So, last week in the 20-ish temps, after arriving home from work at 9:30 PM, I decided to take the trash out in the snow to the road. I fell into the front yard snow, and could not get up. I normally cannot get up from falling, but I tried, and tried more. I pushed up from the garbage can, but could not stand. My feet in my canvas slip-ons slid.
No, I did not have my cell phone. I yelled, “Help!” No one in my neighborhood seemed to be awake at that time of the evening. I continued to yell. No cars came down the road. I realized my fingers hurting meant I could get frostbite, but I had gloves in my pockets.
After trying to stand up more, I thought going to sleep would feel good, but I knew that was a bad sign. I didn’t actually feel cold. I decided to roll, like a snow whale, through the snow to the front porch. I still could not get up using the slippery surface. I tried. I knew the school bus passing in the morning would not pick me up.
Finally, after an hour in the snow, the neighbor came home at 10:30 PM from the airport. He heard me, came over, and dead-lifted me so I could stand. I am fortunate he heard me and had such strength. I feel blessed. I didn’t want to be garbage, or in the snow. I don't like Winter. This must have been another sign of a bad winter … or a klutzy me … or both.
