Snow Day

So, what exactly does it mean to "grow old gracefully"? Does it mean that you accept your dwindling energy and capabilities with quiet dignity, savoring your memories while enjoying your tea and knitting? Or does it mean that you resist aging and do as much as you can for as long as you can? Does it mean that when your daughter asks you to go sled riding with her family you sweetly say, "Oh, heavens no, dearie! You young'uns just go have fun. I'll just watch from the car."? Or do you respond with, "Sure! That sounds like fun!" I'm not sure if that is the "graceful" response, but it was my response. All the schools in the area were closed today due to a heavy snowfall -- except, of course for my school. Online schools don't get snow days.

Well, I decided I was going to take one. So, I layered my clothes, grabbed my camera, hat, and mittens, and drove to my daughter's house. From there we drove to "the hill." Walking from the parking lot to the base of the hill was a feat in itself. The snow was about 8 inches deep, and I had no boots -- only tennis shoes. And there it was. My grandson said, "That's the hill." I said, "You expect me to go up there?" And he said, "Yep. And come down, too." So my daughter and I trudged to the base of the hill and took some pictures of the kids. Eventually, I gave in to their pleading and coaxing and began the arduous ascent to the top of the hill (actually I think it was a small mountain). Of course, I knew that once I began the trek I was committed. There was no way I could turn around and come back down without losing the respect of my grandchildren -- not to mention the other children and parents who would witness my cowardly retreat. I also knew that once I reached the top of the hill, there was only one way I was going to get back down to the bottom.

So I stood there at the top, stalling, until the sled that I wanted (the big one with the rope to hold onto) was available. Then I had to figure out how I was going to get my body down onto the sled -- and I use that term loosely. This was not the type of sled I used as a child -- the wooden kind with the metal runners that dug into the snow and traveled in a straight line unless you used the foot bar to turn it. No, this was just a long, concave piece of molded plastic that you sit directly on -- thin enough to allow you to feel every bump on the way down, and with a rope that served no purpose other than to provide you with a false sense of security and control.

Once I scooted forward to the crest of the hill and began my descent, I knew I was in trouble. (I can imagine Body screaming, "Are you out of your mind??!! What the heck do you think you're doing??!! See yesterday's post.) I was pulling on the rope for dear life, but the plastic bowl was not responding. I began veering to the right, then kept spinning until I was sliding down backwards. The next thing I remember was seeing the blue bowl flying over top of me and feeling a jolt on the back of my head. I think I did a backward flip. My forehead was hurting, probably from the mild concussion I had just incurred. Of course, we all had a good laugh (including me). I hope my daughter got a picture of it, because she'll never see it again. No one will. Ever. Again. We all went back to C's house, ate pizza, and watched a movie. It was a good day.

You know how, when you're in a minor car accident, you don't really start feeling sore until later on -- maybe the next day? Well, the pain is beginning to surface -- the knees, the neck, the shoulders, the back, the fingers (yes, the fingers). I'm sure I'll hate myself in the morning. But I kinda like myself right now.