Falling Right In It

Last month I was vacationing in Jordan with a friend. Of course while we were in Jordan we went to Petra! Petra was really great, except for all the walking. Part of that walking involved climbing up to the Monastery. Most people pay the 7JD to ride a donkey up the 800 plus steps that wind their way up and around in the extremely high hills of Petra.Not us. You can read about the full pain of the journey in my other blog, this post is about a small moment of the climb.

Standing in awe of how high we had to go.

I am by no means an in shape person but I do go to the gym semi regularly where I participate in vigorous dance classes. Since this experience wasn't going to be as awful as was traversing the Great Wall I figured I might be able to do it without too many problems. Not so. I found every excuse in the book to stop and take breaks. And because I needed so many breaks, I soon ran out of in the book excuses and hard to make up new ones.

Slipping off a rock

During one of these excuses we'd wandered down a small side path to check out an interesting rock formation. After a few moments of admiring and relearning how to breath, we turned to leave. As I was turning, my foot slipped off the rock I was standing on and I did this kind of slide/fall off the rock. Thankfully the rock wasn't so high so I didn't have far to fall. Mostly I got a little jarred when I stopped the fall with my right hand. I also got a bunch of that 'rose red' dust all over me for which Petra is so famous. However, I wasn't the only thing on the rock I slipped off.

Oh the consequences of donkeys.

Yup, right in it.

Yep. There was a big pile of donkey doo on the rock. I guess I've been so long out of the country that I never noticed in the first place. I sure as heck noticed it when I fell! There was a moment after I fell, after I was sure nothing was broken or bleeding, where Sarah and I froze as we simultaneously noticed where my hand was. Right. In. The. Center. Of. The. Doo.

Sigh.

And yet...fortune smiled. My hand mat have been in the center of the donkey doo...but the center was doo-free! Ha! So, Andrea - 1, Universe  - a lot more.

The *Other* Time I broke My Neck

Seriously, this does happen to me multiple times. Being me is super dangerous.*

For a couple years I lived on the edge of DC in a group house (if you don't know what a group house is you are LUCKY). It was a really great house, huge, in a semi quiet but you still might get held up kind of neighborhood. Built in the 30s-ish it was all hard wood floors and paneled walls. Easy upkeep because no vacuum cleaner required...but hardwood floors + me = never a good thing. The stairs were a winding staircase. I've always admired the aesthetics of a winding staircase but have now learned that they are best avoided.

So-slippery wood floors, winding staircase, narrow narrow stairs, slightly unsturdy and flimsy handrail. Probably that's all you really need to know how this ends but let's keep going anyway.

For over two years I lived in dread of what I perceived to be my inevitable demise on those stairs. And one night it finally happened. It's all a blur so I cannot recall if I were hurrying down the stairs, wearing socks, moving-you know, any of those things that are dangerous-but just a couple steps down I lost my foot and began plummeting towards certain death.

Except I didn't die (or I did and am now the COOLEST BLOGGER EVER!!) because I managed to grab hold of the handrail with one hand. So instead of tumbling down the stairs, I fell down a few then jerked to a sudden halt and ended up twisted kind of around the inside of the staircase.

Two of my roommates came running (well one was on crutches at the time so she hobbled) to see my strange contortion and nodded sagely to indicated that they realized the stairs had finally had their way with me. I'm surprised people don't take bets on this; seriously.

Ok, no big deal, I'm still alive and nothing seems to be broken so that's great. I go to bed, get up stupidly early the next morning for a flight to Michigan to visit the family for some reason (honestly I have no idea why I was going to Michigan, it wasn't Christmas and it wasn't summer and those are usually the only times I go back). Spent a day in Michigan, all is fine and mid-westerny, go to bed.

And BAM! I'm a quadriplegic!

I woke up the next morning and I seriously, no exaggeration at all, could not move. I could not move. I honestly don't think I've ever been so scared (well except for the Wall but I think that actually came after this). I as lying on my back, which later I was thankful for because I often sleep on my stomach and that could have been very bad, with my head turned to the right. And nothing moved.  I could in fact wiggle my fingers and toes so I knew logically I was probably not actually a quadriplegic, but nothing bigger that would budge. So after calming myself (sort of but honestly not really) out of a panic, I did the only thing I could do. I started yelling for my mommy.

