Standing on books

Barbara Beckwith, age 87

Confined to my home after a hip operation, I dedicate myself to the physical therapist’s assignment: 45 minutes (twice a day) of exercises, mostly seated.

I eventually graduate to step-climbing exercises to prepare me for negotiating the stairs to my second-floor apartment. I don’t have the necessary gym equipment (blocks of different heights) so I shuffle around on my cane, looking for what might add up to the desired elevation (six-and-a-half inches) on which I can do this new routine.

Soon I’m huffing and puffing atop Webster’s Third International Dictionary (1966), the 3-volume tome that I abandoned long ago because of its arm-stressing weight and eye-stressing print, on top of which I’ve added my equally heavy World Atlas (1974).

Days later, when I advance to higher (eight-and-a-half-inch) step-ups to prepare for the basement (laundry room) stairs, I pile up more books: my 33-year-old Mayo Clinic Health Guide and my college yearbook (Class of ‘59)

Meanwhile, my physical therapist insists that to keep my “core” strong, I must stand at my computer. Fending off panic at this additional challenge, I prop up my laptop screen with a footstool plus my marked-up 600-page biographies of Richard Wright and Georgia O’Keefe, which I’m unlikely to re-read.

My eye-to-screen angle is properly aligned, but I type on a separate keyboard, so that too needs propping up. I create a base with 8 Steps to a Pain-free Back (the one never-injured part of my body), and Oggi in Italia (I won’t be traveling anytime soon). Atop those two, I reluctantly add my well-loved (its binding bolstered with duct-tape) New World Dictionary (1966).

My make-do computer station now works. I should be content, but I’m not: Yes, my equipment panic has subsided, yet I still feel uneasy. Something’s not right.

Dictionaries (like the ones I’m stepping on) have been my life-long passion. As a teenager, I read them for pleasure, relishing each new word discovery. I’d try them out on classmates and be miffed when they called me a show-off, since I thought everyone would share my love of words.

In other words, Webster and Roget are my friends. I trust them.

So I’ve slipped the two out from under my laptop, found equally-sized replacements, and returned my two companions to their place of honor – a shelf within my stand-up reach.

They deserve to be safe from the indignity of being used as infrastructure.