Monday, September 9, 2013

Literal Headers


On Fridays I pick up my brilliant granddaughter, Izzy, and take her to gymnastics class.  She runs off to tumble and flip (and flaunt her leotard-du-jour), while I take my seat in the gallery of relatives-who-transport.


I sit near the window where I can watch my budding gold-medalist's every move, and I day-dream about the '72 Munich Olympics where Olga Korbut (who now lives in Scottsdale) scored a perfect ten on the uneven bars.


When I come back to earth I notice this sign in the Gym and ponder whether to enroll, if only to pick up some style pointers. 

It’s been just about a year since I was diagnosed with osteoporosis and asked my good doctor what I should do about it. “Don’t fall,” he said. 

I promised I wouldn’t. But I think the statute of ‘liminations is looming.  You know, the one that says, "You live in a house with a spiral staircase you must traverse multiple times a day?  Really?"

Izzy shows up just in time to spare the receptionist from a confusing battery of questions.  I point out the sign to Izzy.
“Bubba,” she says sternly, “they’re talking about FALL … the season.  You know - like Halloween. They want people to sign up for classes that begin in October … you know, Fall. Get it?” 
“Got it,” I reply, shamed.   
I guess it's unlikely there will be a team of judges to hold up score cards when those stairs get me, anyway.

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