steve is away.

I am only marginally in the boy’s peripheral visions.

And Rebecca would only think that it has been her fantasy that I was here, if I disappeared.


... mud on the door jam ...
No one saw me fall.

 I got up, and walked the rest of the way home. I didn’t clearly describe the nature of the puddle I fell in, so on today’s walk I took a picture of a similar spot.

And a day later, I took picture where I put my hand on the front door of Woodside lane to get inside, as well as the wall where I rested my hand so that I could take my shoes off.

“Why didn’t you take a picture by standing in front of the mirror and looking backward,” Rebecca asked.

Some things just never come to my mind. I did scrub the rounded wall where I brushed by and my coat left a huge mud print. While I was scrubbing it up, I was thinking – I would have been so mad if one of the kids had left this mess all over when they came in the house.

... mud by the lock ...
I did take off my coat and jeans – the jeans presoaked to get the mud off, then scrubbed by hand, then put in the washer, and when dried, folded up and took to the dry cleaners.

Travelling light, that is my only pair and they were still embedded with so much mud that I am embarrassed to wear them.

So I guess the recovery from the fall comes more down on the side of personal pride than real injury.

Lucky me. I was both the victim and the victor in a one-woman mud fight.

Arta

2 comments:

  1. Hi Arta - I am at Sabynthe's home in New Market, Ontario. She just came down the stairs and asked what blog I was reading that had me laughing out loud.

    As I try to fill in the blanks in the story, I haven't decided how much two factors are weighted: the amount of mud you were able to carry on your body, and the degree of being "off blance" that one can experience after a fall, or if they are carrying a larger load than usual.

    The photos of the mud trail through the house is priceless. I am so glad you captured that before cleaning it up. And the mud puddle - a visual was needed because it looks like a "mud pit" than a "mud puddle" to me. I am glad it wasn't quick sand.

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  2. Wishing I had proof read my comment before hitting "publish".

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