The unfittie's fall in winter

In the chapters that I've managed to write for my stalled work-in-progress (with the same title as my blog), I admit to being unfit and unhealthy. I even admit to having a poor sense of balance.
What I don't come right out and say...what I actually hate to admit...is...I'm clumsy.
In some ways, it's a family trait. I remember once, when we were young, Mother was entertaining guests. My brother Clint who was probably 6 or 7 at the time, came running into the room, fell flat on his face and, lying there on the living room floor, turned his cute freckled face up toward the guests and grinned. "Ain't I grateful?" he asked, and everyone laughed.
Fast forward 55 years or so.
I may not have mentioned to my blog followers that we've been enjoying...er, having some very cold weather, but we have been. Having, that is, not enjoying. It is, right now, counting the windchill, -32 Celsius, which is the equivalent of 25.6 degrees below 0 Fahrenheit.
We live in a cul-de-sac on a side street in a small town on the edge of the small city of Medicine Hat, Alberta.

Richard Schear photo

The Trans-Canada Highway runs through "The Hat" and then through our little town on its way to the Rocky Mountains and eventually to the warmer climate of the west coast of Canada. The private company chosen by the province of Alberta to maintain the highway does a stellar job of the flatlands here, because they also have to clear the mountain passes, so the prairie is, you might say, a piece of cake. (In Canada's other official language, that might be what my brother Clint calls un morceau de gateau. My husband, who grew up in Quebec, the raison d'etre for the second official language, just shakes his head when Clint says that.)
If you're in Quebec, forgive me for having an English keyboard and only knowing how to make an acute accent...é...cute, isn't it?
However good the highway maintenance is in Alberta, the whole idea falls apart in the outskirts of a small town, on the outskirts of a small city. The main roads are plowed regularly, and the not-very-main roads are sanded, sometimes. When snowy weather is followed by rain and then by extremely cold weather, the snow, rain, and sand mix together and freeze to form hard, icy ruts. I hate to go out in this weather, whether walking or driving.
Today Dick left in his car and, although he did brush the snow off my car, he left me to my own devices otherwise, and I had an appointment to have my hair cut, which it really, really needed.
I was fine, driving on the ruts and the bumps, and finer driving on the main roads, which were mainly clear.

Richard Schear photo

I came home, parked in our cul-de-sac, walked across the lawn where the snow wasn't deep, and around the corner of the house. I peeked in the window and saw Lindy sleeping on the floor. She hadn't even heard my car. I tapped on the window to wake her up, and continued toward the door, giggling. And I forgot to look at my feet.
So I fell. I could have landed on the air conditioning unit, on a wooden planter, on a big rock, or on a low spreading juniper shrub thickly covered with snow and dead leaves. I didn't have a choice in the matter, I simply fell, and I landed on the softly shrouded shrub. Somebody up there likes me.
I came in, played with the dog, and was very pleased I hadn't injured anything, although my arms were a little sore where I'd landed on them.

See the depression in the snow, almost shaped like a snow angel, but not quite?
That would be me. See the rock near the bottom of the photo. I didn't hit it.
Kay Davies photo

I forgot, I have fibromyalgia, a ridiculous medical condition which includes muscle memory. I like muscle memory for everyday chores like walking, washing dishes, brushing teeth, even for driving a car with a standard transmission. I don't like muscle memory that suddenly says to itself, Hey, we fell, didn't we? So shouldn't we hurt? Yeah, we should, so let's. Soon, every muscle in my body had responded as readily as my left foot depresses the clutch pedal. So who is depressed now? Here's a hint: it's not the dog.