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The floor's moving!

     Floors go up; floors go down. What? Elevators go up. Escalators go up. Floors don't go up. Floors don't go down But this one is going up. I can see it with my very eyes—and my feet are coming up with it. How far up is it going to go?

     I'm sitting on the edge of one of those padded tables they use in physical therapy. The session is done. I've been poked and prodded and stretched to the limit and now I'm ready to jump off the table but the floor. . .  is rising, taking my knees up toward my chin.

     This must be something new in the physical therapy/workout world—one I have to admit I don't frequent um, frequently. I know exam tables go up and down, but I've never seen a floor rise slowly, smoothly, up. As gradually as the floor rises under my feet, a dawning breaks upon my brain—such as it is.

     It isn't the floor going up—it's the table coming down into the floor. Well, not into the floor but it's heading that way. Dao didn't tell me he was going to lower the table with me on it. Good thing I didn't just jump off the table like I was going to. That would have been a pretty mess. It's a weird sensation, watching the floor rising and feeling your knees bending up toward your chin and not knowing what's going on.

     All was well in the end. The floor—I mean the table—stopped moving and I oh-so-carefully edged myself off the table onto the floor, in case the floor did start rising or Dao decided I wasn't low enough or high enough or. . . and. . .do tables move backwards and forwards?

     Not unless someone's pushing them or they're on wheels on a slope, but something else moves back and forth by itself, as I discovered that evening at Ralph's. Granted, not much exciting happens in the parking lot of a grocery store—not even Ralph's. But this is me. This is mystery motion day. It's one thing to think the floor's rising up under your feet, but your car?

     I'm in my car in the dark parking lot of Ralph's, ready to release the parking brake and back out of my spot, the trunk filled with household necessities and good healthy food filling umpteen bags. Okay, some not so healthy food, too. Anyway, Ralph's has all my money and I have most of Ralph's groceries.

     As I reach to press the button that releases the parking brake,my car starts slowly rolling forward. What?! I haven't touched the brake button My foot's on the brake pedal, not the accelerator. But the car's moving slowly forward. I quick look out the side window into the dark at the car next to me. It's sitting there, quite still, with its lights on. I start to panic. How can I stop the car when I haven't even turned the ignition on and the brake's on and  being pitch black outside does add a bit of dash to the excitement—if excitement's what you're looking for. I wasn't.

     For the second time that day, a dawning breaks upon my brain—such as it is. The car beside me is backing out—slowly. It isn't me. I could've sworn my car was moving forward. Whew! What a relief!

     It was quite a day. Better than a 3D movie with all that mysterious moving around. Stories to tell my grandchildren one day—when I recover from my embarrassment at being so easily fooled by a not-rising floor and a not-moving car.

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