Poor woman rushed in still half asleep (I think it might have been pretty early) and looked at me blankly when I told her that I was now a quadriplegic. And who could blame her really. In the end we decided that  by grabbing the handrail when I fell and being jerked into a contorted stop I'd probably given myself whiplash and then exacerbated it by spending time on an uncomfortable plane.My mom toasted and liberally buttered cinnamon chip bread for me and then fed me and stayed in the room to talk to me. Which was really great because I couldn't hold a book while my body took it's time deciding that I really wasn't a quadriplegic and while there was a TV in the room my head was turned away from it.

Eventually I was able to start moving and get up and walk around and such. So that's good. My neck still hurt and I had to spend the whole weekend with my head stuck in that right-turned position which made walking, conversations, eating dinner...well everything really somewhat awkward.

So yeah. That was fun.

*A friend has convinced me to run a 10K with her. I just don't see that going well.

The Time I Broke My Catholic Muscle

Seeing as how Easter is almost upon us and I already posted the story about the frozen baby rabbit, the second best Easter post I can think of is the time I broke my Catholic muscles. Both of them. It was my first year in DC and I decided I was going to spend Good Friday at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception (something I still do every year). Stations of the Cross start at noon and I got there a little later than I'd planned because I was too busy making eyes at my oh so cute supervisor. Well I got my punishment! At the basilica, Stations are downstairs in the crypt church which hasn't nearly the seating as the great upper church. Not nearly. So since I only got there about 10 minutes before everything started I didn't get a spot in a pew. Which meant that for the 14 Stations of the Cross I had to genuflect, then kneel on the marble floor.

I did not then, and frankly still don't now, have terribly strong quads.

Then it was confession and a move upstairs for musical reflections and the service.* Good Friday service is pretty long and it's impressive that Catholics can stay still for it all. We have an internal timer that gives a warning bell at about 55 minutes, goes off at the hour, and a minute over is like a shrieking fire alarm urging you to leave. You can tell what time it is by how fidgety everyone is. But for the two plus hours on Good Friday people are pretty good. I think it's because there's so much moving around. There's way more sit-stand-kneel-walk than there is during a regular Mass.

What did me in this particular service were the Prayers of the Faithful. During a regular Mass you hear them while standing and there are maybe seven. Which seems to be an odd number (ha!) but it's a decent median. On Good Friday at the Basilica, I kid not, there are about two dozen. And you stand while you hear them...but you have to genuflect when you give the response. Now I was already feeling a little shaky in the leg after the Stations incident so I was practically in tears after these prayers. Getting up and down took an immense effort and I had to grip the pew back in front of me to guide myself.

And that was just the Prayers of the Faithful! There was still all the regular sit-stand-kneel-walking! By the time it was Communion I had to drag myself out of a sustained kneel, shuffle to the front of the long aisle, back to the pew, and reluctantly and stiffly kneel back down.

Finally the service was over and I shuffled painfully, but thankfully downhill, to the metro. Where I proceeded to look ridiculous as I tried to negotiate the stairs into the station; luckily for once the escalators were at least working and I got to the platform with not too much effort. After I boarded the train I remained standing for the three stops even though it was practically empty and there were plenty of places to sit. I just knew that if I sat down, I was not going to be able to get back up to debark. Also thankfully my apartment wasn't too far from the metro and there were no hills or stairs involved. By the time I got home all I could do was stiffly fall onto the couch. And I stayed there the rest of that day and all of Saturday.

Saturday morning I had to call my bellydance instructor to let her know that I broke my Catholic muscles and couldn't move and therefore couldn't make it to class. Seriously my legs didn't function at all. My quads had seized and were just not cooperating. There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone as my Jewish dance teacher absorbed that I had broken Catholic muscles...but then she told me she hoped I got better and maybe I should ice something.

My unsympathetic roommate doubled over in laughter every time I couldn't stand it (ha) any longer and had to drag myself to the bathroom. And drag myself I did. I'd roll off the couch, army crawl to the bathroom, and use the toilet and bathtub to leverage myself up. Then repeat sequence to get back to the couch.

Luckily by Sunday morning my legs eased enough that I was able to make it to Easter Mass. I did avoid kneeling during the Mass though.

So now every year that I manage to be in the country for Lent I go into training to prepare for Good Friday. This means going to church Friday night every week of Lent for Mass and Stations of the Cross. And even though I have a pew because so few people come for daily Mass, I stand in the center aisle and genuflect/kneel on the floor. This way, even if my insistence on getting to the Basilica 30-40 minutes early on Good Friday doesn't net me a pew, I'll be prepared.

*Interesting tidbit-Good Friday is the only service all year that's just a service and isn't a Mass. Know why? Please tell me because I don't know either.

