There was an old television show called “WKRP in Cincinnati” and they had a really funny Thanksgiving episode about a turkey give-away that went horribly wrong. The best line in this episode was, “As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.” Monday I discovered that, along with turkeys, this chicken can’t fly.
How did I learn that I’m incapable of flight? I accomplished this by testing my ability to do so on a flight of stairs leading to our basement living quarters. This requires a little back story.
Sometimes Mr. C and eat dinner with our son and his family. Other nights we choose to have a separate dinner in our downstairs living room. Monday night was one of the evenings I was preparing a separate dinner for the two of us.
I’d made a really nice salad that would last the two of us for two meals. Because my refrigerator, which is downstairs, is bigger than the kids’ I was carrying the bowl down. I also had some of the salad ingredients in my hands to put away.
When I got to the bottom (so I thought) of the stairs I stepped out onto the concrete floor. Except there was actually another stair between me and the concrete. At least there was for a second. Suddenly I was gliding gracefully toward the floor. Okay. I fell like a ton of wet cement, shattering my good Corningware bowl and scattering my “two-day salad” all over the place.
Mr. C came running from the bedroom and my 9-year-old granddaughter from upstairs. My granddaughter, seeing me on the floor at the bottom of the stairs dashed off to get her mom. All three dogs felt it imperative to climb over and on my body to sniff various appendages. Mr. C wisely sat quietly after asking me if I was okay and getting a “JUST WAIT!” in reply.
It took a while for me to be able to get up. Every time I tried to move my left leg it would send shooting pains from foot to hip. But eventually, with the help of my daughter-in-law and Mr. C I was able to stand up. My daughter-in-law asked if I thought anything was broken and I moaned, “My Corningware!” This was the true tragedy of the event. She felt it was secondary to any possible broken bones in me but it wasn’t just the bowl. It was all that salad! A double tragedy!
My bowl actually has a plastic lid that seals quite nicely. Of course my bowl is also in about 10,000 pieces.
Mr C and my daughter-in-law got me to the bed and she put ice packs on everything that had struck the concrete. There were five altogether as I opted for a heating bad for my back. They really did help as I’m able to walk without much pain in my knees, although I clearly pulled my hamstring. My toes, though a little bruised, are unbroken. I wish I could say the same for the bowl.
Yes, yes. I keep bringing up that bowl. But I loved that bowl. It was part of a set. And combined with my daughter-in-law’s Corningware we had a truly impressive collection. Now it’s over. I will never again look at the Corningware without mourning the loss of that big bowl. But someday soon I’ll be able to sit without tilting my bottom off that pulled hamstring.
Lesson learned. This chicken can’t fly. But as for getting to the basement floor…