Darling Sylvia, It was a frigid fall morning in Georgia, and I fell on the slippery ice. The bank had not turned off its automatic sprinklers, the sidewalk was uphill, and I was double stepping to get my heart rate up. I noticed the water, and I thought I was being careful but I missed noticing the slippery sheet of ice coating the sidewalk. I went down in a flash. My reflexes went into gear, and I threw my right arm backward to cushion my fall. I went down on my right side. It hurt like hell, and I flashed back to my fall from the balcony when I smashed my hip. I was scared as I rolled over and carefully got to my feet. I didn’t think anything was broken. The pain subsided. My back hurt, but I was upright, and I could breathe. This Michigan boy had forgotten how slippery ice can be.
Like falling on the ice this morning, l sometimes fall back into old habits with you when I feel threatened, tired, cranky. Last week, when we were putting together the steel arbor, I heard your suggestion as bossy. I forgot to slow down the action and figure out what you were really saying. I made an ugly comment. You were wounded, and I saw it on your face. I escalated and became uglier. You made a repair attempt. I refused to recognize your attempt. I am not attractive when I pout. Not being honest about my pinch and instead being hurtful is a habit I thought I had unlearned eighteen years ago during a remarkably vivid interchange on a trip back from the Smithsonian. Once again, I reverted to my early caveman. Like forgetting to watch out for slippery ice, last week I forgot to look for the source of my pinch and reverted to escalation. Evidently, the course between old and new habits is also slippery. You deserve better. I am so sorry. I am grateful that you view me as a worthy work in progress. Love you more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Eddie Bert