Before I broke my foot, my husband and I had planned this great get-away to a rustic cabin in the Smoky Mountains near Asheville, North Carolina. Since the timing of the trip was specifically to celebrate my brother-in-law’s special birthday, canceling or postponing the trip was out of the question. My husband rented a wheel chair and bought a walker for me, saying, “Honey, we will make this work.” After consulting with my sister-in-law, who assured me there were just a few steps I’d have to negotiate to get to the cabin, we left Thursday, my heart light and my spirit renewed. Never trust your loved ones. They will lie through their teeth, if it suits their purpose. Here, then, are the few steps I had to “negotiate.”
Oh, you may say that surely I jest, and you would be partly correct. These aren’t the actual steps I had to climb, but they might as well have been, because when we arrived at the cabin, the actual steps were so daunting, I was ready to turn back. Here are the real steps, no joking.
My doctor has forbidden me to put any weight on my foot, so I decided the only way I could scale those heights was to sit on my butt and pull myself up, one stair at a time. The two brothers had another idea:
Despite the brothers’ protestations that the hand truck idea would really work, they begrudgingly let me do it my way. My husband cut two pieces of cardboard, and I went up backwards, one step at a time, while my husband kept switching the cardboard pieces from one step to the next to save my poor trousers.
By the time I got to the top, the sun had nearly set, but it was definitely an occasion that screamed “Fist pump!”
This trip, though quite a challenge for me, was terrific. It also has presented me with more blog fodder, so expect more to come in the next few days.