My second week of work as a “permanent” employee, I broke my foot. I broke my foot as a favor to my Mom.
Let me back up a bit, so you’ll understand. My mother is one of the growing number of retired “working.” What this means is she officially retired from her career, but works 40 hours a week or more in a job that has the flexibility and pay to allow her to travel. She loves world travel and tries to take a couple of big trips a year. How in the world did she find a job that has the flexibility to allow this? She didn’t, really. The difference is she doesn’t care. She works hard and is excellent at what she does, but she doesn’t need to the job to live. Her retirement savings pay for that. She needs this job to travel. When she announces when she’ll be travelling and for how long, if the employer says no, that is fine. She’ll quit and take the vacation. When she gets back she’ll look for another job. Weirdly, this seems to have the effect of making the employer want to keep her above all costs and aquiesce to two vacations of 2-4 weeks long a year. True, they aren’t paid vacations, but still, all the years she worked so hard and did care about keeping her job, her employers were inflexible and even unreasonable at times. Now that she doesn’t care, they do whatever it takes to keep her. This warrants another post about power struggles in the work place.
Anyhow, it seems nearly every time she plans a trip, she breaks a bone right before the trip – usually doing something ridiculously mundane and slightly dumb. For example, she broke her elbow before her trip to England. She had gotten an older dog named Brandy (who is now deceased – she was a sweetie pie). Mom has always had allergies but in addition to that, she has always had what I consider an extreme aversion to pets on the furniture. This is probably why during my adolescent rebellion, I became a cat person, who loves to lay on the floor while my cats lounge about above me on the furniture, including tables and counter-tops. Anyhow, Mom didn’t want Brandy to get on the couch in the living room. As far as I know, Brandy had never really shown herself to be a couch dog. She was older and had bad joint problems, so jumping wasn’t her thing. She was more the type of dog who liked to lay at your feet, catching the crumbs of food you dropped while you ate dinner in front of the TV (yes, eating was allowed on the couch). Mom’s solution (to a problem she didn’t necessarily have) was to put up one of those 3 foot high sliding screens that you just place in the doorway – usually used to keep toddlers out of a dangerous room. (Ironically, the screen was about as high as the couch, so if Brandy really wanted to jump on the couch, wouldn’t she just jump over the screen?) Mom, instead of removing the screen when she entered the room, would step over it. She misstepped one night and BOOM, put her hand down when she fell. All her weight went on her wrist and elbow and CRAAAACK it was broken. She still headed off to England, her arm in a sling. In a way it was nice because all the cute bellmen, bus-drivers, and cruise attendents carried her luggage for her and made a big fuss. Still, a suggestion to you compulsively neat dog owners, put an old sheet or blanket over the couch when it is just you and the dog puttering around. Use something that is easy to wash. Buy a sheet that matches your decor if you must. When company comes over, remove it and you have a fabulous shiny couch. Let Mom’s folly be a lesson to you, and both you and the dog will be happy.
The second time she hurt herself, she broke her ankle or foot. I don’t quite remember which. Anyhow, she was helping my Grandparents move out of their house and into their new apartment. My Cousin, Uncle, and Mom spent a grueling weekend packing things, having a huge yard sale, moving furniture into moving vans, cleaning the house, and prepping for the sale of the house. On the last night there they drove into Tucson to stay in a hotel and head home early in the morning. Mom was so exhausted she could barely walk or think. Still, she had to do the wash. Now, this is another thing I just don’t understand. I think it is a mom thing, because my Stepmom does it too. Perhaps the experience of using cloth diapers scars you for the rest of your life, driving a constant urge to do laundry? Whenever they visit me, the first thing they ask for is can they do some laundry (well, really the third, usually there is a request for food, then napping, then use of my washing machine). Hellooooo….what could possibly be dirty, you just got here? There is usually a load a day or every other day. Then a load on the last day, because wouldn’t it be cool to get home and have all the laundry clean – ’cause then you can relax. HELLLOOOO…..this is your VACATION….this is when you relax and don’t do laundry!!!!! So, Mom goes to the hotel basement, exhausted, to do her laundry after everyone else has dropped into bed. She slips “WOOOSH” and falls “KAPOW” and breaks her foot “CRAAAACK”. This is right before her big trip to Greece. Fortunately her foot healed just in time for her to take off and trek up and down the stairs of the Parthenon.
This year, Mom’s big trip is to Russia. I kept thinking to myself, “Mom hasn’t broken anything, yet.” Then, I would knock on my head (my way of knocking on wood, which works very well). I did not voice this out loud, because I was afraid of “The Jinx”. Also, I did not ask Mom about any injuries, because of “The Jinx.” I didn’t even joke about it. Mom flew into town on Saturday, because her plane to Europe left from Portland early Sunday. We went to dinner and I quietly examined her. She did not have any apparent injuries. No limp, no suspicious bandages, no slings, no splints, no eye-patches. All seemed well. On the way home – the night before she left – I finally voiced to my husband, “Mom seems to have escaped injury this time around.” “Ha Ha!” we laughed, “she still has 12 hours to go, maybe she needs to do some laundry.”
“Ha Ha” indeed…
Sunday evening, long after Mom was officially on vacation, CRRAAAACK, I broke my foot, stupidly. Officially, I’m calling it a banjo injury. Hey – Earl Scruggs recently injured himself while playing banjo – it isn’t unheard of. I think that there is a curse on Mom – someone in the family has to break a bone when she goes on vacation.
Well, Mom, this one is for you. Raise a glass of ice-cold vodka in my honor and have a great vacation!!