When I fell in my driveway today, I didn’t bother looking to check whether anyone saw; it’s a busy street and if dog-walkers and stroller-pushers somehow missed that special moment, neighboring porch cams might’ve still preserved it for all eternity (or until it’s auto-deleted from the cloud).* Instead I thought “Figures,” because in the seconds prior to the ignominious tumble, I’d been proud of everything I’d physically accomplished this afternoon.
It doesn’t look like much, but putting two coats of primer on all sides of these pieces of trim took a decent investment of time; more than once I had to stop to clean up messes caused by a jittery left hand. Then I sanded this media cabinet that will go in the miniature replica of my house, so I could prime it and paint it black.
Here’s the progress so far. It needs sanding (again), then one last coat of paint, followed by a sealant. Then I’ll insert the decorative trim I made for the glass. I’m undecided about whether to replace the cabinet pulls with something of my own making. Working on something this small was quite difficult and I’m glad it’s mostly done.
While looking for a well-lit picture of the real TV stand, which I couldn’t find, I encountered a bunch of old photos and will put those here as a peace offering since this week’s review is still in the works.
Here is Crankenstein goofing around at Target. You can tell this predates the ‘Niles’ era because she’d never spontaneously do something like this now.
This is me at my first apartment, next to a box that was destined for a food drive. On the fridge were movie poster magnets for The Lady Eve and The Shop Around the Corner. I’m not sure of the date on this; it probably wasn’t too long before the upstairs neighbor accidentally started their stovetop fire.
I look like Edward G. Robinson in this otherwise generic baby photo, and was probably trying to figure out how to profit from Prohibition:
On a day when I was thinking “Why can’t it be October?” back in 2014, because I was sick of waiting and wanted to off myself, I found this bug on my side-view mirror. It didn’t want to budge, an impulse I understood, so I let it stay there as I drove to the store. It held tight for the entire journey — here we’re in the parking lot — but was gone by the time I returned to the car; I was disappointed but refrained from singing “Alone Again (Naturally).”
To bring this full circle, here’s my knee after a fall in either 2019 or 2020. It was 5:30-ish am, pitch black outside, and I was taking Muriel into the backyard to do her business. She started misbehaving and without thinking I set off after her, slipping and falling hard on ice. Both of my knees were bruised for months afterward; this was shortly after the fall, before the swelling set in and the bruises expanded and turned even more colorful.
My sisters, who find falls hilarious, asked if my security camera picked up the spill. I sent them a clip that showed me watching Muriel, then whispering her name and walking toward her. I disappear into the darkness before you hear a sickening thud. They were not amused: “You look frail. It’s sad, like when an old person falls,” the youngest said. (I was in my thirties and didn’t look that frail; this is the sister who thinks it’s funny to tell her kids I’m almost 60.) My best friend’s response was my favorite: “It’s like the end of a Michael Haneke film.”
* Crankenstein wanted to know what I was doing when I fell earlier, as if there needs to be a reason. I wasn’t up to anything taxing, wasn’t carrying anything; I was simply walking in the driveway. It wasn’t raining, it wasn’t icy, and no marbles or banana peels were underfoot, but my right foot seemed to magically snag on flat concrete anyway.