Yesterday, I fell on my face. For real. This isn’t some lavish metaphor. I walked Jack, helping him navigate his usual sense that the other dogs were out to kill me or destroy the world, when a rogue Boxer came out of nowhere behind us. The rest of the memory speeds up from here. Jack…
I have fallen off the curb. This happens from time to time. Occasionally, I go down with a splash into the gutter or twist my ankle. This time is nothing that dramatic. More like a slip and a slide. A scrapped ankle. I prefer the sidewalk. I’m not the type of person that jumps into the…
I don’t chop my wood. Come to think of it, I’ve never chopped a piece of wood. I have a faint memory of what an axe handle feels like in my hand, but I don’t think swinging was ever involved. Michael is a wood chopper, but not much these days, unless we are camping or disposing of…