All Fall Down

Last Edit April 4, 1999

This story was written several weeks ago
......Just got around to typing it.
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Sunday:
I am supposed to go to New York at the speed of light -well, at the speed of American West - Wednesday night - February 10 - red-eye. Arrive at NY at 6:39AM. Maybe. Plane change in Las Vegas. Leaving, not from San Jose, which I now know my way around, but from SFO. Ooops.
And I am to return on Thursday - leaving from JFK at 9PM.
New adventure.
All this is because Fabio is to be on The View on ABC and the studio called.
You'd think I'd learn.
Nope.
It's been 2 1/2 months. Need a hug.
The trauma of refinancing, completion of construction, the half complete Eagle project for my Boy Scouting younger son. The challenge of the new job, a van with a blinking radiator light and a truck that is again steaming under the hood are combining forces to get to me.
Takes a lot.
To get to me.
Eventually it can.
Headache.
Stress.
And days and days of rain and flooding.
And 14 hours of scanning an typing on the FabioIFC web site. Never mind my own pages.
Book covers.
A multi-page list. And people sending me additions - it's the most complete list ever assembled. And people send scans and actually are proofing my work! (For which I am grateful, by the way).
This requires fast turnaround.
I can get cross-eyed.
In the midst of this madness on morning, I went to slide into my chair to fix one more scan as I waited for my son to be ready to go to work (his job, not mine). I was focused on a book cover. A Fabio book cover.
Distracting at the least.
My chair was not there.
But I was descending and it was too late to stop when I realized it.
SPLAT!
In slow motion.
Down one mother.
Knocked the wind out of me.
My son was surprised.
He'd never seen anything like that before.
It took me a few moments to struggle back up.
The stuffed Teletubie remained perky in his chair (Tinky Winky).
My son had pulled mine back to sit in while he put on his boots.
Just mother was on the floor.
Jarred.
My son laughed his head off.
One way to stop me from staring at Fabio.
In a loin cloth.
Nothing less would have.
And yes, he finally did pick me up off the floor.
I needed to drive him to work.
*****
Saturday:
The day before I fell on the floor we had done the first of three days on the Eagle Project, the one required before my younger son can drive.
It rained, of course. What else would it do when boys need to play with power tools?
The first table top (they were building picnic-bench assemblies) was being lifted - by me and a scout on one end and the contractor and another boy on the other end.
They dropped the 6' redwood table top, built from 2x6"x6' boards - right onto my two kneecaps. They ended up a lovely shade of purple.
On top of this, in running through the garage on a mad hunt for tarps, a bicycle had fallen over, driving one end of its handlebars into my thigh. A lovely shade of green.
The 10'x10' tents had to be anchored to big redwood logs. Big heavy logs. I can't even roll these things.
One tent blew over before the boys could get it lashed. Oh yes, they know how to do lashing.
I had served coffee, donuts and pizza.
I had removed the glass cups before the patio picnic table and its umbrella blew over, scattering what was left on it all over the driveway. Only just before. Close call.
The table missed the in-use barbecue kettle filled with MatchLight and redwood chips.
One must have a fire when dealing with Boy Scouts. Must.
I had survived this ordeal by wind, rain and fire.
They had power tools until the rain began to run up the power cords. It had gotten heavy around 2:30 in the afternoon. From 9AM on it had threatened and drizzled. Boys can take drizzle.
Rain on a power cord while you are standing in rain puddles - that's a no-no.
So we had completed 1 3/4 table-bench assemblies in the first day and they would remain in my driveway for a week.
The contractor's tools are now in my garage.
Suits me.
A lot of my tools are in his truck.
Fair is fair!
I thought.
(Actually, Tuesday I came home to an open garage. He had sent a helper for his tools. They have a key. They left the door open.
And they got a few of mine again.)
All told, my remodel cost me about $200 in power tools.
Momma has a new drill.
Actually, HAD a new drill.
Momma's blue handled hammer had to be replaced. It was a personal favorite.
Momma's push broom will need to be replaced. I hid the shovels in my clothes closet. They got my pliers.
Now, as a rule, you don't mess with Momma's power tools.
I tend to get pissed.
I am touchy to loosing my favorite tools. Especially to men.
So I had made the contractor replace the drill, the hammer, the needle-nose pliers. Elder son promptly made off with the replacement drill.
I don't like strange men handling my tools. (The contractors, not my son.)
Only one man could POSSIBLY get away with it and HE'S NOT HERE!
He's on his way to NY.
So will I be. Limping but unbowed.
You see, they left before supplying me with a list of appearances.
So I am going after them.
And I have cameras.
Mommas who survive Eagle projects in the pouring rain, falling bicycles and missing chairs are not to be messed with.
I forgot about the airline.