Sunday, Sept. 13, about 9:30 p.m., my life flashed before my eyes.
I fixed a tuna salad sandwich and went to the living room to my recliner to eat my sandwich and watch a TV show.
I held my plate in my left hand and as I always do when I'm going to eat and watch TV, I sat down tucking my left leg under me. Don't know why I do that, I just do. But only when I'm going to eat while sitting in my recliner.
The recliner has been with me a good number of years - probably 15 years or so. I not only sit in it to watch TV, but I spend a lot of hours sleeping and napping in that chair, too.
I remember when I picked that chair out. I went to the furniture store and found the chairs I liked and I spent a whole afternoon going from chair to chair, trying them out. Let me give you a tip on picking out chairs: Even though the chairs may look identical, they do not all "sit" the same. Since I knew I would be sleeping in the chair a lot, I also wanted to recline and relax in the chair. So I went from chair to chair, sitting and rocking a while, then stretching out in the chair and testing it for sleeping comfort.
"May I help you?" a helpful clerk asked.
"No I'm just looking for a chair," I answered.
Two hours later and I'm still testing and retesting chairs.
"Are you SURE I can't help you?" the helpful clerk asked. By now she was beginning to get furrow lines in her forehead. She may have thought I was a homeless person trying to sneak a nap in a comfortable place. (Note to self: Dress a little spiffier the next time I go shopping for a recliner.)
Finally I found the exact chair I wanted. A deep green La-Z-Boy recliner, it was comfortable in all sitting and reclining positions.
I have spent many hours in that chair and we've gotten along very well over these past many years.
Sunday night, however, must have been the chair's opportunity for revenge.
So back to my story, where I left off, my left leg tucked under my behind, my seat poised just over the chair seat.
Now this is where my recollection of the events get a little fuzzy. Between that precise moment of contact with the recliner seat and the next 2 seconds, I found myself on my back looking at the ceiling. I do not remember the chair flipping over backwards, but that's exactly what happened. I guess.
At first I laughed and laughed. Omigosh, I remember thinking, this must look hilarious. I must be quite a sight in a seated position except I'm on my back not my tush.
Then I looked at my left hand, still deftly balancing the plate with the sandwich. I sat the plate on a book stand next to the chair. That was one less thing to worry about.
OK, now to get out of the chair, I thought. All I have to do is swing my right leg down and over to the left and just roll out. My right leg swung down and over the left side of the chair, but since my behind was in the back of the seat of the chair, there was no way that weighted package was moving.
Maybe I could swing my left leg over my right side and roll out of the chair the right way (literally and figuratively). If my behind wouldn't come out of the seat of the chair when I swung the left way, I don't know why I thought it would leave the comfort of the chair to roll out the right way. I suspect I had blood rushing to my head by now and I wasn't thinking clearly.
All of a sudden I realized this was not funny at all. I tipped my head backward a little bit and I could see that the chair back was tight against the window drapes and they were stretched taut.
Oh great, I thought. All I need is for the drapery rod and those drapes to come piling down on my head.
I tried to roll out of the chair a couple more times. Nothing.
Now I began to get worried. I had visions of my decomposing body being discovered jammed up against the wall, penned up there by a green recliner.
Luckily I usually have my cell phone attached to the waistband of my slacks or jeans. I struggled around to get my phone out of its holster. I opened it up and clicked on the "i" to bring up the entry for my son, Blair. ("I" is the first letter of ICE - In Case of Emergency. You've seen those Internet e-mails that tell you to have an entry for ICE, so if you're ever in an accident the Emergency Medical Technicians will know who to call for next of kin.) I figured this was an emergency.
I pressed on ICE and then "send." Blair's phone rang and rang. Finally his voice mail came on. I left a message. I wasn't too panicked yet because at 9:30 at night I knew he and/or the kids would be at home. Maybe he was in the shower.
So I dialed the house number. It rang and rang. The answering machine came on and I left him a message about my tale of woe. Then suddenly the panic hit me.
"BLAIR, ANSWER YOUR PHONE!!! BLAIR, PICK UP THE PHONE!!!"
Click.
The answering machine shut off.
About that time, I was feeling awfully alone. I hung up and dialed his house again. This time my granddaughter, Jessica, 14, answered.
"Jessica, didn't you hear me yelling for your dad to answer his phone?"
"No," she calmly replied. (Obviously she's never been pinned on her back against a wall by a recliner or she wouldn't have been so darned calm.)
I began telling her about my plight.
"Grandma, that is SOO funny," Jessica giggled.
At that moment the recliner dropped maybe 10 or 12 more inches so the back of the chair was now flat on the floor. It must have also repositioned my tush in the seat of the chair because I was able to swing my right leg over the left side of the chair and roll out of the recliner fairly easily. (Getting up from the floor was another story.)
Blair came into the room.
Taking the phone and after hearing about my brush with death, he said, "Mother, you knew I was going to Bible study and my phone ringer would be turned off.
"Why didn't you just send me a text message?"
I hate it when my kids think they know all the answers.
