one step at a time.

as i lay prone in a dental chair the other day i recalled a tme when i had the job of escorting the rather obese wife of a general up the hill to a dinner-party. 

the dental chair had a weird, slowly gyrating back-rest: kinda like a cat kneading a cushion, preparing a place to lay down. there was soft soothing music playing, of course, which was lost on me, of course. because at that precise moment my dentist was yanking one of the few remaining teeth out of my mouth. and you’d have every right to wonder why any of that would remind me of a long-ago time in india when i escorted the rather obese wife of a general up the hill. 

stone and concrete oversized steps had been recently built into the hillside. they were too big for the lady. they were too big and all together, following the contours of the hill, they snaked up a long way. every step was a challenge for her heavy legs and the journey seemed overwhelming. 

anyway, we got about half-way up when she obviously needed to rest in the worst possible way. the lady was florid-faced and labouring. she grabbed hold of the low branch of a tree to steady herself. then, shifting her position so as to actually lean against the tree-trunk, she let out a huge breath and her dentures, both top and bottom, went flying right out of her mouth. her dentures went flying with a trajectory of a game-winning three-point basketball shot. they landed in the sandy hillside some yards away and, needless to say, i had to go pick them up. yes, and i had to carry them all the way to the top before washing them off under a tap and graciously returning them to their rightful owner. 

so as i recalled the incident at that precise moment: as i sat prone in that dental chair with medieval-looking utensils protruding from my mouth, and recalling how i felt about the incident at the time, i was incredibly humbled. oh i still chuckled inwardly at the memory, but i knew that the joke was as much on me now. and, interestingly, i realized it always had been.