It's dangerous out there

I started the day by dropping my phone in a parking lot and then stepping on it when my foot slipped on the ice.

Later, the paper bag containing the fruit that I had bought at Atkins slit open, sending raspberries flying while the plastic quart of milk rolled under the car. I got on my hands and knees to collect the raspberries and coax the milk out from under. This may have been comeuppance for once again forgetting to put the reusable bags back in the car after taking the groceries out.

I doubt that better weather will make me less of a butterfingers, but at least I won't have to deal with bad conditions on the ground when me and my things fly here and there.

The first parking lot was at the Literacy Project, where I once again enjoyed my morning as a tutor. I had the less advanced group today. We practiced "echo reading" of a short story, where I read a line and they repeated it. I fashioned my own lesson, writing words on the board that contain the "sh" sound as opposed to the "ch" sound and other things that went over well as long as they could read my bad handwriting. We sang a couple of impromptu lines of songs, such as a couple using the word shine. (I'm sorry to say a little Raffi music came out of me, as in Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun, please shine down on me.) When we did chin, somebody did the little pig saying, "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin." Hey, it might as well be fun.

It was getting colder as it got later in the afternoon and harder to get motivated about walking Maddie. I got so bundled up that I could just hear Randy crying, "I can't put my arms down!"

In other developments, it had gotten warm enough mid-day yesterday for me to hack away pieces of ice with a shovel so that I could toss them away from the front path. Joe has been working hard and is gone all day so that when he gets home it's too cold to attack the ice. I figured I better do it myself. Did I mention that I slipped and fell the other day when bringing a bag of groceries into the house? It was quite a graceful fall, more like a crumpling down onto my knees, and I picked myself up with no problem.

Sometimes I think I would do better if I just walked around on a moving tennis court. I've been told I am playing very well, and indeed, I do feel sure-footed. More than one person has said that given my erratic walking style they don't understand how I can play tennis. I guess it's in my genes. After all, well into his 80s, my father held a cane for balance with one hand while using his racquet to slice and dice. My hero.