An adult I knew in childhood had a cheerful saying when something bad happened. “Into each life, a little rain must fall,” she’d trill. Yesterday, on a beautiful bright Saturday evening, into my life indeed a little rain didst fall. And so did I.
My friend Robin Pacific was celebrating her birthday with a huge party at an art gallery; she’d decided to sell all the artwork she’d created over years to her guests, with profits to go to War Child. She’d be serving lobster rolls and has the most interesting group of friends; I’d been looking forward to this for ages. Set off dressed in my new floaty wide-legged pants from Monoprix, feeling as chic as this old bird can get. Got to Dundas Street, saw the streetcar stopped nearby, and started to run to catch it at the corner. And WHAM. Hard face plant in the middle of the street. My foot must have tangled in the pants.
An angel appeared; a lovely young woman helped me up, escorted my dazed self to sit on a wall nearby, hovered with sympathy, even produced a bandaid for my banged up knee. A young driver stopped his cab and brought me a bottle of water. The kindness of strangers!
I hobbled home and took stock of the damage — my right knee a bloody mess, right hand with multiple scrapes, right ribs hurting, swollen bruised lip. Asphalt is not a welcoming substance.
Otherwise, hunky dory. Hooray for Tylenol! Wrote to Robin to apologize for missing her grand event. I can type. I can walk. It’s just a fall. The other day I spoke with my 92-year-old friend whose 80-year-old wife recently had a bad fall, after which their kids demanded they move to assisted living. I’m proud that, in shock and pain as I was, I walked home and fixed myself up. And even, then, had a glass of rosé and chicken soup from the freezer. No lobster rolls unfortunately.
So today, on this Canada Day long weekend, the city is silent, and your trusty correspondent is moving slowly. But moving. Just danced – slowly – with Nicky and the group on Zoom.
In other news – it’s Pride weekend. My dear friend and writing student Diana walked in the trans march last night as Wonder Woman. Gorgeous.
On Thursday I went to visit a friend who’s 88 and also had not long ago to move to assisted living. Last year we’d hop on our bikes and meet for a movie and a meal, but various health issues defeated him, temporarily. The move was hard, but he has come through, and I was thrilled to see his usual warm smile. This aging business is tough.
Friday I watched the last The Agenda with Steve Paikin on TVO, where his mystery guest was … his father, 91, humane and wise. At the end, Steve, choking up, said, “You’re the finest man I’ve ever met,” and his dad said, “I’m very proud of you, Steve.” It was an intimate familial moment shared with us on television, very moving. Such an intelligent show, will be sorely missed.
Then I watched a doc called My Mom Jayne, by Mariska Hargitay of Law and Order fame, about her mother Jayne Mansfield, who died in a car crash when Mariska was three (and in the back seat of the car with her siblings.) Who knew this woman who’s famed as a dumb blonde spoke five languages and played both violin and piano? She wanted to be a serious actress, but had big breasts and platinum blonde hair, exploited both to get started, and subsequently those were the only parts she got. In the doc, Mariska makes a huge discovery about her parentage. Again, unexpectedly moving.
I just took off the bandage; my right knee is bloody and black and blue. But I’m here. I’m sentient and mobile. There’s food in the fridge and more importantly rosé. I have a roof, friends, and family; Sam is coming over later to help. Yes, into each life a little rain must fall, but we’ll just shake off those raindrops and move right along.
6 Responses to “A bit of a fall, Wonder Woman, and My Mom Jayne”
Hi Beth – glad you’re ok, falling is no fun, has happened me too – aging is a tough business, yes. Anecdote – car radio decades ago, quiz Q, name a song whose title is 7 4-letter words (apparently there’s only one) – Ans: Into each life some rain must fall (Ink Spots 1944).
Oh, I’m sorry to hear about your fall. Good that it wasn’t worse but I bet it felt (and feels) quite traumatic all the same. I remember being in Padua and running for a bus back to Venice and John fell his whole length in front of many many people waiting for buses and NOT ONE OF THEM came to his assistance. I did (of course) and luckily there wasn’t much damage apart from a bad scrape on his kneee and a tear in his jeans and now it’s one of those stories we tell (with a nervous laugh because maybe it’ll happen again, though probably not in Padua) but it was very unsettling at the time. The pants sound very elegant, by the way. (Love Monoprix…)
Jayne Mansfield was a friend of my ‘uncle’ Jim. Jim’s sister, Mary, fetched me from the orphanage and delivered me to the Tyrells, so Mary became an ‘aunt,’ and Jim an ‘uncle.’ I don’t know how Jim met Jayne, but she’s come up to Vancouver to stay with him to get away from Hollywood. When I met her, she was playing the violin in Jim’s huge gilded living room. I never. knew the movie star, but I really liked the BEAUTIFUL violinist who was kin, funny, not at all glamorous or condescending, and lots and lots of fun to be around. Years later, she was featured in a spread in Life magazine and I was shocked to discover a side of her I’d have never, ever imagined.
Trevor, thanks for that update on the lyrics – I didn’t know it was a song. Must look it up and listen. Theresa, I was remembering the fall in Edmonton that damaged your eyes – again, I hope there’s no longterm effects of this ridiculous event. And yes, the floaty pants are elegant – and unfortunately dangerous! The best part of this whole thing was how kind Torontonians were, unlike Paduans. I met a neighbour as I staggered home, and he called today to find out how I was. Chris, what a great story. I hope you get to see the documentary. It will make you cry because she sets out to discover a mother she never knew and finds out a whole bunch about her family and parentage. What’s amazing is how generous and loving they all are. A really heartening story, though marked by tragedy.
Sorry about your fall. It happened to me earlier in the year, the only thing hurt was my pride! I bet Mariska would love Chris’s story about her mum being herself in Vancouver.
Ginette, I’m not concerned about my pride, it’s my black and blue chin that concerns me! Yes, I bet Mariska would too. I’ll suggest he get in touch. Cheers!