Saturday morning, I slipped on the ice, but anytime someone says ‘slip’–whether the action or the undergarment–I always want to say, “Sipped on a chip.” The phrase is from an old ‘Unoesque’ card game of one of my brothers that currently sells as a collectible on Amazon for $99.99! The game was called: Buffalo Chips and the highlight was when you could force someone to miss a turn: you would suppress a giggle, then slap down the card: “Slip on a Buffalo Chip”–it pictured a cowboy shown from the knee down slipping in a big pile of buffalo poo. How we loved playing that game just to make a sibling ‘slip on a chip’ -tee hee. Laughter is a good medicine.
I didn’t giggle when I slipped on Saturday. I sat there, bewildered and dumfounded–relieved I didn’t smack my head–then I wailed to prove how badly I was hurt. Covered in fresh fluffy snow, I surveyed the area and there was absolutely no one in sight to help me up, so I cried some more. Then I realized I was literally freezing my butt off and my pockets were full of snow and no one was coming to help me up. So I got up and sobbed some more and put my coat in the bathtub–it was soaking wet.
On Sunday I could feel my age, but it only hurt when I laughed or exhaled or moved my right arm…the number of bruises was fairly limited. As I reviewed my calendar for the next week, I was every so grateful that in December I had the foresight to have scheduled a massage for Monday. I brought a satchel full of essential oils to my appointment so my masseur could try out the RaindropTechnique; I decided since it was the middle of winter in Iowa that we would call our version the Snowplow Technique. Twenty-four hours after the Snowplow Technique (and a chiropractor visit) I’m feeling much better.
At Witz' End... 