The sixties seem like they were just yesterday.

Not the 1960s, but when I was in my sixties.

Now that I’m in my mid-seventies I yearn for a time when I didn’t hide the TV remote in the bathroom, find my car keys in the washing machine, or worry about falling in the bathtub.

Neighbor Paula suggested she stay while I showered after I’d taken a header on the front porch.

It’s still unclear how I tripped on the water hose, took flight, and ended on my backside, and apparently stuck the landing on my right hip, elbow, shoulder, neck and head.

After the splashdown I checked to see if I could move my neck, then managed to sit up, but couldn’t stand up.

Neighbor John was mowing his back yard and I didn’t see anyone in their front yards.

The car keys were in my pocket in case of an emergency, so I hit the red panic button.

Honk! Honk! Honk!

Honk! Honk! Honk! The youngest member

The youngest member of the Curran clan across the street looked over his back fence to see what was happening.

I waved.

He waved.

I yelled: “I fell! Ask your daddy to help me get up!”

He did.

Soon Josh rescued me from the concrete.

I was still shaky but he got me upright before I rejected his idea to get professional help, then he almost tripped over that misbehaving water hose that had taken me down.

A few minutes later I ached for a shower, but Paula suggested a cold pack right away.

Too bad I didn’t listen, but I felt much better after a hot shower.

The next day, friend Roe (brother-from-another-mother-and-father) told me to alternate taking Tylenol and Aleve for the pain.

I’ve only told a couple of others about my old fool accident, but they all asked: “Were you wearing flipflops?”

Yes, but they stayed on my feet, so I can’t blame them for my red, black and blue injuries. The fall kept me on the couch all weekend watching romantic Hallmark movies and wishing I was still 20- or 30-something. Since I’m ancient I probably would have done the same thing even if I hadn’t bruised my body, and most of all my ego.