Seriously Steve Madden Has It Out For Me

So not only does Steve Madden hate me, but I really think he's trying to kill me. And the most puzzling thing about this is that I just don't know what I did to him except wear his shoes and look pretty good in them. I mean maybe this was my fault. I was walking after all.

Halloween weekend (yes it's been a while since I posted) I went to a wine tasting with a girlfriend of mine. It was  a pretty nasty day, there was some sort of horrible sleety cold grossness happening. By the time I made it from the metro to the hotel for the wine tasting I was a solid block of cold. We spent a couple hours sampling wines from around the world and about a half hour before we left I cut myself off. I was feeling fine and on the edge of falling over so I decided to be wise and resist the last half dozen tables. Except maybe I did have one taste of this Moscato flavored with orange blossoms...but the point is I cut myself off.

I will now correct what I neglected to say initially and mention that I was wearing the same Steve Madden boots that caused me to fall down twice in the airport.

As we were leaving we concurred that the couple cubes of cheese we'd had just weren't cutting it and decided to have dinner. We went to Cleveland Park near her place to a restaurant that specializes in meat. I love meat.

We walked in, and I put one foot on their super shiny slippery fake wood floor and it was all over.

With one foot on the mat holding me in place, the other shot out and I wavered fighting for balance with everything in me. In those few seconds while I flailed my arms about desperate to not fall I managed to see my friend and everyone else there turn to me with horrified faces. Then it was all over and I fell on my face.

Now it's possible that the fall may have had something to do with highly waxed fake wood, sleet, and a slightly worn out heel (I was not drunk, thank you*) but given my track record with these boots I think this was, in fact, Steve Madden's second attempt on my life.

One of the most annoying things about falling down in public is that people, well except in Taiwan, don't just let you lay there. If you fall down, especially on your face, you not only need but want a few moments to yourself. You need to do a quick mental check to see if anything's broken and gather up your shattered dignity before anyone slips on it. What you don't need is hysterical restauranteur terrified that you're going to sue** for overly slippery floors flapping around you trying to haul you up and dust you off. I got up and somewhat stiffly made my way to our table insisting that I was fine. I was a bit sore and unfortunately could feel that the little headache I already had was growing but there was meat to be eaten.

After the meat we went back to her place. By now my head was raging and I quickly swallowed one of my previous migraine pills. I was having what I believed to be the worst migraine I'd had in years. Mine vary in pain level and while the pain and light/sound/smell sensitivity are never fun times; I'm lucky enough that I usually don't get the nausea and vomiting. Not so this time. This was my first visit to my friend's new apartment and I got to know her bathroom really well. Really really well. I had also wasted my migraine medication as it didn't stay in my stomach long enough to do anything. When I felt that I could move without more vomiting she drove me home. The 10 minute was even worse than the metro ride after I broke my neck. But I got home and immediately reacquainted myself with my own bathroom. I went to bed with ice packs wrapped around my head and a fervent prayer that it would be gone when I woke up.

Somewhat miraculously it was! I was a little dizzy and tired from not having slept well (which meant I nodded off one or two more times during church than usual) but no pain! Hurrah!

Later that day I talked to my mom to find out how she was enjoying her visit to my sister and brother-in-law in Florida. I mentioned the fall because now that my migraine was gone I could look back on it with humor. I also mentioned the horrible migraine I had had. She in turn mentioned this to my sister who told me that I was an idiot and that I hadn't had a migraine; I had a concussion.

Huh. My mind never even went there. I mean why would it? Massive stabbing burning pain on one side of my head + dizzy + nausea = migraine. Apparently it also equals concussion especially when coupled with that nodding off I'd been doing all day (which yay turns out I'm not a bad Catholic after all!). I thought about the fall again and realized that she was probably rights. I did hit my head on the way down and I'd assumed that knock had just turned a small headache into a major production.

Fall breakdown: 1. Slipped and went into a splits position

                2. Landed initially on my left knee

                   3. Slammed my head onto the floor

So conclusion...Steve Madden who, to my knowledge, has no power to cause migraines, has now made his second attempt on my life with this really cute pair of boots. I continue to wear the boots because I refuse to let him intimidate me.

*Yes yes maybe I was a little tipsy but tipsy is not drunk.
**Apparently in the end said restauranteur wasn't terrified enough over the prospect of being sued as we didn't even get complimentary dessert.

The Time I Tangled* with Chestnuts and Lost

Years after her visit to Taipei, one of the things my mom continues to remark on is the traffic. Often there are no sidewalks or they're very narrow/not well kept or they've been taken over as a parking lot. In Taipei everyone shares the sidewalks and roads equally be it cars, motor bikes, bicyclists, pedestrians, food carts, etc etc.

