Old Timers' Disease

Last night I broke a beautiful glass.  It was about three inches tall and had a lovely art deco gold colored decal on the outside.  Very geometric.  Just looking at it on the cabinet shelf made me happy. I think it was called a "rocks glass" or a "Manhattan glass."  I don't know. Ice cubes and plain tap water made a delicious clink in that glass.  I had just guzzled some pineapple juice as a special treat for completing a crochet project and decided for a double-triple reward to myself: a scoop of mocha mudslide ice cream.

(And yes, I am aware that using food and drink in that manner is a bad dietary strategy.  What can I say?  Old habits die hard.  I learned from the master.  I AM trying; but that's a post for another day.)

Ice cream and spoon in glass.  Glass on counter.  Pick up and adjust canes for approach to desk.  KEE-RASH!  As I feared would happen, as I KNEW would happen someday,  I caught the edge of the spoon with the tip of cane #2 and the whole schmear slammed to the floor.  Damn!  I really wanted that ice cream.

For a few seconds I actually considered leaving the mess on the floor.  It was dark.  I was already tired.  And I fully intended to fill an alternate container with ice cream and eat it while I finished what I had been doing with my laptop before the breakage. 

But then I heard Anthony Hopkins, as Hannibal Lecter, when he is about to chop off a hand say, "This is really gonna hurt."  So I hobbled around gathering paper towels, repositioning myself, balancing just enough to scoop glass shards and ruined ice cream into my roasting pot. Scraped the tiles hoping not to leave any tricky sharp bits for my sad bare feet.  Managed to place the stuff in the sink.  Good job Me.

This morning I bagged up the debris and then rebagged it for the trek to the third floor and the garbage chute.  Didn't want to take a chance on leaving a glassy, melty trail in the hallway here at Elder House.  Some of my neighbors are very heavily medicated and, crap, that's enough of a burden.  While I was rechecking the floor for bits I might have missed; my mind was systematically attempting to recall:  You know...NRA guy...interviewed by Michael Moore...Soylent Green is people!...played Moses?  Yeah, Charlton Heston.  But I remembered because I was thinking of other icky boy names.

And that is my semi-dementia, approaching senility, story for the day.  Scary.