We were dirty people. Even after the kids grew up and were no longer trailing their childhood detritus behind them and leaving handprints everywhere like fingerpainters run amok, we were dirty.
We were gardening, cutting grass, dragging in wood, tramping through mud, and basically bringing the outdoors in, and not in a good way. When I picture the house we loved and left two years ago, the first image that springs to mind is the kitchen floor. Thanks to bad design, the kitchen door was closest to the driveway, making it by default the main entryway. To get to any part of the rest of the house, you had to cut through the kitchen, making it basically a hallway with a stove. That floor never felt clean to me.
In CondoLand, we’ve been transformed. We’ve gone to the clean side. Without wood to chop, or grass clippings to drag in, my vacuuming days are few and far apart, as are my mopping days. One telltale sign is Mamie’s reaction to a rare sighting of the vacuum, shaking and following me from room to room, either to defend me, to be ready for any sudden moves from this arch enemy.Yesterday a closer look at the kitchen floor told me the time had come. I dragged out the orange monster and went to it. Mamie, as usual, followed me, staying near enough to make sure I wasn’t getting eaten, but far enough away that she didn’t fall victim.
Tile makes up a good-sized portion of our place – front hall, living room, kitchen, dining area, back hall, bathrooms. For quick cleanings, I use a wet Swiffer, but It had been awhile, so out came a bucket and sponge mop.
Last year on a particularly warm, windy day I had opened the windows, kicked off my flip flops and mopped with enthusiasm. To wait for the floors to dry, I gathered up a drink and my latest book and headed for a cozy chair.
Across the wet tile.
In bare feet.
Things really do happen in slow motion. You feel yourself going up and then down, and think 1) ‘What’s happening?’ and then, 2) ‘Oh! I’m falling!’ and then 3) *#@!?
Fortunately I was fine, outside of a few bruises the next day.
So yesterday, after telling my husband that under no circumstances was he to leave the porch, and after moving at the speed of a sloth on Valium myself, you guessed it.
Wet floor, bare feet, boom.
Not to worry, though, I’m fine.
All of life is learning – for some people.
Been there, done that. More often than I care to admit.
Is there a slow learners anonymous we could join do you think?
"HI, I'm Marty and I keep walking across wet tile floors barefoot . . . ."Delete
People who are in accidents describe the time slowing down. I was shovelling the icy drive way and had one of those moments when the shovel flew up in the air and I had time to think about how I didn't want it to land on my head... I threw my arm up to deflect it. I'm glad you had nothing seriously hurt! -JennReplyDelete
Hahaha! I loved this story. Hope the bruises heal up fast again this time. :-)ReplyDelete
Glad you're fine, but ... do be careful.ReplyDelete
If only I would!Delete
Good that you survived the fall. I always say my ass is on the floor before my brain knows I'm falling.ReplyDelete
Good that you are okay, but why is your floor so wet as to be slippery? Whenever I mop my floor, (rarely, I'm lazy), I'll squeeze the mop almost dry and run it over the floor again getting it as dry as possible. No slipping allowed.ReplyDelete
Gotta work on my technique.ReplyDelete
the cement floor of our garage is smooth, very smooth and when it sweats during certain atmospheric conditions it becomes very slick, feet flying out from under you slick. I've only fallen once and fortunately only sprained my wrist. I had put a trail of interlocking foam mats from door to driveway only to learn afterwards that unless those mats are laid wall to wall they become like a sled on a snowy slope when there is water underneath and so with a long hurried stride it flew out from under me. I remember it though, the mats are now gone, and when it's like that I creep flat footed through the garage to the door into the house.ReplyDelete
Well, I'm living proof that Mamie knows what she's barking about. It's been six months since tile took me down and broke my femur. Largest bone in your body. Where white blood cells are born (I think). I'm up and about on a cane. It probably will be another six months to sure footed. Just saying...ReplyDelete
Yes, Joanne I've been following your epic journey back to independence. I'm still dazzled by your grit and determination. You go Girl!Delete
I totally understand the slow motion you refer to but I didn’t fall in my kitchen . Three separate times I managed to fall in a stores aisle and felt so humiliated. Sadly on one occasion I broke my right wrist. The other two just left me bruised. I did follow up to relieve my pains by seeing a therapist each time. The broken wrist needed an eight week cast and curtailed my driving and all other important activities. Shawers and dressing were nightmares. I even had two nieces’ weddings to travel to and try to cover or hide the arm in photos as I hated my appearance then . Looking back now I think I over reacted on the appearance part.ReplyDelete
And those fall were spread out over a 15 year span. I so not include my outdoor falls on icy driveways as there are too many to count over a lifetime.
Hope all is better. I love your posts.
Thank you! :0)Delete
I once broke my foot while dusting. Being a short person, and generally pretty nimble, I often hop up on a chair or bed to get a cobweb out of the corner. This time I didn't pay attention when hopping down. Living proof, housework can be hazardous.ReplyDelete