About four or five days ago, I forget which (surprise!) I was walking Prozac the Boston terrier, and I just tripped over an uneven place in the walk. I came down on both my knees, and since I had the dog leash in my left hand, there was little to break my fall. Long story short, I ended up with two horrific brush burns on my knees. Both are now completely scabbed over, but the right knee is still really sore. And of course there's the constant temptation to be picking at those formidable scabs. (I was wondering with somebody the other day whether wanting to pick at scabs on your person is a universal human trait. I concluded it is.) Actually this was the second time I fell walking the dog. Same reason: raised crack in sidewalk. The first time I landed mostly on my hands. Didn't feel good either, but the knees are worse. Nothing is going to convince me this would have happened if I had been 35 years old.
Here's a chapter from Susan's Getting Older collection. I don't think she would mind my sharing this with you. Today she had Red Hats luncheon. It was downtown OKC at the Art Museum Cafe. First of all, she was supposed to meet the group at somebody's house at 11:30 a.m. At which time she was still dressing and about 12 miles away from where she was supposed to be. So she had to drive up to the city herself. Long story short: she couldn't find the luncheon. All the streets in downtown Oklahoma City are torn up, so there's that. So the GPS directions were no good. She asked two people for directions and still didn't find the place. I have nothing but sympathy for her . . . and she's four years younger.
My Dad used to say when he was going through this period. Nothing works like it used to. I think I'm beginning to understand.