Jul 18, 2017 3 min read

We are in a constant state of remodel around here, as you well know. A couple of weeks ago, I spoke of staining boards for a wood ceiling my husband was installing. I talked about lying down in the grass to rest, only to discover I had trapped a mole beneath my back, and how the mole was nearly as upset about it as I was.

That is no longer my least favorite memory of this project. Wednesday, I created a new and lasting memory that has stayed with me for days.

Wednesday started out quite wonderfully. I met a former teacher for coffee at the new café in Claysville. The coffee was delicious, the atmosphere quite friendly, and the teacher was as gracious, caring, and warm as I remember from years past. It was a lovely morning.

Afterward, I returned to my husband’s side to continue our renovations. He asked if I would pull some nails from a few old boards he was considering using in another project down the line, but he didn’t want to store with nails jutting free.

So, I pulled nail after nail from the lumber. This happened with relative ease until I came to one particular board. It was actually a board with a shorter section of board nailed to it, and hubster didn’t need the short piece of lumber anymore. I was to separate the two pieces and then remove the nails from the longer section of wood.

No problem, I said. Piece of cake, I thought. I’ve handled way worse under higher pressure, I knew.

I used the claw of the hammer to pull at the head of the nail that stuck out from the wood. It didn’t budge. I retrieved a cat’s paw from the toolbox and tried with it. There was no movement. Then, I pulled a crowbar from the box.

I wedged the crowbar in between the boards and tried to pry them apart. After a moment’s hesitation, the shorter section of board began to move just slightly. With newfound confidence, I began to pry harder. As the wood slid off of the nails, it squealed in protest, but finally, it came free.

Unfortunately, as it happened, the longer board rolled under my feet and knocked me off balance. I pitched forward, and fell.

Right onto my face.

No, my arms didn’t catch me. No, I didn’t hit a shoulder first. I landed directly on my face.

I shut my eyes as I fell, because I could see those nails sticking up and was afraid I was going to impale myself. (And you know, you can prevent bad things from happening by closing your eyes, right?)

I missed the nails but slammed my forehead and cheek on the floor. Almost immediately, I had a lump on my forehead.

I sat for a few minutes with ice on my face, nursing my injury. Then, after I was fairly certain I could stand again, I went back to work. My husband tried to talk me out of it, but I wasn’t to be swayed.

After all, there’s a lot to do before we can call the project complete.

And if I stop helping every time I hurt myself, we’ll never get finished.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.