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Wednesday, 18 March 2009

Becoming a Klutz

By Frank M. Calabria

A klutz is a lamentable sight to behold,
A clod, a blockhead, a clumsy oaf.
As I age, I behave more and more like a klutz,
I am not mindful of what I am doing.

I send forks and spoons clattering to the floor at dinner time,
I knock over glasses filled with my favorite vintage wine.
It is as if a mischievous genie is having fun at my expense,
Giving me the sense I am no longer “Captain Of My Soul.”

Last year, I went to a rummage sale held at a neighborhood church,
I noticed a shirt I liked, hung on a rack, which was on wheels.
As I reached for the shirt, I tripped over a box and made the rack move,
To break my fall, I grabbed other shirts hanging on the rack.

I managed to become entangled with other shirts as the rack rolled on,
One white shirt had circled itself around my head, so I looked like an Arab.
When the rack came to a stop, I peered out from the bottom of the rack,
I felt reassured that I was at the rummage sale and not having a bad dream.

A few weeks later, I went to a concert, held in a hall built during the last century.
The steps going down to the basement, made of stone, were unevenly spaced.
Midway down the staircase, I lost my balance and careened off the side walls.
The next thing I realized was that I was, flat on my back, on the basement floor.

I continued to roll across the basement floor, until I arrived at the ladies room.
I smacked through the door and came to a stop in the middle of the room.
I was aware that a number of women’s faces peering down at me,
I have no doubt that some of the women thought I was an unabashed voyeur.

Recently, I went to a formal dance with my wife,
She was wearing a long gown which reached to the floor.
As we pivoted around the floor, I caught my heel in the hem of her dress,
I lost my balance and pitched forward over her falling body.

I did succeed in keeping her from landing full force on her back,
I propelled myself forward, dragging her body underneath me.
Her dead weight made me feel I was lugging a hundred pound bag of potatoes.
When the music came to an end, I lowered her to the floor without injury.

One of my smart-aleck friends approached me shortly afterward.
He inquired whether I had just invented a new dance step to teach others.
I glared at him, partly in embarrassment, and, partly in anger.
With friends like him, who needs enemies?

After the dance was over, I went to the parking area.
The lot was dimly lit, so I did not see the upright curb ringing the area.
I tripped over the curb and fell forward.
I tried to cushion my fall by putting both my elbows out in front of me.

My action did save me from hitting my nose with full force on the floor.
That facial appendage did swell remarkably, making me look like Bozo the Clown.
My wife warned me that if I were not more careful,
We would end up in the poor house, paying for all my medical bills.

I know, rationally, that there are no benefits to becoming a klutz.
I am aware that I need to slow down and not be so frazzled.
Besides, I say to myself, “Where am I going in such a hurry?”
“I know I will get there, when I get there!”

[EDITORIAL NOTE: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. Instructions are here.]

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post


In my 69 years on Earth, I have been a klutz for 65 of them. One gets used to it. WELCOME TO THE CLUB!

Be thankful you didn't break any bones. I, too, am a Klutz and after breaking my hip on my last fall I learned to be very careful and always be near something you can grab if you feel you are unsteady or are in full fall.

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