According to a family friend of mature years, the body, as it ages, doesn’t bounce as easily as that same body did when it was younger.
After personal incidents Monday morning, in the dark of the new day, I can agree with his summation.
It has been many years, if I remember correctly, since Mother Nature dumped so much snow on our neighbourhood, in our backyard, on our driveway and over every other surface where cars park and humans and animals walk.
From the inside looking out on Saturday and Sunday, it wasn’t all that disturbing, for we had no place we had to be and no inclination to be outside.
In fact, it was rather interesting just standing at the kitchen window and watching the activities of individuals who had ventured out — children rolling in the snow, adults struggling through drifts, drivers getting stuck and being pushed out by helpful citizens, housemate trying to figure out where to put the next shovel of snow, neighbours pitching in to help with snow removal.
With the Sunday evening wind howling and snow being blown back into the cleared driveway, it was inevitable that getting to work Monday morning would not be as simple as brushing off a few flakes and using those new winter tires to propel me through the avenues.
Unfortunately for him, housemate was roused much earlier than he normally gets up for his coffee klatch meeting, simply because I could not open the back door by myself. He was congenial about it all, wished me a good day and went back to bed after seeing me out the front door on my trek to meet the taxi at the corner.
It should have dawned on me that walking in that much snow would be a challenge, but one forgets such challenges after many years of abstinence.
And so I set out for my rendezvous, one plodding step at a time, up to my jean-covered knees, thinking interesting thoughts about housemate in his cocoon of warmth just a few yards away.
Perhaps I was in too much of a rush so as not to delay the taxi. Perhaps my heavily-clothed body was too top heavy for the snow. Whatever the reason, suddenly there I was, chest-first in the middle of the street, snow creeping up my sleeves, over my hood, filling my bag of extra gloves, socks, my purse and shoes.
Despite having spikes over my boots, there was no traction to help me propel myself into a vertical position. But with determination and much huffing and puffing I managed to get back onto my feet, looking around carefully to make sure no one was standing in the darkened windows watching my face-first snow angel performance.
If there had been someone lurking behind the curtains, why didn’t they call 911 or come out themselves to help me?
Strange thoughts indeed, and perhaps the reason that only a few steps later, I found myself back in much the same position in the snow, this time managing to break my fall with the width of my substantial knees, and a wrist now almost wet to the elbow.
“Go home and forget work,” I told myself, just as the lights of the taxi approached the corner.
With careful steps I made it to the next snow drift and looked in consternation at its height.
The taxi driver came to my rescue, getting out of his vehicle and reaching across to take my arm to guide me into the car where I wheezed and gasped to catch my breath, not being used to all this outdoor winter activity.
Housemate, upon hearing of my adventures, smothered his laughter almost successfully upon learning it was mostly my pride that was injured — not to mention my stiff neck and back and my sore foot.
I suppose I shouldn’t have laughed at him the day before when I looked out the window and saw him immersed in a pile of snow he had just moved. At least he had a shovel as leverage.
And so, back to the information about aging bodies and their bounce. Our friend appears to be right on the mark. There was absolutely no bounce in any of my manoeuvres and that’s deflating to admit.
Joyce Walter can be reached at 691-1259.
