Mugwump Down

A tumble this afternoon in my little work cubby brought flashbacks of spectacular spills in times past.

Alan White might remember gazing down at me as I lay stunned on a Westport sidewalk, his arm still linked through mine, after he abruptly stopped to look over his shoulder into a shop window.  His innocent query, “Oh, you don’t have reverse?” still reverberates.  A few years later, I collapsed on a sidewalk outside of a country club in Mississippi.  The senior partner in the firm at which I was an associate hurried over to my prone form, gasping, calling my name.  A colleague strolled with considerable more aplomb, remarking, “Slow down, John.  She’s fine.  Falling is her second job.”  As I struggled to my feet, I corrected him, “Actually, it’s my first; and lawyering has become a distant third after being Patrick’s mom.”  They brushed the dust from my suit and, each taking an arm, we sashayed into our client’s cocktail party.

Two of my most famous falls came at my high school and college graduations, for both of which (it must be said) I tripped on my gown walking across the stage.  After I received my law degree, my mother hugged me while remarking that she almost didn’t recognize me, until I slipped on the stairs en route back to my seat.  “I told your father, Look!  That’s our baby girl!”  

Still, the falls concern me more these days.  Old bones grow brittle.  My knack of twisting to avoid serious injury persists, and I can hoist myself horizontal from most levels.  But I know the statistics.  I expect that one of these days, I will lie on the ground and lament a shattered hip.  The closest that I’ve come was a fluke strike against a dresser edge that broke a clavicle three years ago.  For fractures due to disability-related falls, I count only three:  That clavicle; my hand in 2013; and a chipped elbow which really doesn’t count, as I was pushing my then-husband in a manual wheelchair over gravel at the time.  My luck has held so far; or perhaps my guardian angel has been deft.  I feel the soft flutter of her wings as she angles to cushion my landing.

Tonight my muscles shudder more than usual.  Morning will tell if I pulled anything that could ruin my weekend.  Thankfully, my Northwestern mug flipped off the table amid a spray of pens and highlighters but survived.  With a few adjustments to my work area, I resumed my afternoon responsibilities.  One day, I’m sure, this old Mugwump will get her come-uppance and exit on a stretcher with something badly broken.  But not today.  A few extra aches; a few extra pains; and another story that will grow funnier with time.  Mugwump down!

It’s the fifteenth day of the one-hundred and tenth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Thank you for reading my blog.  If you have not yet purchased my book and wish to do so, February will be a good month as it’s the first month in my new campaign to raise money for worthy causes.  A percentage of all sales for the rest of 2023 will be donated to nonprofits, with a different charity chosen each month. 

Check out my website to learn about this month’s cause

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Thank you. 

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