The mantra for hiking in treacherous territory is, “If you’re looking, don’t walk. If you’re walking, don’t look.” I never knew it applied to going down the stairs in my own house. Apparently it does. I was thinking of the next bit of cleaning I had to do, and missed the bottom step on the landing. My ankle took a beating, but at least nothing broke.
I resurrected another saved object – the air cast in the picture is one I used 30 years ago when I broke my ankle practicing a small leap for ballet class. That was embarrassing for so many reasons, not the least because I was taking my first ballet lessons as an adult. My mom never enrolled me as a child. She was afraid it would damage my feet. She was right. One of these days, I’m going to create a story around my dickey ankles and the many times they’ve rolled, collapsed, buckled, and otherwise betrayed me.
Another story I have to write is about the magic rooms where we keep our collection of odd but useful stuff. As I tried to take a step after the fall on the stairs, I realized I wasn’t going to be able to put any weight on it at all that day. I casually mentioned to my husband that a cane would help. The light went on in his eyes, and within the hour he had made me the cane pictured above from scrap wood and a leftover furniture cup that he had in his workshop. I’m proud of being a pack rat, and someday will find a way to incorporate it in a story.
Luck and wisdom!