Thursday, March 18, 2010
Now that I'm recovering from a broken leg, I get scolded every time I stand on the step-stool to reach something on the high shelf. "Mom! Get down! Ask Dad to get that for you!"
This brings back a memory of Mom and me. Two or three years ago, Mom came out in the kitchen while I was on the step-stool.
"Oh," she said, "I need to borrow that." A frail 97-year-old lady needs to borrow a step-stool?
"What for?" I asked.
"If I tell you, you won't let me borrow it."
True enough. She eventually confessed that she wanted to clean the tops of her kitchenette cabinets.
"Mom, I can do that for you. I don't want you getting up on this thing."
"Because you could fall and break something."
"Anybody could fall and break a bone," she countered.
"Besides," she went on, "I have never fallen." She forgot she'd already told me about the time she landed in the rose bush while cleaning the garage window, back in Meadville.
To demonstrate her agility and superior sense of balance, she stood on the lower step and flapped her arms defiantly. She looked like a bird about to take flight.
"Mom, get down!"
She got down, pleased to see that she had riled me up.
She did not get to borrow the step-stool