So that's my preface to the time I lost a fight with a food cart.

I was on my way back from one of my teaching jobs trying to navigate a particularly difficult sidewalk. It was very narrow, full of cracks and potholes, there was one huge tree you had to carefully circumnavigate...and all the other people trying to do the same. I had a strategy that involved a lot of duck and weave which usually worked for me, except for when it didn't. There was one evening when the foot traffic was pretty heavy and I was doing my duck and weave but apparently didn't duck enough.

I will further preface this by saying that I often wore my hair in pin curls because it was an easy way to get 3-4 days out of one hairstyle AND beat the incredible humidity there. I think this was before I discovered hair product and so needed all the help I could get.

Back to the ducking and weaving. There was usually a vendor on the corner of this street who sold roasted chestnuts. Usually I was able to get around but between the many pedestrians, my usual distracted state, and the fact that I'm a wee bit taller than your average Taiwanese person (who probably all fit under the cart roof just fine); this time I had a problem. One of the pin curls got caught on the edge of the cart roof. Without my noticing. Until I tried to walk on. And got yanked viciously back.

It took forever to untangle me. I could only feel whatever mess was going on up there and the poor little man who ran the cart was trying to help but couldn't reach my hair. I was doing my best to assure him that it was ok and no worries etc etc...but still. And of course it felt like the entire country was there to stare at me as they walked/drove by.

I did get a a handful of free chestnuts out of it though. He felt so bad he insisted I take some. I must have looked a sight walking the rest of the way to subway...big white girl whose hair was kinda crazy to begin with now made worse by some errant dangling curls and pins munching on roasted chestnuts.

*Also, get it? Hair, tangled...hahaha

That particular sidewalk featured in several embarrassing moments for me. In addition to the hair incident, there was also the time I fell down. This time it was the blasted tree that did me in. I was trying to step around the roots that had pushed their way through the sidewalk when my foot caught. And I went down. Hard. I fell flat on my face and lay sprawled across the sidewalk.

That's not blood...it's my hair. Just so we're on the same page.

There's an interesting little quirk about Chinese culture that I learned...others' embarrassment is so embarrassing for everyone (which is one of the reasons my roommate said I was Chinese...I even have to cover my eyes during movie scenes in which people do embarrassing things). So people in Taiwan often went out of their way to avoid noticing someone so as to not further their embarrassment. Which meant that before I recovered and lay sprawled across the sidewalk with my feet dangling into the street, other pedestrians ignored my plight and stepped right over me.

It was really quite polite of them if you think about it.

Not Even Escalators Are My Friends

I had this tradition at my previous job. The day I traveled for work (or the day before if I were leaving on a weekend) I always had lunch at the 5 Guys in the International Square food court. I figured since I'd be stuck on airplanes for 8+ hours with nothing that resembled actual consumable food, a bacon cheeseburger with extra bacon, mayo, lettuce, fried onions and ketchup and a side of Cajun fries wouldn't kill me.

Until one day it almost did.

The escalators at International Square are of the super narrow kind that only has room for one person (rather than two people side by side). I was still in the throes of fear over the scariest experience of my existence so rather than walking down the very short escalator as I had done in the past, I not only stood for the ride but held onto both railings. However not even that saved me.

To this day I am unclear as to what actually happened. The best I can guess is that I misjudged how close to the bottom of the escalator I was so when I stepped off, thinking solid ground would be right there, it wasn't. And I managed to fall down the last two, steadily disappearing, escalator steps. My right foot folded under me and for a wee moment I was standing on my ankle before I completely collapsed. I can only be grateful that my embarrassment was limited to the one gentleman behind me (rather than the hoards of people who usually swarm International Square). He was thankfully far enough behind me on the evil people mover that we did not collide because I couldn't get up. My problem being not only what I was sure was a broken ankle, but the fact that I was trying to use the escalator rails to push myself up but the buggering things kept moving me forward. So maybe I half fell down a few more times.

I was finally able to launch myself into a semi standing position and all but threw myself on the lip of the giant cigarette ash urn thing that was handily located right at the bottom of the escalator. Once I was out of his way the gentleman  rushed to me to ask me if I were ok while nicely ignoring my previous floundering. I assured him that I was fine (I was decidedly NOT fine), that this happens all the time (sadly true) and that I just needed to rest for a couple minutes. I sat there for about 10 minutes until my ankle went from screaming pain to a throbbing dullness, all the while smiling at everyone who passed as though I sit on cigarette urns every day.

