It seems that more and more lately conversations with my peers (or those ten years either side of me) revolve around mobility, balance, movement and safety. This is new. I know it has a lot to do with recent events. Several of my friends have fallen, including me, mostly without a lot of provocation, once to nearly dire consequences, two to serious injury, and a couple to a lot of embarrassment.

And so we discuss how not to do that again.

1. Keep walkways, hallways, and floors clear of obstructions
2. Watch where we’re going–surprisingly, this is not an automatic. My friend Melinda says “Nose to toes.” Point your face where your feet are going.
3. Use handrails. Don’t be too vain to rely on a cane, walker, or a friend’s hand.
4. Exercise to improve balance, stamina, and strength in legs and arms. Arms are helpful for getting up from the floor after a spill.
5. Get a smart watch or panic button that will call for help in an emergency.

This is not a fun discussion. I liked it better when all we talked about was food.

But another incident on Sunday pointed out my body’s (significant) shortcomings. I went to Molly and Beau’s to stand in the pool. We call it “swimming,” but, really, that is not happening. We stand in the shallow end or float in the deep end, with a cold beverage nearby, talking til we’re prune-y. The grands might be frolicking like dolphins all around us, but there is no adult swimming going on. No.

Anyway, I digress. Molly and Sarah were in the deep end and Beau and two friends were in the shallow end, so of course, I went to get in the deep end, where there are no steps. Why would there be? So how to get in the water? Jump in? Nay nay. I do not go under water. It’s a holdover from wearing contact lenses for years.

The obvious and ladylike choice given there were gentlemen present was to sit daintily on the edge of the pool and slip gracefully in like a greased up seal. Sure. I could see how it could be done, so I squatted down on the concrete walkway surrounding the pool. It was 5000 degrees. My knees are like petrified wood. I couldn’t sit down. I couldn’t kneel down. I certainly couldn’t slide in seal-like.

Molly and Sarah tried. Really, they did. Coaxing, suggesting, hands up for support. But no, finally the only way I was getting to the water was to fling myself onto the concrete backwards which resulted in me plummeting down, feet in the air, head in the grass, cute swim-skirt on view of everyone in the vicinity including the gentlemen rudely hogging the shallow end.

To their credit, they did not laugh, although Molly, Sarah and I were hysterical. But my travails were not over. I pulled myself into a sitting position and slid into the water, clumsily clinging to the ledge my children had thoughtfully added to the deep end of the pool for just such as occasion. My goal was to straddle a saddle-shaped floatation device, and I grabbed one as it floated by. Getting on it was not as easy as I remembered, and I nearly drowned twice before I could ride that thing as intended.

Hours later, after I was sufficiently prune-y, I used Lyla’s head to steady myself as I climbed the stairs in the shallow end to get out (the guys had politely drifted to the deep end during the course of the afternoon).

I tell you this story for two reasons.

1. because, let’s face it, I don’t mind making fun of myself, and you may see yourself in here somewhere.
2. and to let you know that I have added to my very low-key exercise regimen some practice time to get down on the floor and up again. It can be done, if not all that gracefully.

After all, if it was good enough for Ruth Bader-Ginsberg, it should be good enough for me.

Try it. If we all get really good at getting to the ground and back up again and can quit falling down, then we can get back to talking about food. It’s way more fun.