A Step Up

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

A Step Up
Apr. 28, 2003

I know. It could be worse. Really. It could be. There could be four or five. I rearranged my packages and reminded myself how lucky I am. There are people who can’t buy half of the sheer necessities that I was carting. I backed up a few feet, gathered some momentum, and started climbing as quickly as I could. I know. I don’t have an escalator in my building. Nothing but brute force would get me upstairs. But. I was learning. Oh. Yes I was. The stairs in my apartment complex are teaching me everything I need to know. If you ask me, stairs are the best teacher around.

I mean. Planning. These stairs are teaching me more about planning than any Stephen Covey class could have ever drummed into my big blonde head. I have learned to remember my sunglasses when I head out to the car, because if I do forget them, there is a three flight punishment involved.

And. You know. I used to think that I could go shopping once a week and buy everything on sale, anything displayed on an end cap, and all orange vegetables. Um. Not now. Are you kidding? Now I find that the weight, bulkiness and size of the item matter most of all. Which means that I have resorted to buying only dried beans, dried rice, dehydrated potatoes and any meals where you just add water. Come on. Lightness matters most when I am carrying bags up three flights of stairs. It’s ok. I have choices in my life. The stairs have taught me that. Either I can run up and down the stairs with bags and bags of food, or I can carry air. I choose the latter.

Oh. I know. I used to buy many different little treats to have around my apartment for my friends to eat. But. They are finding that there is nothing like a little snack of saltine crackers and lemonade. I know. It’s quick to serve and so light to carry in.

I get panicky at the checkout counter these days. “Um. Could you double bag my stuff, please?”

The clerk looks sympathetic. “Ok, lady. You got kids?”

“No way. Not kids. I got stairs.”

These graduated steps in my life have really taken me to new heights at the gym. Oh. Sure. The first time I joined Shelby’s gym class where they were doing squats with barbells on their shoulders, I should have known better. I mean. They weren’t that hard to do the first day. But. I had to stay home for a week after that class. My neighbors feared that I was staying in because I had contracted SARS, and refused to even chat with me. Yeah. When I did need to leave, I couldn’t manage the stairs without doing the sitting shuffle. Imagine how long that took.

Of course Darlin-man insisted that we alter our dates to meet my needs. He was so kind as to only make reservations in restaurants that were on the second floor. I know. Ever thoughtful. He told people as I slowly worked my way up the stairs that I was suffering from Muscular Dystrophy. He always congratulated me on making any steps without grimacing.

Oh. No. You should know me better than that. I didn’t get mad at Darlin-man at all for making fun of me. No way. I just waited. Cause. You know how it is. You just wait a week or two and sure enough. Yup. It always happens. And. It did happen.

Poor Darlin-man went skiing, and hurt his leg. I know. I was so sad for him. He had a terrible limp. I know. You should have seen how tough stairs were for him when his leg was throbbing with pain. No. I thought that those awful jokes about muscular disorders were way out of line. I would never, ever stoop that low.

Sympathy? Me? No. Compassion? Well. Sort of. Where did we eat? Oh. This nice little restaurant that we have here in Denver. Darlin- man had never eaten there before. It is called the Fourth Story. I know. Too bad that the elevator wasn’t working.

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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