When I felt well enough, I dragged myself reluctantly off the urn and limped to 5 Guys. Because hell yes I was still getting my bacon cheeseburger and fries. As if I was going to have nearly killed myself for them and return to the office sans their artery clogging gloriousness.

Shortly after getting back to my office and demolishing my well deserved burger I realized that the trauma and grease had made me quite thirsty. I gazed longingly at the empty water bottle sitting on my desk but my ankle, which was propped up on my CPU, had vigorously renewed it's throbbing. I guiltily sent a Skype message to a coworker with whom I'd been working only a short time and asked if she would do a very menial task and please get me some water. Bless her, she came right over and when I explained what had happened she suggested she get some ice for me as well.

Coincidentally or not, she's now a very good friend.

When she came back to my office with the requested water and ice our ueber boss was in there talking to me. She made this little gesture towards me like, do I give this to you with him in here or not. I waved her forward because I didn't care, set the water on my desk and slapped the bag of ice on my ankle, which my boss was now noticing was propped up on the CPU. I just looked at him and said, quite simply, "I fell down again."

He just rolled his eyes at me and continued talking.

I had an opera opening that Saturday so I did not leave for, Moldova I think it was, until Sunday. At the opera, the season opening no less, my lovely black cocktail dress and black sequined shoes looked odd against the Ace bandage holding together my ankle. For the flight I found a different kind of wrap, this odd blue gummy thing that acted like an Ace but was cold! It was brilliant for the flight. Of course then I had to change planes in Germany and go through security and almost miss my flight cause they were all 'what the heck is that'. Despite the many times I have almost missed flights in Germany (due more to my office's travel agent and his "legal" layovers that to the Germans) I will say that as uptight as Germans are about security, they still manage to be more efficient, more polite, and don't require that you off your shoes than the invasive, power hungry, masochistic folks at the TSA.

So yeah, from then on I stopped being so cocky while on escalators and now I firmly plant myself (on the right, thank you) and ride the escalator all the way down.

Hair Flips Are Dangerous

My showers are a fairly involved process due largely to my hair. Before I discovered quality conditioner and product there was nothing that would help get a comb through the frizzy, tangled mess that it was. What did work was loading my hair with tons of conditioner and combing it in the shower before rinsing. Even after discovering really good conditioner I have continued this practice because, even though no longer strictly necessary, it makes things easier.

A couple years ago I was taking a shower and doing my comb out thing.

I wanted to hurry because we had guests and I wanted to join them. Apparently I was in too much of a hurry and at one point flipped my hair to the side with a little too much enthusiasm.

So much enthusiasm in fact, that I threw myself right out of the shower.

Totally not kidding. I actually hair flipped myself out of the shower. After the initial shock I thought it was pretty funny. I mean, how many people have ever hair flipped themselves out of a shower? I lay there laughing hoping that no one heard the crash and thought to run upstairs to check it out. Sure I thought it was funny but I was still lying half in and half out of the shower stark naked. I also thought I was pretty lucky that I neither pulled down the shower curtain nor flipped myself the other way. If I had tossed my head powerfully enough to catapult myself out of the shower what would have happened if I'd gone the other way? I could have smacked my head against the wall, got knocked out, and drowned.

That would have been somewhat less funny.

So think of this as a cautionary tale and think before you flip your hair. A little forethought could save your life.

The Most Terrifying Experience OF MY LIFE

A few years ago, my roommate and I went to China for three weeks. While there we visited several cities including Beijing. Obviously while in Beijing we had to take an excursion to see the Great Wall. Little did I know it would end up being the most terrifying experience of my entire existence (including the time I got hit by a truck pulling a boat, both of my dad's heart attacks, and the 2009/10 DC Snowpacolypse).

We thought we would be so clever to not go on the Badaling tour and instead took the Jinshanling tour. Badaling is closer to Beijing and the time you spend on the wall is much shorter so we thought we were getting a good deal.

In the end I did not find this to be so.

We got to Jinshanling to discover a crumbling ruin. If you see the Great Wall on the Discovery Channel or in travel brochures and it's all smooth and reconstructed then you're looking at Badaling. If you see a crumbling ruin with steep, broken, sometimes barely there steps (which vary from 6-18 inches each in height) then you're looking at Jinshanling.

Have I mentioned I don't do stairs very well?

At the beginning of the tour we were joined by several locals. These folks apparently make the hike (was it 8 miles?) at least once every day and look for the weak members of the group. Onto these they glom in order to "help" people along the path. At the end they do their darndest to make you buy extremely overpriced souvenirs. Clearly in this group I was the weak member.

