I fell flat on my face yesterday. No, I don’t mean I did a failed performance nor do I mean my cake flopped. I literally fell on my face. I will tell you the story because it makes me laugh in hindsight.
It was a beautiful day in Minnesota and I decided to take my first walk of the year outdoors. I had to wear my boots, not because the road was wet but because our 1/4 mile driveway is full of ice, puddles and water. Once I got to the road, I could stop focusing on the ground beneath me and look around, let the sun warm me and talk to my favorite listener.
You know how boots have hooks for your shoestrings instead of holes? This is true of my boots. I lace them only half way up because then I can slip them on without stooping which tends to take my breath away. So the bows on my boots have loops in them a little larger than usual. Well, half way back to the house, the oversized lace loop on my left boot caught the eye hook in my right boot. Nuff said. I flew forward jamming my face into the grit on the side of the road. It must have been in slow motion because I remember thinking, “My hands are not moving fast enough. I think my face is going to get this.”
I waited a few seconds and started to lift myself off the ground. I felt my nose for blood. A car drove by. No stop. I thought, “No good samaritans in Morrison County.” I quickly assessed that there was no serious damage. I was a good fifteen minutes from the house and as I walked it felt like my face was swelling. Everyone will blame Bernie for this, I thought.
When I got home, I looked in the mirror. No damage so far. Maybe the black and blue will come later. There was a dandy scratch on the right lens of my glasses. I called the optomitrist office. I told the girl, “There is an old scratch on my left lense so I might as well get both replaced'” I said. “How much will that cost?” “$340,” I was told. “And the cost of one lens?” You would think I could do the math. “$170,” was the answer. “Just the left lens,” I said.
Later my daugher stopped by and I related to her what had happened. Heidi hasn’t gotten through her noodle yet that her mother is elderly and she should have been all concerned about my brittle body. She laughed and told me that the eye hooks in her boots trippped her once. I also told her about the bad samaritan that passed my by.
Suddenly, I saw myself. In addition to the old boots, open at the top, I was wearing old grey sweat pants shorter than my boots. A closer look would have revealed the hair on my legs. The jacket I wore is an old maroon one that I use for yard work. It is worn and dirty and made for a man. On my head I wore a large stocking-type hat that rested on my glasses and totally hid my hair. I doubt that anyone who saw me could discern that I was a woman. And for sure, anyone who saw me flopping around on the ground would have guessed me drunk.
I forgive you, passing Samaritan, whoever you are. And if you know me and knew it was me there on the ground, please believe my story. It is all about shoe laces and eye hooks.