PEAS PORRIDGE HOT, PEAS PORRIDGE COLD, PEASE PORRIDGE IN THE POT, EIGHTY-THREE YEARS OLD

PEAS PORRIDGE HOT, PEAS PORRIDGE COLD, PEAS PORRIDGE IN THE 
                            POT, EIGHTY-THREE YEARS OLD
                                                                       T. Wieland Allen
    Oh, the wonders of age and the things that happen to people of advancing    years.  Some of us are still reluctant to act eighty, but things happen to us that require more attention to doing things now in later years that we did by rote or automatically for years.
   Take for instance my love for mowing the yard and trimming the hedges.  I love doing both of them because of the sense of beauty and accomplishment when I gaze upon my job well done and admire the fresh, manicured look and, as my late husband used to say, "The results look like someone cares."  Somehow it is more than a delight to me.  It's a thrill.  I love to iron, too, love to look at the finished results.  Somehow it gives me joy.
   I know that most people don't view those menial labors as rewarding but I have been that way since childhood.  I surmise that is because I always wanted to mow the lawn for my dad but he had the same love for mowing that I do, and so he never relinquished the job to me.  In those days girls weren't supposed to mow the lawn; it was man's work.
    I admit that I have given up my job of trimming certain really tall hedges since my kids insisted on it.  It's all because of that one little privet hedge limb that was just beyond my reach, and I leaned in to allow the hedge trimmer to snip it off, but I lost my balance since it was on a slight incline and I ended up off balance and slowly advancing in slow motion toward the ground in the middle of the hedge with the trimmers still in my hand.  Fortunately the automatic cutoff worked on the trimmers so I was not in any danger of cutting my fingers off or something.  But that little incident was enough for my kids to tell me that I shouldn't try to trim that particularly tall hedge again or I might end up finger-less or, much worse, hand-less.
    One would think that a self propelled walk-behind lawn mower would be safe
for a person my age and a person of my high activity level.  Under normal circumstances the lawn mowing duty during that day would have come and gone with no drama.  Not that infamous day.
    That day, while I was mowing, a neighbor stopped me in my enjoyable job of mowing the front lawn by wanting to discuss my newly built flower beds.  We talked for a few minutes and I informed her about the reason for the new large flower beds, which is to prevent any further erosion of the soil in the front yard.  After the huge amounts of spring and summer rains, my normally beautiful lawn is almost void of dirt on the front east side of the house.  Instead of grass, it has big tree roots exposed and lots of dirt, hardly any grass.  The lawn tech who sprays for weeds told me what to do, and so I worked with some helpers and we followed the tech's instructions.  It worked out great.  For a little while I will be relieved of mowing that large section of my yard while newly planted grass sprouts and grows.  Because of not having to mow that section, I was able to complete mowing the other sections which normally I split into two sessions after having a blood clot in my leg three months ago.  I am not supposed to get overheated.  I felt like I was safe in going ahead and completely mowing the large west side of the front lawn since it was a much cooler day than in the past few weeks. 
    After conversing for a few minutes with My neighbor, I resumed finishing up mowing the west side but I was mentally distracted, I must confess, by thinking about something I should have told the neighbor.  Let me remind you, I am super conscious about being cautious about falling because while on blood thinners a fall could cause my lights of life to permanently go out if a fall caused a brain bleed  so I am super careful.  However, mental distraction is a problem if a person's thoughts are not focused.  And that's how it happened, my most embarrassing moment.
    I was joyfully mowing a small section underneath a tree and I always just drag the mower a short distance backward at a certain spot onto the next section to mow.  Being mentally distracted and thinking about what I wanted to tell the neighbor, I forgot all about the three really large flower pots on the sidewalk about 15 feet behind me.  Cautiously pulling the mower backwards slowly, suddenly I felt something hit me in the back of the calves of My legs and I went down, down, down backwards into one of the large flower pots that sits on the sidewalk adjacent to the grass.  Now, mind you, I am well endowed in the derriere so for me to land sitting down in the middle of one of the large pots took a rather large pot. 
    There I sat poised, sitting all the way down inside of the pot with yellow mums sticking out from the back and both sides of the pot. My two legs, bent at the knees and hanging down the front of the pot a few inches from the ground, covered up the mums in the front of the pot.  Bear in mind I was not on top of the flowers and dirt.  The potting soil was soft and I was sitting deep inside of the pot.  There I sat.  At least I was surrounded by beautiful flowers if anyone saw me. 
    The mower shut off, of course, the minute I let go of the handle, and there I was seated in the middle of beautiful mums in a place I wasn't supposed to be; in fact, no human was supposed to be.
    Now, it was easier to fall inside of the flower pot than it was to get out of the flower pot.  Even though I had lost a few pounds, my ample buttocks was stuck tightly. 
   First thought:  Oh, God, don't let anybody see this ridiculous sight.
   At least I had the yellow mums surrounding me in the pot.  Maybe they would distract anyone driving by the house or walking down the street. 
