AFTER THE FALL
By Laura Walcher
One minute I was in a exuberant stride up Fourth, fresh from the music of the 80’s in ‘Mixtec” at the Horton Grand, and the next thing I knew, I hit the concrete with the buildings above me revolving ‘in a madcap orbit.
The good news: I’m here to tell about it. Was I in danger of not being here to tell about it? By now you know, you never know.
Eventually some kindly male voices above me called Paramedics and tried to elicit from me the degree of my consciousness, etc. By “etc.” I mean, the concern and competence of the male voices, the urgency of the docs to cut through my fog, figure out my condition, the race to Sharp’s emergency, the family circling around ...
Heavy drama, right? Fuggetabout it.
I was soon out-done by every friend, relative or colleague – eager to hear about my story, only so they could tell me his or her own. I therefore present myself to you as …”The Empress of Being One-Upped. “
Joan’s fall knocked her teeth through her cheek. Bad, though it worked well for dieting. Alexa – after months - is still babying her shoulder and various other tender parts. Marilyn reports a broken shoulder, too. I was rendered mute among crutches, stitches, drugs and splints. If the person his-or-herself was actually not the fallen, they all knew someone who just made my ten days of looking like an inflated pepperoni pizza … y’know, a toe stub. (Ouch.)
Don broke his bones n a complicated, twisty manner while doing the tango. (We don’t have to go there.) He still maybe needs surgery and at the least, extensive physical therapy, and while I was warned not to drive – or even walk – for a few days, he’s managed to extend his situation to months.
My own little trip’s became soooo boring? I didn’t even use Crisco on my various burns and abrasions. Don’s discovered Crisco for his; he’s become a Crisco freak. He claims that Crisco is in a revival; a balm for an amazing list of skin “situations.” The Smucker Company ought to pay him. I bet he’s sold more cans than they have. I personally hadn’t thought about Crisco for any reason at all - for half a century.
But when I was rolling my eyes and resenting his worse injuries, I happened to be reading “The Help,” by Kathryn Stockett, I went home and to my amazement, opened instantly on one of the character’s raves, which I now excerpt for you: “ … if there's anything you ought a know about cooking, it's this ... and it ain't lard. It's the most important invention … since jarred mayonnaise. Ain't PIG fat. It's vegetable. Who in the world doesn't know what CRISCO is? Ain't just for frying. You ever get a sticky something stuck in your hair, like gum? That's right. CRISCO. Spread this on a baby's bottom, you won't even know what diaper rash is. .... ladies rub it under they eyes and on their husband's scaly feet. Clean the goo from a price tag, take the squeak out a door hinge. Lights get cut off, stick a wick in it and burn it like a candle. .... And after all that, it'll still fry your chicken."
Who knew? At 90, my mother attributed looking gorgeous to oatmeal masks.
Well, a little dab of Crisco a day might’ve made my own blown-up, contused face look pretty good sooner than the ten days I had to hide out. That was the solution I needed for my tiny little fall – nothing at all like the really brutal, even tragic one you’ll tell me about…. My, my. You’ll need a whole can. ###
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