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