My Latest Trip

Don’t you just love taking short trips to just “get out of the house”? I know I do.

Perhaps a quick trip to a local park to take pictures. Maybe a ride down to the dock to watch the boats come in.

It’s always a pleasure to just get away for a few hours, especially when you can get away with friends.

I was running a bit late and in a hurry. That’s not unusual for me especially on the mornings of Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Those days are my dance days. We meet on those days around 7:15am and end at 8:30am. We dance to about any kind of music: salsa, tango, samba, country, rock, waltz, and every one of them is done in a structured line-dance formation with purposeful steps.

We are by no means professionals and our dancing demonstrates that, but we have so much fun that if we miss a step or two (or three), none of us really cares and not one person criticizes another. Very often, we laugh at ourselves before anyone else actually notices that we committed a misstep.

The team which consists of about thirty women (and this doesn’t count our male instructor and his partner) have become more like family than just a dance team. We honestly care about each other. We’ve been there during the losses of spouses, illnesses, surgeries, post-surgery blues (not exactly depression just feeling off) and any other kind of situation that calls for the sympathy or empathy from a close friend.

We are quick to congratulate each other for something done right and offer encouragement if we struggle with a new dance or two.

I should also mention that while we have our official instructor, there are two women on my team who are certified instructors should our official one leave for a short vacation. Between the three of them, we rarely feel lost when it comes to learning new dance steps.

The drive to the building where we dance is a mere ten minutes away from my home and while we are not, as I said, professionals, I really don’t like being late. No, my tardiness won’t hold up the session. They’ll continue on but I would prefer to get there on time.

As I said, I was running a bit late one particular morning, again. Finally ready, I walked out of the house and down the three steps to our garage. I got in the car, strapped in, and started the ignition only to realize that my sunglasses were not in my bag. I’d forgotten to put them back in the case the day before. Not a big deal. I can take a few seconds and grab them and then get on my way.

My husband, at this time, was preparing to go fishing with our friend from down the street. He was in and out from the garage to the house. Pack his tackle. Why? Who knows! He never unpacks his tackle. He just decided to go over once again what he planned to take on this trip! Gather his rods. He has way too many of them so just grab three and put them near the back door. Pack his lunch. Well, he already did that! After he made his sandwich, he’s back out in the garage getting his little Igloo cooler. Back in the house with said cooler, he packs the drinks he plans to take: water, juice, iced tea. He double wraps his sandwich to avoid sogginess. Now he carefully places the ice packs on top of everything and places the cooler near the door leading to the garage and walks out of the house WITHOUT the cooler to check once more on his fishing equipment.

Before you ask, the answer is no, I’m not paying much attention to his routine. I know the drill, only now I’m in a rush. I turn off the engine to the car and hurriedly make my way back into the house – and WHAM! I immediately fall over his cooler. I honestly thought he’d taken it in the garage with him. I never expected to find it in the middle of the kitchen floor.

There was nothing for me to grab to either prevent or slow my fall. Down I went on my elbows and knees.

I need to say this here. Just thirteen months ago, I had a full knee replacement surgery, and my knee is still in the healing stage.

As I was saying: down I went. Splat! My shin slammed against his cooler, and both knees pounded the floor. My elbows scraped the grout between the tiles on the floor. I couldn’t get up. Yes, I screamed. No, let me rephrase that. I didn’t scream in pain. I screamed to get my husband’s attention to come inside and help me up.

The only way he could get me off the floor was to slide a chair over so I would have something solid to grab. Between him holding me and me pushing on the chair, we got me into a standing position. Then the room began to move.

I said he’d better get me to the couch quicker than quick or he’d be dragging me to the couch. We made it! Immediately, I placed my feet on the arm rest and lowered my head to the seat of the couch in order to get blood flowing back into my brain. Within minutes, the lightheadedness waned, and the dizziness began to ease.

The pain in my back and legs, however, did not. I know that the pain and bruising will take a few days, perhaps a bit longer depending on how badly the bruise grows. Currently, my knee isn’t too bad. I think the quick action of my husband getting me an ice pack is what helped the most. It not just kept the bruise from quickly appearing but kept the swelling to a minimum.

Was I careless? Maybe! Was he? Possibly. Why, when he was in and out of the house, didn’t he take his cooler with him rather than leave it in the middle of the kitchen floor?

Why was I in such a rush just to go dance?

The answers to these questions will more than likely remain unanswered.

There is one thing for sure.

As I said before, I love short trips, but this is one I am in NO rush to repeat.