My
house may be the only one in Saline County with a ramp and new handrails whose
occupant can till walk without help. It’s not a deceitful ruse, honestly.
Here’s the story. I don’t think I’ve told it more than once or twice. (Smile).
While
I was pianist for Ebenezer UMC in Tull, I learned about and participated in the
5th Sunday luncheons—either potluck at a member’s home or at a
Benton-area eatery. One September, after the lunch, I offered to host the next
one, which would be in December.
One of
the church members is wheelchair-bound, so I told my
retired-from-the-highway-department son I needed a ramp at the front by the
last week in December. “Deer hunting season’s coming up,” he said, “so I’ll
have to get it done before then.”
I
supposed he’d throw a couple pieces of heavy plywood over the front steps, and
then I could store them in the shed until they were needed again. But, NO!
Nothing doing shoddily. He figured out the measurements, bought treated boards,
screws, 2 x 4s, etc.
It’s a beautiful piece of work that will still be good even if the rock and brick house fall down around it. Bob and Annita used it that Christmas I hosted the lunch. I really need to name it “Annita’s Ramp.” But my ill brother used it, too, when they needed to spend a night with me because of a power outage at their home.
I use it when I have multiple grocery bags to haul in from the Taurus after a shopping trip. On those days, I drive to the edge of the ramp, load myself up with bags, carry them up and into the kitchen. When finished, I drive back around to the driveway and park in the usual spot. It beats multiple trips up the deep south-porch steps.
When the first ice fell this winter, on a Sunday, I ventured out to pick up the local paper and the AR Demo-Gaz whose only delivered print paper arrives in the long-time paper box next to the mail boxes. In low-cut, old-time tennis shoes, I walked gingerly down the ramp without obvious sleet. On the fourth step, my shoe slid out from under me and I fell into a leaf-padded flower bed landing on my left hip. I wrangled and wrenched myself up and continued to the papers. That’s when I discovered the difference between a winter mix and sleet. I’d slipped on unseeable ice.
Of course, I had to tell both sons, one in Florida and the one in Hot Springs, the ramp-builder. Hunting season long over, he came the next day, measured for handrails, went home, bought the materials (I always pay him for materials). The day after that, he returned and now there are new 2 x 4, sanded, bolted-to-the-ramp handrails.
The following Sunday, there was again ice and snow aground. The ramp was covered. How would I get the papers? Oh, I could go down the steep steps at the other end of the porch. I pulled on my Christmas-gift knit cap and started out. But there on the table by the door were BOTH papers!
It
happened again last Sunday—and it was dry. Do you suppose one of the delivery
persons noticed the new handrails and decided that lady who lived here needed some
help? If so, I offer much thanks (as well as a fairly good Christmas bonus/tip
each year). It's Saturday night. If it happens again, I'll need to do some research/investigating, etc. so I can thank them in person.
c 2022 PL dba lovepat press, Benton AR USA