Actually it ended up turning out pretty well for me to have the helper. My roommate was at least a (guard)tower ahead of me most of the time and I got to practice my Mandarin. I hadn't really spoken Chinese in years, not since moving back to the States from Taiwan. It's funny how certain words come back in certain situations. For example, during the hike I clearly remembered the words "terrified" and "going to die". I have a feeling that she thought I was pretty funny when I wasn't crying.

I alternated the entire hike clinging to the wall when there was one and whimpering and crying and desperately hoping I wouldn't slip thereby plummeting to my death far below into the chasm that was China on side and what used to Mongolia on the other.

 

 These were seriously some of the most unpleasant hours of my life. I rested for a couple - ten minutes at every tower to get my breath back and stop shaking. If only for a couple minutes. At one particularly harrowing downward slope (where there was maybe one discernible stair and a drop on either side) I clung to the crumbling wall at the top and was openly crying. The tour leader and my guide were chattering too fast for me to understand but my roommate was at the bottom of the death drop and told them I was fine with an offhand "she's afraid of stairs". Which is true.

Finally, what seemed like years and multiple grey hairs later, it was over. And I wasn't even the last one to finish. And I bought an extremely overpriced paper fan from my helper. In retrospect I probably should have bought a couple things from her. As my roommate and I approached the last tower before we broke off to go back to the tour bus we paused for a few pictures. It was over. I had done it. I conquered Jinshanling.

And now I never have to do it again.

Never Stick Your Tongue on a Frozen Flag Pole

No, I've never done that. Thank you I do have a few cells of common sense. Just a few though mind.

*Thought of this because it's like 100 F in DC right now. Ugh.

In addition to living in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but trees and more trees, my parents also have a semi natural pond that my dad has enlarged. There's a hill (which is basically all the sand dug out of the pond) that makes for great sledding in the winter and if the pond froze quickly enough it was good ice skating. Mostly though it didn't freeze quickly enough so the surface wasn't smooth. It would semi freeze and then all the millions of trees would drop the last vestigages of leaves at which point the pond would totally freeze...leaving (ha ha) leaf bumps all over the place. A couple times my dad tried to flood it after it froze to create a smooth surface. But then it would snow again. He also tried, just once or twice I think, to clear the surface with the snowblower. Like our very own zamboni.

He stopped doing that when the snow blower fell through the ice.

Despite these issues we did a fair amount of ice skating as kids. At night my mom would even drive the car back into the woods and run down her battery shining the high beams on the pond for light. Much as with any sport, my sister was always better at skating than both my brother and I were.

I thought I was pretty hot stuff when I learned how to skate backwards. Slowly and very wobbly. Bernadette could cross her feet (and later skated around thusly on roller blades) while Brian and I satisfied ourselves with less fancy footwork. I tried the cross over once. And fell on my face. One time I fell down and just did not feel like getting back up. I'd fallen one too many times that day and just wanted a time out. So after I rolled off my face I lay there for a while contemplating why it was I bothered to bother, while Bernadette zoomed around me showing off her triple lutz.

Ok so maybe she couldn't do a triple lux. It could have been a double axel. Whatever it was it just rubbed salt in the wound after my mom told me that I could not be both a professional ice skater and a nun (one of my choldhood goals). I still think she might have been lying. In any case, I did lay there a good while contemplating my ice skating failures. And then I tired to get up.

And promptly slammed my head into the ice when my curly hair bounced back. Small problem; I was frozen to the ice. I had not considered this possibility during my quiet contemplation. So I solved this problem the same way I solved many problems back then; I yelled for my mom.

After she stopped laughing at me did offer a solution that did not involve cutting off all my hair; that was Dad's solution. She brought over a thermos and pour hot chocolate all over my head.

While I was happy to be free I was less than thrilled to be drenched on hot chocolate. It's really sticky. And my the time I'd trekked back to the house I had frozen, sticky hot chocolate all over my head. Awesome.

So the moral here is the same as with flag poles. If something is frozen, do not allow any part of your body to rest on it for a period of more than about 3 Mississippis.

The Time my Dad Tore off my Thumb*

A million years ago there was this water park in Michigan called Pleasure Island. Unlike the water parks you have visited though there were no overly chlorinated pools. This place was all natural and the water was brown. I think my most vivid memory of the place is a slightly snotty (and shockingly not on my end; I was very taken aback) encounter with a girl who would later turn out to be one of my best friends and eventually a cousin by marriage.

