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I have written other times…

two roses

I have written other times…

…about my klutziness. Not sure that is a word, but you get my drift. This condition isn’t any better or any worse than any other time in my life, I have just learned to laugh at it more, and be amazed that I am still alive. If the blood can be dabbed at, mopped up and/or kept off the carpet, it’s all good. If all fingers are still attached at the end of the day, it’s good. If puncture wounds are no more than a couple of inches across and about half that deep, it’s good. If scrapes and other wounds can be covered with the giant size gauze squares to stop the bleeding (refer to above), it’s good.

The most commonplace events or chores can be potentially life or limb threatening in my world. Vacuuming and backing up on a folded up throw rug will always send you to the floor…especially if you don’t let go of the vacuum. As I tried to untangle myself from the vacuum, the roller brush sucked in the sleeve of my robe with a horrible noise. I was too far away to unplug the vacuum, so had to wrench the sleeve from the roller bar. Lots of bruises, no cuts or stab wounds.

Trimming the suckers from a big lilac was another chore that should have been easy. You know, smell the lilacs, peruse the little suckers that needed to be trimmed, cut away a little deadwood. Nope, fraught with peril. Making a move without watching for sharp little branches leads to sharp little pokes in the face. No bruises, lots of stab wounds.

The ultimate was trimming the bushes in the rose garden. Failure to step high enough over a rock border leads to a head first fall into 6 foot tall climbing roses. Trying to avoid a direct hit to the face and eyes leads to a sideways fall and being scraped big time by the aforementioned rock on the rear end. The final landing zone was full of old rose canes that left several large puncture wounds in the aforementioned rear end. Plus lots of stab wounds from the thorns and broken thorns in skin…after I was able to pull myself out of the climbers, thorn by miserable torn. Used up all the bandaids in the house on bruises, scrapes, stab wounds, and cuts. Had to break out the gauze pads and adhesive tape.

My husband asks me regularly how this happens. If I really knew after all these years, I would quit doing it, right? After a lot of deep thought, (well maybe not that deep) I think it is because my brain and body are not engaged at the same rate of speed. Mach 9 forward speed and two left feet are just not a good combo. If you stay outside of my five foot safety zone, you may be safe!

About the author

Debbie Reed

Debbie Reed

Debbie Reed is a 35+ year transplant to Montrose. In her other life, she is a Realtor with Phelps Realty,