Macaroni and cheese with bacon and serrano chile

If I had common sense then I would stay out of the kitchen.

This morning I looked for two packages of Gruyère, with one hand on the refrigerator door, poor choice, and the other hand re-stacking a bunch of little crap when I lost balance and fell backward. I had a container of leftover in my left hand. The moment I realized I was going down I also aimed myself best as I could. I did not know that I would roll all the way backward, far as rolling backward goes, my head passing right by the butcher block table, all the way down to the floor touching the leg of the tripod with a new camera and a new lens way up there, all the way to the floor with my head just 1/2 inch from the sink cabinet. Impressive save. Whatever, whoever angels eased me into a rolled position backward in slow motion so gracefully, thank you for that. 

I laid there amazed.

Then, the most aching thing ever. Achingly I rolled onto my side. Then onto my knees. That are absolutely not made for that. I had to get positioned in front of the sink to pull myself up onto my feet. This took a very long time. Like a robot making tiny ineffective motions because it is broken. After all that, I fell to the floor again. I just dropped when my knees met their angle of doom. This time with gallon of milk in one hand. That was saved. Again I was unhurt. Nothing hurts. Except my knees crawling to the carpet then crawling to a stool to pull myself up. 

Now those two things right there together say to a sensible person, "Just stay out of the kitchen." 

Honestly, sometimes I got no common sense.

This meal was difficult to make. I lost balance dangerously three times. At one point I was just standing there when I suddenly stepped backward and downward. I flailed with both arms and caught myself on two surfaces and pulled myself up. There were two other very close calls involving losing balance that altogether caused me to be exceedingly careful about always touching solid things, moving around, shifting weight, reaching and so on. 

My mother used to issue the imperative in the form of interrogative, "Will you please learn to be careful?" 

She berated me with that repeatedly. 

I didn't know what that even means. "How can I do that? How can I be expected to think about being careful every second of every minute of every single day? I have to think of other things. I cannot think about being careful every single second." 

        "It's a good start." 

Dad: "Situational awareness." 

        "Every second of every day." 

Ever see a boy walking forward but looking sideways completely unaware of his immediate environment? And you think, what a little dope. That was me. I got yanked out of the way, pulled to the side, jerked sideways quite a lot. My poor little arms were nearly ripped off.

        "When are you going to learn to be careful?" 

How did I collapse straight down then roll backward with feet off the ground and tucked right into the only tight available space between butcher block, tripod with camera and lens, and kitchen cabinet without crushing the container or even flicking an ear. No hurt backbone. No bruises. No elbow shock. No pain at all. It felt like hands slowed time and helped me roll backward. I am not nearly that graceful.

Or else I really was ace in two different tumbling classes. One on an AFB and the other during summer in a regular school.

I really was ace. We did that kind of crap all the time. How to fall. How to roll. Protect the head. It is a great skill set for kids to internalize.

Especially little dopes with no common sense.