   I was deep inside the pot and far enough from the ground that I could not use the sidewalk on which the pots rested for leverage by which to use my hands to lift myself out of the pot.  Using the edges of the pot to lift myself up didn't help, either, because of my being stuck so tightly.  My feet were at least six inches off of the ground, so no luck there, either, as far as pushing myself backwards or using my legs to lift myself out with the help of grasping my hands on the side of the big pot. 
   Second thought:  Oh, God, let me be invisible to human eyes.
   Comforting thought: at least I had the yellow mums surrounding me in the pot.
   Suddenly it came to me to start rocking my body back and forth and maybe the pot would turn over and I could crawl out of the predicament I had gotten myself into by being mentally distracted while mowing the lawn. 
   Third thought:  Dear God, if you will temporarily strike people blind who walk by, like you did Saul in the Bible before he became Paul, then they won't see me rocking back and forth stuck firmly in a flower pot with yellow mums protruding from the flower pot around me; and if you do that, I promise to never mow while being distracted again.
    I never bargain with God, but I sensed that He was chuckling at the silly scene and He wanted to work with me because of my pitiful situation of caring what people think about me.  Truthfully, I just didn't want anyone to tell my kids or they might firmly "suggest" that I get someone to mow my lawn for me and take away one of my greatest enjoyments in life.  Yes, it doesn't take much to make me happy! 
   Lo and behold, it only took a few forward rocking motions and then a few backward motions of rocking back and forth before the pot bent forward and the dirt and crushed mums in the pot let go of my buttock and I landed on the grass in front of the sidewalk with the pot on its side. 
   At my age and level of physical activity, if I am sitting on the floor or ground, it often takes my rolling onto my side and lifting myself up with My hands to enable me to rise from a sitting position.  Under the embarrassing circumstance, I scurried up very quickly from a sitting position on the ground much like I did when I was in my twenties.  Of course, I had to wiggle out of the crushed mum plants in the middle of the pot before turning on my side and boosting myself up, brushing myself off, and acting like I was just out for a casual stroll in my beautiful yard, checking on the many flower pots to make sure the flowers weren't thirsty.  I casually walked around checking my legs, arms, neck and back to make sure nothing was broken and nothing was bleeding, acting like I was picking weeds while bending over to check everything. 
    Everything was A-OK, even my ego, because I have a habit of thinking about my two sisters and how they would have bent over in laughter at the sight.  I started laughing about how I must have looked to anyone who might have seen me and had maybe wondered if I was trying on the pot to see if I could fit into it for some silly reason.  Maybe I could have blamed it on dementia but fortunately I still work at my profession so I keep my mind nimble.   I'm sure with My big turquoise sun hat, my big black cataract surgery sunglasses, my surgical mask covering my mouth and nose to prevent allergies, my husband's big giant gardening gloves on my hands, and My dirt covered derriere which looked like I had used the pot for another kind of pot, if anyone had seen me they would have just looked and thought I had gone looney, anyway, since they see me working in my yard all summer dressed like a female hobo.
    The next day I had no residual effects from falling backward into the big flower pot, only a tiny bit of a stiff neck.  That probably came from the rocking back and forth motion in trying to work myself out of the pot.  Praise God, no blood clot or increased bleeding, no headache, no nausea, and not even any bruising.  It's a miracle.    
    I've heard gun lovers say that they will never give up their guns until someone takes the guns out of their cold dead hands.  I feel the same way about my mower.  I began to feel the same way about my hedge trimmer, too, after I got a really powerful one.  I finally figured out why some guys like power tools;  it's the power!  I understand perfectly now.
   Now you know my story about my few minutes stuck in the flower pot.  At least the yellow mums framed my body.  However, the ones in the center of the pot are crushed flat, never to bloom again, a reminder to keep my mind on the chore at hand.  Those mums cushioned my backward fall so I am grateful.
   Thanks to my angels for depositing me in the flower pot instead of on the hard sidewalk.  They used the mums to save my life.  Thank you, God, for giving your angels charge over us to save us from tragedy! 
   I'm covering all bases and calling my neighbor across the street and asking her if I can call her every time before I mow so she can keep an eye on me.  She's young.  She's only 75.  She will be delighted to watch out for me.  She's a great neighbor lady.   
   Experience is sometimes the greatest teacher.   Thank you, Mr. Experience, I learned my lesson well! 
   Actually, in mowing the back yard today, I learned that when you pull a mower backwards, that you must turn and look backward where you are going.  Problem solved. 
   I don't mind being laughed at or "laughed with" in this case since I enjoyed a good laugh, too.  One of the workmen building a new pergola for me just told me as he left my house for me to watch out for wandering flower pots.  He enjoyed the story immensely.
   Life is like a bowl of cherries.  I love going cherry picking for the delightful fruit of joy.  I always tell my kids and grandkids that there is always a solution to everything.  Rocking back and forth in the flower pot solved my problem.  I think there were God's angels behind that, too.
   Don't tell this to my kids, please.  This is just between us good friends.