If you recall, just a couple of weeks ago I got poop bombed by some bird.  Not while I was standing under a tree with a big poop here sign on my head but as I was a passenger in a moving vehicle with the window only rolled halfway down.  Not only did it land on my leg closest to the half-opened window, it also hit my arm that was close to the window and hit my brand-spankin’ new purse that was on the total other side of me.

You can, perhaps, now see why I often times feel rather bleak.  This sort of shyte (thanks Serenity for awesome spelling on such a shyttie word) (no shyttie pun intended – sort of) happens to me all the time.

falling... and falling some more

The details of my great grief at the moment can wait for later.  But I did want to share my latest falling episode.  My first fall came from jumping up and down on a shovel while the dolly for moving the heavy pots of soil was right beside me.  I fell directly onto it.

severely bruised leg

It felt like a had broken my thigh bone, but luckily my leg was only severely bruised from the hip down to my knee.   And stayed that way for months, slowly fading, of course.  Hurt like Hades.  The pic is not my bruise, but it looked just like that.

Then there was the big fall in the pool last year, separating my arm from the rest of my body and breaking my complete right side.  Okay, okay.  So it didn’t separate my arm or break anything, but it felt like it did!  The arm is much better after months of therapy, but is still in the healing process.

Then Sunday past as I was pushing the grandgirls on the swings at the park, as I was rushing from one swing to the other lest either one of the precious ones might per chance slow down  a fraction in their swing stride, as I was doing all this in flip-flops, I lost my footing in the loose gravel/wood chips/sweetgum tree balls.  (The persistent fruit is a woody head of two-celled capsules. Each capsule contains two tiny, black seeds. When they fall, they become the spiny balls that clutter lawns.) Fruit?  I thought they were weapons of torture.  Have you ever stepped on one of those when you were bare-footed?  Fruit?!  I think not!

So here are the four-days-after pic of my knee that bled all over the place and my toe/foot that felt broken.  And, no, it is not the same big toe that was clobbered by the five-gallon can of stain at Menard’s.

Does that not look like it hurt?!
The toe is bruised all over! How 'bout that polish?

The outcome of all these falls is the decision that it’s time.  Time for those Rockports.  You know, the black walking shoe that we need to start wearing once we get to the point we can’t stay standing.  The shoe that goes along with the “I-can’t-get-up” necklace.  “I wonder if I kept Mom’s?”  The shoe that says “Yeah, I’m old.”

So I went to the Rockport site, and yee-haw!!!!  I like them!!!

I could wear this.

P.S.  The prayers are helping.  🙂

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