It’s been a busy week. The only really productive things I did included helping Kim hang a shell decoration from the ceiling in the stairwell and reformat a computer’s hard drive for a friend.

Hanging the shell decoration was bad enough. The ceiling in my stairwell is about 40 feet high — or at least that’s how it seemed while I was on the upper steps of the swaying aluminum ladder. I felt like the main character in my story “Sphere of Falling,” but without the magical protection that he had.

My fear of heights goes back half my life, to an afternoon of top-rope climbing on X Rock, north of Durango, Colorado. On the upper portion of the rock face, there’s a section with no hand or foot holds other than a large crack. This crack works great for hand jambs, but you have to have confidence in the hold and in yourself for the hold to work. My right hand was recovering from a nasty break, so I didn’t have the confidence that I needed. (Lesson Number I: Don’t climb with a bad hand.)

My hand slipped out of the hold as I was reaching further up the joint with my left hand, and I fell backwards. Normally, this would not have been a big deal because I was climbing roped. Unfortunately, the guy belaying me was paying more attention to his rolling papers than my rope, so I dropped about fifteen feet before he caught me. (Lesson Number II: Don’t climb with stoners.)

Occasionally, when I get high up on a rock face or ladder, that memory kicks in and my legs turn to rubber. Such was the case today on the ladder. Fortunately, my taller, lighter son was able to help me out and finish the job while I held the ladder. Thanks, kiddo.

At least I got the computer working without any problems.