Why am I sitting on the grass near the driveway of our rented beach house?

Why is my leg partially, and dangerously, under my grandson’s pickup truck?

Why is he looking for me, like he can’t see me? Why is he not hearing me when I’m shouting, “Don’t move the truck!!!”

Luckily, he didn’t back up over me.

The last time I fell on my butt was about 40 years ago. Marjorie and I were celebrating Christmas in NYC. Nasty, icy weather. I slipped on ice on 49th Street and Sixth Avenue, right in the middle of a busy street. I was back up in almost one motion. My main concern was, “Did anybody see me fall?”

That was then.

Now, falling is extremely dangerous for me. And I don’t move nearly that fast.

So. Back to the driveway.

I was heading to Josh’s truck to go get some Dukes BBQ from my house downtown. Got tangled up with a cement post, 2-3 feet tall, near the truck. Fell on my ass.

(Actually, I just involuntarily sat down.)

That was the first lucky part. I was on grass, not pavement. On my butt, not my face, elbow, hip, or shoulder.

No injury, except a scrape behind my knee, where I tangled with the post.

God only knows what would have happened had Josh quickly backed up that truck. Ouch.

He didn’t move the truck. That was my second stroke of luck.

‘Tis a compelling dilemma we seniors face. We want to stay mobile as long as possible, but that’s not without serious risk.

Safer to stay in the recliner all day?

Really?

Not without a bigger risk of muscle, bone, and brain atrophy.

This old man from the low country attic is gonna stay mobile as long as he can. A cane, or even a rollator/walker, are probably in the near future. Not great. But better than wasting away in a giant comfy recliner.

In the meantime, I’ve etched Rule #1 indelibly into my somewhat weakened brain.

Do Not Fall.

Easier said than done.

Sometimes a post jumps out and bites you.

Enuf.