Sloppalisa Saturday

One of the most irritating and embarrassing things that can come with aging is the dropsy. And no, I’m not talking about edema here.  That’s a whole different category.

I’m talking about my hands don’t work.  I pick something up, I drop it. I pick it up again, having to bend over to do so, and now my back aches.

You know, there’s just no justice. You work so hard to develop dexterity from the time you discover your own toes and shove them into your mouth, and then you get old, and you couldn’t reach your toes to save your life.  And it wouldn’t be cute, either, the way it was when you were a baby. Trust me.

This morning I’ve been cooking, preparing a casserole for the church luncheon tomorrow. It’s not a complicated dish. Hamburger, onion, red sauce, noodles, kidney beans, cheese. Easy.

Would you like to guess what all I dropped in the creation of this humble stew? Start with the can of tomato sauce that almost landed on my toes. The wooden spoon I used–after rinsing it off–to stir and break up the hamburger.  The onion, which rolled haughtily away from me, snickering until it bumped the wall.   I pounced!  “Gotcha!”  I hollered–and promptly dropped it again. Caught it in my apron, though, so it didn’t get too far.

Some people think aprons are too old-fashioned.  I couldn’t care less. They come in handy for all sort of things, including dropped objects.

While my goulash was simmering, I went into the bathroom to get out my daily allotment of medications and supplements.  Dropped two of the bottles before opening them (that’s a good thing!) and one of the pills.  Tiny little golden colored Vitamin D capsule.

And now we address another of the indignities of aging. I have graduated trifocal glasses.  I scanned the floor from a standing position, could not find tiny little golden pill. Bent over, eyeballing every inch of the floor, and still had no success. That’s partly because I have to keep moving my head up and down so I can see through the appropriate layer of stacked lenses in my glasses. Like this:

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Still no little golden pill.  Phooey.  I’ll just get another one.  This time, I opened it up right over the sink, which I had plugged, so that when I dropped it–and I did– it would have nowhere to hide. Victory!

Well, I completed my kitchen task with no further mishaps, but I still need to grate the cheese and sprinkle it over the top of the stew.  Should be interesting.

 

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2 thoughts on “Sloppalisa Saturday

  1. My hands are no longer as still as I’d like them to be. My left hand particularly and guess what, I am left-handed. Getting food from the plate to my mouth is not always successful. When I use both hands on something (as in carrying a coffee mug) I am successfully steady. It makes me a little self conscious about eating in public but most of my friends at the senior center are in the same boat! We don’t even talk about it. We help each other without even saying anything about it.

    Liked by 1 person

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