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Carol Perkins: The Metal Chair

Previous Column: My Elvis Moment

By Carol Perkins

Guy watched as I carried the metal folding chair to my closet. "What are you planning to do with that chair?" he asked. I knew not to tell him that there was a bag on the top shelf that I needed, so I said, "Nothing. Why?" What was he doing in the house; I thought he was mowing the yard.

"Were you thinking about standing on it?" I was thinking about it, but he interrupted. I figured that I could hold to the doorframe and step up, one leg at a time. The fact I don't have a good leg to spare was not a consideration. Standing in a chair would not have been smart, but I hate depending on anyone.

"What do you want from up there? I'll get it." Naturally, he had to take down several boxes before he reached the right one.

I was at the beauty shop and came home to see the ladder leaning against the house.


Guy was standing on the roof. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked, shading my eyes. His reply, "What are you doing home?" He thought he would clean out the gutters before I finished. "You are going to fall and break your neck," I vowed. He finished despite my protests.

"I guess I'm going to have to hire this done from now on," he admitted, and he's kept his word.

Sometimes I think I'm falling apart. I'm afraid the water hose will wrap around my leg and trip me. I grasp railings as I go in and out of the house and up and down the basement steps. I don't stand on top of my desk to put books on the top shelf, although I thought about it recently. I watch for uneven surfaces, thresholds, curbs, and tricky steps. Sometimes I feel like Tim Conway.

Then I think about others my age and realize we're all in the same boat, some worse than others. The key is to keep on keeping on but stay away from metal chairs and ladders.


You can contact Carol at carolperkins06@gmail.com.


This story was posted on 2022-07-20 10:46:16
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