Of Little Grace

The melting snow has become grainy crystals of ice. Still there is a big fence of snow separating our property from the neighbors. Holding the empty cake pan with a thank you note for my belated birthday cake, I peered over to see if the neighbor kids were playing outside. The pan needed to be returned before it got lost in the shuffle of our kitchen. Seeing no one I contemplated the road which would bring me to the front of their house nearly a block away. Instead I looked for little foot prints in the snow, evidence that the trek next door had been successful at some point in time. I figured it was worth a try. I paused, looked ahead, noting it wasn't that far. I had to get over the bank of deep snow. The first step held my adult weight, but the second sent me sinking in snow the entire length on my left leg disappeared. My right leg only sunk halfway, but created an odd shift of my weight. I was stuck. I mean really stuck. I couldn't move. Wiggling my leg did not release the icy grip. I began to laugh. Yelling for help would be far too embarrassing. The oldest interrupted dribbling his basketball, came over to grab the pan and asked if I needed a hand. Come on, I thought, I can get out. I don't have to cause a scene. For a split second I thought, what if I can't get out. Without thought, my bare hands plunged into the ice. The only way out was to sit. The snow was saturated with ice water making it feel doubly cold.  I sat back, shifting my weight so I could pull my leg out. My Bean boots were barely tied; I prayed that they would stay on my feet or that they would not collect snow. Pivoting I noticed how dirty and muddy the snow was in places. I pushed my body away from the bank and onto the puddly pocked driveway. I snickered all that way into the house, my butt soaked and my hands cold and dripping wet. Relieved that I escaped this one, shaking my head, I remembered I have a knack for getting into and out of the funniest predicaments, but it is seldom graceful.