The Last Time

               Last week we went to a minor league baseball game.  They are always fun, and even more so now that the 30-second pitching rule has gone into effect!  While there, we enjoyed the game, the people-watching, and the yummy, not-on-our-diet food choices.

               At one point, the lady seated beside the man next to my husband decided to leave the stands for a treat.  We knew this because much later she returned with popcorn.  But in the moment, what we noticed is that rather than make about ten of us stand up, she opted to climb over the seat in front of her.  The row in front of us was basically empty at this point.

               Let me digress to mention that this lady was 82 years old.  I know this only because her husband – who was sitting next to mine – mentioned this fact after what we now refer to as “the last time” incident.

               The lady got one foot over and onto the ground.  In pulling over her second foot, it became wedged between the seat and back of the chair, with the seat pushed up.  She could not free herself.  Her husband – who we later learned was 86 – attempted to rescue her by pulling on her arm. This only pulled her off balance and made her lean into the leg that was stuck.

               My husband, busily engaged in eating his own popcorn, threw down his handful of corn and grasped her by both arms.  He probably could have lifted her straight up – as she weighed about 80 pounds – but he didn’t want to (a) alarm her or (b) hurt her further.  He helped her husband pull her up enough that she was able to extricate her leg and get both feet on the ground.

               She was unhurt and laughing and as she walked by me, she grinned and said, “That’s the last time I try that!”

               She returned with the popcorn and enjoyed the rest of the game.  Our husbands developed a game-long friendship and exchanged stories throughout the afternoon.

               Her “last time” reminded me that I’ve had a few of those myself.  About 20 years ago, I took my last swing on a monkey vine.  For those of you not raised in Pennsylvania, that’s a grapevine big enough to swing on.

               My hubby, son, and I were walking in our woods when I noticed a large vine swinging from a tree just off the path.  It looked to me like it would swing out over the ravine and back quite safely.  I squealed with delight and said, “Oh, look, a monkey vine!  I haven’t done this in years.”

               As I grabbed the vine and got a running start, I was barely aware of my husband saying, “I don’t think that’s a good…” as I swung out over the ravine.  As he ended his sentence with “…idea,” the vine snapped and I plummeted several feet to the ground on my posterior.

               I wasn’t hurt – at least not much – but had the wind knocked out of me.  I heard complete silence from my family above and when I finally turned around to see if they were coming to help me, I saw them both doubled over, laughing so hard they couldn’t make a sound and could barely breathe.

               Yeah, that’s the last time I tried to swing on a vine – of any kind. 

               Sort of like the last time I went water skiing…but that’s a story for another day!