Biggest Doggone Sweet-Gum Ball You Ever Saw

God has a way of yanking me back to reality when I get a little too cocky.

I remember the day one of my divorces was final. I had been alternately distraught, confused, panic-ridden, lonely, and angry, for the past year. I had to go to my attorney's office to sign something and in return, got the final papers.

I walked out of the office and for some unforeseen reason, I suddenly felt relieved: it's over. There was no turning back. There was no should-we-turn-back, no could-we-turn-back. It was over.

This unexpected lightness of heart was so welcome after months of misery. Years, if you count the last portion of the marriage itself.

I remember I had on a new suit and it was a cold and cloudy day. But my heart was light.

I walked down the sidewalk tap, tap, tapping my umbrella on the sidewalk. Tap, tap. It was a long umbrella with a crook at the top. Tap, tap.

I wasn't watching where I was going. I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing. I didn't know what lay ahead but I knew the divorce was complete and I had a new beginning ahead of me. Chin was up, shoulders were back, and I was walking quickly down the sidewalk. Tap, tap.

Suddenly, the tip of the umbrella caught in the metal grate in the sidewalk and it yanked me into a quick Louie there on the sidewalk. I spent the next 20 seconds or so pulling the umbrella until it ungracefully POPPED! out of the grate.

Without looking around to see who was looking at me, I humbly proceeded. Chin down. Eyes down. Shoulders rounded.

I never forgot it.

It all came back to me on Friday.

On Thursday, the state-wide glossy magazine had sent me a copy of the December issue, in which I have a small article. I had worked Friday morning at the newsroom at the paper, and walked afterward over to the local book store to see if the magazines were available for purchase yet. They were. I got two, one to send to someone special, and one to cut my article from, so it could be scanned for my upcoming website.

The world was my oyster as I walked the five blocks back to the car. It was sunny but horridly cold, with a biting wind. I clutched the magazines to my chest and walked as fast as I could. My mind was racing with possibilities: maybe I could write this for this magazine, or that for that magazine.

Only two blocks from the car, I stepped on the biggest doggone sweet-gum ball you ever saw. My right ankle rolled inward and I flew headlong to the sidewalk. Face-down, I slid along the concrete.

As is so often the case with a fall, my thoughts were amazingly lucid. "Jeez," I thought. "How long am I going to slide?" When I finally stopped moving, I lay there for a moment, face down, and took inventory. Nothing seemed broken. Slowly I got up. I was shaky but whole.

"You okay?" A young man stood at the door to the public library, across the street. "I'm fine," I waved to him as if I were only embarrassed, but in truth I was still badly shaken.

I picked up my magazines, now torn, and hobbled to the car. It wasn't until I got there that I realized I must have dropped my keys. I had to return to the scene and look in the leaves to find them.

I am so lucky not to be hurt. I scraped the tip of my nose; I look a tad like W.C. Fields. My chest was scraped through my silk turtleneck, my thighs scraped through my trousers. Three fingers on my right hand were bent backward and are still swollen, and my ankle is swollen but walkable.

If only I could remember not to get cocky to start with.