Klutz Week

About every five years I have what I’ve termed a “klutz week.” Luckily I am only a danger to myself, not others. Yesterday I burned myself taking the roast chicken out of the oven to turn and baste. I’m not used to this super duper roasting pan my husband kindly bought me a year ago. I used to use an old aluminum pan and this is heavy, huge stainless with handles and a teflon-coated roasting rack.

This morning I took the dog out around 7:30, and less than a minute after waving goodbye to Jim as he left the garage I took a header on a relatively new steel ramp to the park maintenance facility across the street. Our street is small and not often busy so our now four year-old dog has not learned about traffic (I can’t trust her at the family’s farm either, as they’ve lost too many dogs between the house and barn). But during rush hour it is populated by cars.

Zoe did her business and I picked it up and we were crossing the street to go home. There are handles and protrusions on the inch-thick steel plate the city placed to help the trucks/trailers over the ditch. Zoe headed for the street and cars were coming. She was on leash but a 15′ leash so I was trying to get her back and hit the ground before I knew it, my entire right side and even had sand on my cheek. Cheekbone is sore, scraped my hand, hurt my wrist and have a goose-egg bump on my shin that I’ve had ice on today.

Now I need to feed the dog and take her out and make a trip to the grocery store. These weeks are somewhat predictable yet not so. “Around five years” doesn’t really do it. Must be watching all these perfect athletes at the Beijing Olympics. Bet they don’t fall flat on their faces while taking the dog for its morning constitutional!