A few days ago I was worried about my husband because he left the water running and flooded the bathroom, then a few hours later left a burner burning on the stove. I was mostly sure he was losing his marbles and maybe he is. All I can say now is, POT TO KETTLE! My marbles have broken the barrier and rolled away. I have forgotten how to walk. Sober that is and in bare feet!
In the past six or eight years I have repeatedly fallen on my head. Twice before moving to Santa Barbara and one in a fall that came close to killing me. Then there was the fall on my chin last October when I tripped while walking up the front steps and then yesterday. That’s right! I fell on my face …… again! This time I tripped over the dog and landed face first on my left cheekbone. May I just say, shit balls!!! That hurts! (Oops! A lady would never say such a thing.)
I don’t know what it is with me about standing or walking upright. It seems like a simple, straightforward thing and something I’ve been practicing for over sixty years and mostly in heels. And yet barefoot, down I went, and hard! Of course I am now sporting a giant, goose egg on my left cheek and a big, swollen black eye. It looks as though I received a cheek implant but could only afford one side. All I can say is thank God I didn’t land on or dislodge my new chin!
We all know that I am a vain person. Hell, it’s only been three months since I went under the knife to take up the slack in my neck, face and eyes and had my non-existent chin augmented. Yesterday I was actually feeling pretty. That’s always when these things happen. When I’m feeling full of myself.
The universe it seems, is hell-bent on reminding me that I live, breathe and sparkle at the pleasure of some Higher beauty-maker and no matter what I’m thinking, it can all be revoked at any given moment. My life, as well as my facial symmetry. Sometimes I apparently need to be reminded of this fact.
When I had my “bad” fall six years ago I was feeling pretty great about myself. It was December 19th and for the first time in my entire life, I had wrapped all of the Christmas gifts and had them under the tree. The banisters were draped with fresh garland and bows, the trees were up and decorated, the mantle was all- aglow with candles, greenery and gold and what’s more, I had twenty two pot roasts cooked and defrosting in the refrigerator. I was prepared to host a dinner party for fifty or so guests to celebrate my twin granddaughter’s thirteenth birthdays. I had made lists, ordered the rentals and for once in my life, I was ready!
Now here is the ironic part. I hate parties. Going to them that is. I love giving them, preparing for them, talking about them afterwards. I just don’t like attending them. (But please, invite me anyway!) Careful what you wish for! In fact, be very, very careful what you wish for, say or write. There’s a good chance you will get it. Either don’t say it, don’t write it or be specific. In my journal writing that morning I had written, “I need a solitary time, no voices and no phones.” Presto change-o! A brain injury that took eight months to heal and required no talking, no reading, no TV, no visitors. The brain needed silence to heal. What I MEANT to say was, “I need ten days at the Four Seasons in Maui, on the beach with an umbrella and a cute boy fanning me. Oops! It's important to be specific.
So back to yesterday. It had already been a glorious day, filled with friends, laughter, good food and plenty of love. I was in my element, feeling great. Probably like I had had something to do with the perfection of the day. WRONG! I walked out of the powder room having admired myself one more time in the mirror and BAM, I tripped over poor Mocha who was curled up on the rug taking a little snooze.
I might have been able to catch myself but the damned dog stood up and over I went, face planted on the wood floor. I screamed, (Tom is hard of hearing so I had to scream,) and Tom came running to my side. (He’s learning!) I asked for an ice pack, a bag of peas, something to put on my face as I felt my cheek and eye swell to new heights. He filled a zip lock bag with cubes and went to get the Advil. Oh well, so much for the glory of me.
A few years ago I saw a numerologist who not only taught me about the art, science and entertainment of numerology, but directed me to a book so that I could study further on my own. I learned my life path, my destiny and more stuff I cannot now name. The one thing I remember that was notable was that after the age of 47, which was a while back, everything I do in life must be for service to others or my life would amount to a big fat zero.
Therein lies the rub. Anytime I think I am the SOURCE and not the conduit of this service, I need a little reminder. May all of those who gaze upon my big, black eye for the next month, be so reminded.
My life is so glamorous! It’s just not fair, lucky for me!!