Losing It

As Bette Davis said, "Getting old is not for sissies."  She knew what she was talking about.  Two of my friends have bad backs, one has painful knees, another needs a cane to walk.  My own trial is the loss of strength.  I was made painfully aware of this the other evening when Michael and I were on the last walk of the day.  I made a misstep in the dusk and fell to my knees.  Quick inventory:  okay, painful, but nothing broken.  It was then the adventure began.  Having lost most of the strength in my quads, getting down is easy, getting up is not even on the best of days.  "Come on, woman, you can do this."  Yeah, well, I could not.  Lying in the driveway for the night was not an option; besides, I had Michael to think of.  Of course I had tripped down by the goat pen and the house seemed far, far away.  Crawling seemed my only choice, but I had to get to the oak in the front yard where I could pull myself to my feet.  Crawling on the gravel drive...well, what the fall had not done, those rocks finished.

Michael must have thought I'd lost my mind, or that this was some new game.  His training as a support dog came to the fore.  He stayed by my side no matter how slowly I moved, never pulling on the leash.  I was grateful for his company as darkness fell.  It seemed like eons before we made it to the tree where I could stand and walk to the house.  I thought I'd quit having skinned knees when I was a kid.  Ha!

Yesterday was lost to R&R (rest and recuperation), and I make no apologies.