But that has nothing to do with this post.

One of the rides at Pleasure Island involved a sort of zip line swing that went over the water. So you hang from the bar, speed down an incline, and let go to cannonball into the brown pondy thing. We must have praised this things awesomeness when we got home because my dad promptly built one. Not over water though. This one was stretched between two trees by the barns and extended over the driveway adjacent. We climbed up a ladder to a little stand he built around a tree, sit on the bottom bar of the swing and ZOOM!

 Requisite red farm barns. The yellow thingy is the chicken coop/rabbit holder place.

It was fun. All our friends we mad jealous.

We had the thing for I don't know how long and, as things that are left out to the elements do, it got a little broken down. I think that the bottom sit on bar of the swing broke? We solved that by just swinging like we did at the park, gripping tight with our hands and hanging down with no support what so ever. And that was fine.

Until it wasn't fine.

I had a friend over one day and we were zooming and zipping along on the thing. During one of my turns the swing finally gave up the ghost and died. The hold onto bar broke and I took one (of many over the course of not quite 32 years) face dives into the gravel. Side note to clarify that not all my face dives are into gravel. Sometimes it's asphalt or concrete or dirt.

More embarrassed than anything I got up to dust myself off. That's when I notice that my dusting off was rather ineffectual as I was smearing blood down my front. I looked at my right hand and noticed that it was dripping blood and MY THUMB WAS HANGING BY A THREAD!!!

Not really but that's more dramatic, no? There was a big nasty gash though and it was bleeding rather profusely.

On the way to the emergency room we had to make a side trip to drop off my friend and I could hear my mom's internal monologue thanking the Good Lord that it was her daughter's thumb nearly ripped off and not the friend's. The emergency room is cheaper than a law suit.

We finally got the emergency room and the blood soaked/dripping towel wrapped around my hand got us seen pretty quickly. I had some nice drugs and remember only wondering why emergency room rooms need to be that awful green color. The doctors had my hand splayed open to flush the gaping wound and my mom was hanging over their shoulders exclaiming how 'cool' it all was. Until they started picking out all the bits of gravel and dirt and probably the clover that grows in the driveway. Then I totally lost my supportive parent as she had to go away before she got sick.

That is now one of the many scars I have. There are a couple on my knees from the falling down, one on a knuckle from a scythe (yes, I was scything things), one that goes from my lip up into my right nostril, and this one.There might be one on my pinky finger too from the time my brother slammed the sliding van door on my finger and then my mom locked the door while I was frantically tugging and wailing trying to get it out.

That's a different story.

*Re the title...obviously dad built the swing thing so it's his fault. The swing isn't there anymore but the line still is. My dad's dog's leash is tied to it and he runs up and down and up and down and all you hear is zzzzzzhhhhhhh with the occasional bark.

Also he thought maybe it would work better the second time around and built another one. This time actually over the pond. I don't see how this will work out better but me and my thumbs are staying far away from it.

The Time I Broke My Neck

I'm not big with the exercising. Partly because of my falling down problem but also because I can think of so many other things to be doing...like reading or sleeping. I have, however always enjoyed a good dance class. I did bellydancing for a years, during the course of which I both broke and dislocated my roommate's ankle. I've also done some strip aerobics and took a lap dancing class once. The new thing these days is pole fitness and I signed up pretty quickly.

I figured my lack of grace and penchant for falling down could only be improved by pole dancing. Why wouldn't I be sucessful? There's a pole to hang on to so no problem, right? It's really great fun and for all the skeptics out there it's also really hard and a killer work out. The sparkly six inch platform heels really add an extra something to the workout too. I particularly enjoy the spinning. So far I have learned (if not mastered) the: catch, reverse hook, pinwheel, reverse pinwheel, fireman, "Marie's", and one leg sticking out spins. I made up the name of that last one; not quite sure what it's actually called.

That's me doing the pinwheel. Wee!!

One night fairly early into my class taking our instructor decided to get a little advanced with her pole 1 students. So we did headstands.

You can already tell that this isn’t going to turn out well for me can’t you?

It really didn’t seem all that complicated. Granted we weren’t able to pull ourselves up from a prone position using only the strength in our abs as did the instructor…but really it wasn’t that hard. We started face down on the floor gripping the pole and with our foreheads resting on our forearms. Then all went up into a kind of downward dog so our backs were flush against the pole. From there all we had to do was kick up and ta da! And the beauty was that you couldn’t really fall over because the pole was there. The pole also helped keep us supported.

Once I figured out the mechanics then I was fine. Attempt number one and I was a rock star.

