Since one of the ways I use this platform is to document every bigly and little change that happens to me on my life’s journey, I must inform y’all of my most recent “aging” change. It began simply enough: I wanted to put a new light bulb in the light fixture above the landing on the stairs. The ceiling there is very high, but I have changed the light bulbs a handful of times before, with nary a problem. I set up the ladder on the landing, to remind me to complete the task after Suzanne got home from work, so she could call for an ambulance if, for some reason, I fell off the ladder and tumbled down the stairs. I’m not a spaz, but I am cautious. Suzanne is a spaz, which is why she doesn’t climb ladders. And, to be honest, I’m older and ricketier than I’ve ever been. I didn’t anticipate any problems, but you never know.
Anyhoo… Suzanne got home and I climbed the ladder. I stood on the ladder right where I thought I had always stood before to do this chore, but I was not high enough to reach the light fixture. I would need to stand on the top rung of the ladder, but that rung suddenly seemed awfully high to me. I asked Suzanne, “Did I really stand on that top rung to do this before?” It didn’t seem that high the other times I had to put in new bulbs. I’ve never had a fear of heights, but suddenly, at 57, there was no way in heck I was going to move up to the last rung of the ladder again. Forget the fact that over the years, I had stood safely on that top rung. Clearly, something has changed. I told Suzanne I wasn’t going to even try to move up the ladder and change those light bulbs. No, I declared to her that we are going to live in stairway darkness until we can get the professionals here, with their professional ladder, to change the bloody high light bulbs. (They’ll be here to take care of it next week.) I wonder how many people it will take to finally screw in a light bulb. I also wonder if I’ll be able to turn that answer into a post-worthy joke. 💡