AprilEdition

44
Destination Isn’t Important - Just Enjoy the Trip
By: Vicki Wentz / Vicki’s Voice
To those of you who know me, it will come as
no surprise to hear that I fell down the steps
to my garage yesterday.
F o r
some people, living in the
physical world is no problem.
These are people with whom I
have nothing in common.
Then, there are those of us
who throw ourselves into life
- or traffic without a second
thought. We are the ones who
can’t run or throw a ball - and
certainly not at the same time.
When I was just three, I
wanted to see if any birds were
in our birdbath, but I was too
short to see over the edge, so
I reached up to feel around,
hoping I could catch one (a
reasonable expectation for your average three-year-old brain). Not only
were there no birds in there, but the heavy stone bowl of the birdbath
tipped over on my head, knocking me on my…uh…brain.
April 2022
My mother rushed me to the emergency room, where I met doctors
and nurses I would come to know well over the years. Broken arms,
broken legs, broken or almost-cut-off fingers, falling out of trees, falling
down stairs, falling off kitchen counters, roller skating into folding
chairs, falling off monkey bars,
falling off horses, falling off
bikes, dropping a pot of boiling
water on my feet, and gripping
an exploding glass hurricane -
my life has been full.
Recently, I decided to ride
down the gravel driveway to get
the mail. I had not been on my
bike in a very long time, but you
know what they say: just like
riding a bike! They lie.
As I glided slowly up to the
mailbox, I put my feet down to
stop myself, but having grown
a tad shorter over the years, my
feet didn’t reach the ground, and
instead of jumping off the seat,
I just sat there flailing around until the bike gently fell over sideways,
taking me with it.
I tried to stand up as I fell, but my foot hit a clump of dirt, my ankle
turned and I went all the way down with the bike; just sort of a slowmotion
ballet, which my neighbor definitely observed, although he was
nice enough to turn around and walk the other way pretending he was
oblivious, instead of busting a gut in front of me. Then, yesterday, I fell
down the garage steps. (I was trying to carry a large box containing a
new, semi-heavy juicer I got from my mother, which I’ve moved around
the house for weeks before realizing I have no room for a semi-heavy
juicer in my life! I’d rather eat the freakin’ carrot, Mom!)
I held the box with one hand because I intended to hold the railing
with the other. I’m not an idiot, no matter what you’ve heard.
So, I stepped down onto the first step, reaching for the railing, but the
box swayed me off balance and I fell, watching the cement floor rise up
to meet me. When the crashing and cussing was over, I was on the floor
of the garage, having slammed my head so hard that I definitely saw
little birdies this time.
My dog, Rosie, came running, never wanting to be left out of really
sensational home accidents, and barked appreciatively at me as I
lay there inventorying body parts. Today I’m covered with so much
gorgeous bluish-purple that I’m thinking of dyeing a purse and shoes
to match.
On the upside, this serves as a timely reminder to you all that most
accidents occur in the home...that is, most accidents occur in MY home,
so if I were you I wouldn’t visit.
Vicki Wentz is a writer, teacher and speaker living in North
Carolina. Readers may contact her - and order her new children’s
book! - by visiting her website at www.vickiwentz.com.