Thursday, January 1, 2009
Life Boob-High to the World, another Anecdote
I've had the drop'sies today, which is a random occurrence in my life down here. Some days I seem to drop everything that touches my hand. Today -- before paper towels, raisins, a water bottle, one of the Pet-i-Cure pet nail trimmers hit the floor -- it all began with a carton of 18 eggs from the top shelf of the refrigerator making a quick trip to the kitchen linoleum. About six fractured.
I was seeking an egg to add to the dogs' breakfasts, but once I heard the splat! I decided the dogs required three eggs a piece.
Luckily, the older dog is trained to come running whenever I call out "Clean up on aisle five!" The younger dog invariably follows. This is no accident, this schooling. I have been dropping things for years. Such is the life of a clumsy person, this need to train dogs to do the floor work -- clumsy is the operative word in this sad saga, for I think being a wheelchair users has little to do with the drop-sies, other than the idea that there's a shorter distance for things to fall.
Despite the serious licking, the signs of contentment, and the perseverance on the part of the two dogs, I knew that neither dog would eat the egg shells. Of course, I offer encouragement, saying things like "Calcium, don't you know? Good for bones. Good for teeth. Clean up the shells."
"So, Gary, What do you do to get the sticky yucky remnants off the linoleum?"
Interesting that you should assume that running wheelchair tires through food-yuck thereafter transfers food-yuck debris throughout the house.
I cannot reach the floor, but I can reach the laundry hamper. I fetched a dirty bath towel, returned to the kitchen, and pour a small cup of water over the mess. Then I put the bath towel over the water. There it will remain until someone (wife, stepsons, or shell-eating dogs) arrive.
It was, admittedly, a sad place to drop a half-dozen eggs: right in front of the refrigerator, a device containing the lemons necessary for my tea and the half of sweet potato I had planned to have for lunch.
Such is life boob-high to the world ... and it is no matter if one simply takes a deep breath, relaxes into a Zen moment of contemplation, and shifts the responsibility from "carelessness" to "gravity."
Country folk say we are doomed to repeat year-long whatever we do on New Year's day. Of course, country folk also say a year's good luck requires eating "a mess of black-eyed peas."
I still have time to eat the peas.
at 4:09 PM