Of Scrambled Eggs and Whiplash
There is a 3 foot by 6 foot patch of ice right off the back deck, directly in the path to the cottage and the chicken pen. It is perfectly flat and glassy, our own mini ice skating rink, if you will. This mini rink is ringed by yesterday's slushy mess - today's icy, lumpy, chaos.
Dressed in my dad's large coat - my own was in the cottage - I crunched precariously across the lumps, around the ice rink and tended lovingly to my feathered friends. The insides of Dad's coat pockets are entirely frayed, so the three eggs I gathered slipped through the holes and right on down into the lining of the coat. The chicken's water pan was full, so I was returning to the house with a partially full bucket of water in one hand, and an empty 3 lb. coffee can balanced in a kitchen bowl in the other. It was a cold morning, gray sky, snow in the tree tops; I was breathing deeply and admiring the scenery. I forgot about the ice rink.
I know you have figured out the rest of the story - don't forget the crash of the coffee can and bowl and the splash of the water from the flying bucket! And don't forget the looks of concern and amusement on the Daves' faces as they dashed to my rescue.
Dad's coat is the washer and I have changed my soggy clothes and may make a trip to the hot tub to soak my neck - but I don't think there is any more serious damage than that - unless I accidently set the washer to 'hot', it could cook the eggs in Dad's coat!
There is a 3 foot by 6 foot patch of ice right off the back deck, directly in the path to the cottage and the chicken pen. It is perfectly flat and glassy, our own mini ice skating rink, if you will. This mini rink is ringed by yesterday's slushy mess - today's icy, lumpy, chaos.
Dressed in my dad's large coat - my own was in the cottage - I crunched precariously across the lumps, around the ice rink and tended lovingly to my feathered friends. The insides of Dad's coat pockets are entirely frayed, so the three eggs I gathered slipped through the holes and right on down into the lining of the coat. The chicken's water pan was full, so I was returning to the house with a partially full bucket of water in one hand, and an empty 3 lb. coffee can balanced in a kitchen bowl in the other. It was a cold morning, gray sky, snow in the tree tops; I was breathing deeply and admiring the scenery. I forgot about the ice rink.
I know you have figured out the rest of the story - don't forget the crash of the coffee can and bowl and the splash of the water from the flying bucket! And don't forget the looks of concern and amusement on the Daves' faces as they dashed to my rescue.
Dad's coat is the washer and I have changed my soggy clothes and may make a trip to the hot tub to soak my neck - but I don't think there is any more serious damage than that - unless I accidently set the washer to 'hot', it could cook the eggs in Dad's coat!
1 comment:
Oh my bruised little pumpkin. I am sorry I am giggling ... what a crap of a friend. You need me out there chopping away with the shovel trying to prevent such sad stories of clinging cans and egg-soaked coat liners! Oh how I love you. Missing you so much!
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