Where Do I Go to Renounce my Senior Citizenship? Part 1 of 2

Six weeks in, and I can’t say I’m too impressed with being 65 so far. Due to Hubby being too sick to go out on my birthday, the plans we’d made to celebrate with an overnight date in Winnipeg were first downgraded to dinner and a movie. When his virus refused to yield, we downgraded yet again, settling for watching TV and ordering home delivery from a local restaurant.

I tried not to feel ripped off. After all, a certain amount of maturity should come with being a senior citizen. We’d simply postpone our plans.

Before Hubby fully recovered, his virus began threatening me too. I kept it at arm’s length with regular doses of good old oregano oil and stayed cooped up for several days. Believing myself on the mend, and with business at the bank and post office, I decided a walk might do me good. Oblivious to the ice storm that had recently pummeled us, I bundled up, slung my purse over my shoulder, and locked the house door. I took maybe three steps down our crushed rock driveway and it rushed up to meet me, face to face. Ow. 

It’s been said that if you want to know whether others see you as old, try falling. If they laugh, you’re considered young. If they hurry to help, asking if you’re okay, they see you as elderly. I still don’t know because no one was around to witness it.

My first thought was, “Can I get up before someone drives by and sees me?”

My second thought was, “Can I get up before falling again?”

My third thought was, “Can I get up?”

I eventually succeeded, which surely validated my relative youthfulness. I managed the three steps to the door and hurried inside where I could assess the damage. Dirty mittens and jeans. Two scraped knees, two scuffed hands, one sore hip and shoulder. A bruised ego. The rest would no doubt show up the next day. My list of “at leasts” kicked in.

At least I’m athletic enough to fall fast.

At least it didn’t happen at the top of the Tupper Street bridge.

At least that loud crack I heard was only my hip and not my expensive new cellphone. (Just kidding, settle down. Nothing cracked.)

The fall reminded me of the riddle I’d asked my grandsons recently.

Question: “What did the horse say when he fell down?”

Answer: “I’ve fallen and I can’t giddy-up!”

Between the humiliation of the fall and the lingering virus symptoms, I decided my giddy-up was gone for the day. A nice bowl of soup, a cup of tea, and a nap with my heated bean bag were in order. The errands could wait.

Little did I know how long those errands would wait. The next day a whole new issue swept in, worthy of its own column which I’ll share next week. Maybe then someone will take pity and tell me where I can go to renounce my newly acquired senior citizenship.

Proverbs 24:16 says, “The godly may trip seven times, but they will get up again. But one disaster is enough to overthrow the wicked.”

Since I’ve not yet been overthrown, I won’t consider myself one of the wicked. If you take this proverb literally and count my fall on an escalator a few years ago, I figure I’ve got five more good falls in me.

Here’s hoping nothing cracks when I take them.