Last Saturday, my back went out. I mean way out. I have no idea what I did or why it happened. I cleaned the house, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary for the weekend. All I did different is scrub the kitchen counter. The Formica had gotten away from me and was looking kind of grody. It was clean, but there were some unsightly stains. I was using one of them Magic Erasers, which are a miracle of modern science. (I know! I sound like a commercial, right?) One of them marks was stubborn and I had to put some elbow grease into it. Could I have suffered a cleaning related injury?
All I remember is getting ready to go down to the Brew Ha Ha with Charlie and thinking, What the heck happened to my back? I was real uncomfortable in the car on the way over and even after some nachos and a medicinal Margarita, it didn’t get better.
This is what happens when you get older. Your body craps out on you and there’s no rhyme or reason to it. You go to bed fine, and you wake up and your ankle’s wonky. Charlie had a hip replacement a few years back and it worked out great. But lately, he’s developed this limpy thing that comes and goes. Sometimes he has it, sometimes he don’t. It’s wacky!
Sunday morning, my back was even worse. It’s gotten a little better every day since then, but man, it’s slow going. Walking Cora in the morning is the hardest. Charlie’s now on an early shift down to the Mill, so it falls to me. First, I have to tie my sneaks. I can see why the elderly use Velcro ‘cause it requires a certain flexibility that you take for granted until its gone. Walking is tender, but manageable until Cora finds something that gets her attention and needs to be sniffed. She plants herself, like dogs do, and kinda jerks the leash back. Ouch! Then, there’s picking up the poop, which just seems so far away when it hurts to bend over. I have to think it through, scooch down, do the deed. Then, I gotta stand up with nothing to hold on to. All the while hoping that no one is watching.
On Tuesday, when I got back from my walk, I was taking off my jacket and I knocked one of my airpods outta my ear. And I just couldn’t find it! Mostly because I couldn’t get down on my hands and knees to look for it. So, when Charlie gets home, I had him look. It was one of his limpy days, too, so there we are, both of us gimping around the entryway, looking for the thing. It’s bright white! Why can’t neither one of us see it? You gotta laugh, or you’ll cry.
After supper, I realized I had that Find Me thing on my phone. Turns out, you can look for the case or the right or left airpod with your phone. It sends out a little noise to guide you in. So I managed to get down on my hands and knees, which is easier as the day goes on. I’m listening for the sound. Figured I’d have to do it ‘cause Charlie’s hearing isn’t great. At least when I’m talking. So I’m honing in on the beep, beep of my airpod. I’ll be darned, it worked! There it was hidden in one of my sneakers. I would have jumped up in celebration, but I couldn’t.
My back is much better now, thank goodness! Makes me appreciate my usual good health. Gotta hope as we get older that Charlie and I will have different things go wrong with us. That way, between the two us, we can almost manage.
Brings to mind Frank and Ada Jones. They’ve been married seventy-five years this last October. Frank is as deaf as a post. Says he got that way out of self-defense, because Ada could talk the ears off a dead donkey. “Well,” Ada says, looking at him and smiling, “now I know why my eyesight is shot!”
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Can You Say Decrepit?