Attempt number two and Huston was alerted.

I’m still not really sure exactly what happened but at some point during the upright (or upside down if you prefer) back to downward dog transition my neck went one way and the rest of me went the other. So instead of my head being on the floor the left side of my face was.

I knew there was badness as soon as I managed to get actually upright again. I sat out the rest of the class to test my newly limited range of motion and see how much pain I was in. A lot as it turns out. The couple blocks to the metro was torture, only to be compounded by the jerkiest metro ride ever. If you’ve ever been on DC’s metro you know what I’m talking about. That abrupt start and stop driving method many of the operators like to employ. 45 minutes of that. About halfway home I called my doctor, i.e. my sister who’s a paramedic. This is not the first time I’ve called her for a long distance ‘I’m hurt/sick, what do I do’ consultation. I’ve also called my brother from literally half way around the world to demand he fix whatever computer problem I was having. On this call my sister pretty much just confirmed my ib profin and ice diagnosis but I wanted to make extra certain that my neck wasn’t broken. I mean I was a good 99.95% sure it wasn’t since I could move and everything, but better safe than sorry I think. I have to admit that she was pretty nice about receiving a call at 9PM in the middle of her shift from her idiot little sister who thought her neck was broken…I could barely hear her roll her eyes.

We were all pretty surprised when the next day not only was I mobile but I could even turn my head. Well I could turn it to the right but to look left I had to move my whole body. I was pleased since I had plans to participate in a scavenger hunt organized by my church’s youth group. I think the most uncomfortable I felt all day was when my priest asked how I hurt my neck…

The Lake of the Swans

February 20 is the anniversary of the Bolshoi's first performance in 1877 of Tchaikovsky's famous Swan Lake (which debuted as The Lake of the Swans). It reminds me of the two careers I dreamed of having as a young girl: jockey and ballerina. Unfortunately for me, even before puberty I was both far too tall and weighed way too much to be either of those. That did not, however, stop me from pestering my mom to death until she agreed to let me stay after school a couple times a week for ballet class when I was in the third grade.

I can't remember if I have mentioned this yet or not...but I am completely lacking in grace of movement and coordination. Completely. This leads to many funny stories. But what this meant for my ballet recital was...well was that it wasn't very good. For one thing, I was put in the same class with the first and second graders instead of with the third and fourth graders. I have no idea why. I am a tall person and I have always been a tall person. You know that expression, 'head and shoulders above'...I was head, shoulders, and sternum above these little girls. So my lack of grace couldn't be hidden behind everyone else.

Also, that part about being too fat to be a ballerina has always been true. I have long skinny legs and arms but have had a beer belly since birth. So me in bright pink tights and a leotard was just not a good vision. Also...pink?! I am convinced my mom bought those without my input. I hate pink. And I had a tiara. And to hopefully make this experience as embarrassing for someone else as it was for me...it was my mom's beauty queen tiara.

My class of girls did a short routine to Swan Lake and much like swans in a lake, we were in a V shape for the entire dance. I was in the back. We began with our heads down and arms crossed that the wrist in front of us. The right arm was to then float up and down (head still down), followed by the left arm. Then the right and left arms again but this time our gaze follows our hands. Then there was stuff in the middle on which I'm blanking...then arms in fifth position walk in a tight circle to the right, then the arms come up and with great drama and speed they, and the head, go back to starting position.

It was all to be very graceful and swan-like.

However if you watch the video, which got trotted out for one cousin's enjoyment every single Christmas Eve and of which there are several copies because I threatened to erase it so Mom made a few and hide them...yes if you watch the video you will notice that I looked anything but graceful and swan-like. For one thing, I am glaring death at the little first and second grade bitches on my side of the V. They weren't in a straight line! They were all crooked and higgledy piggledy and I felt very put out. Other than my sour expression I started out pretty well...but then we had to move.

My arms did not so much float gently and elegantly up and down as they abruptly sprung up and down as though hinged at the shoulder. I'm pretty sure that middle bit went similarly. I do remember trying hard to a) not smile and b) not look at the camera as I was sure neither was cool. But then the ending. Oh the ending. I may not do grace or elegance but boy howdy can I do drama. My arms were raised as high as possible and they, and my head, crashed down so quickly and dramatically my body practically vibrated with the drama. I may have also given my neck a mild case of whiplash.

 Thus ended my brief career as a ballerina. The experience did not end my desire to be one; but it sure did smack me harshly in the face with the ugly reality of the fact that I should probably not be allowed to walk, let alone dance.