Sometimes I'm Graceful...

...but the other 90% of the time, I should earn a Klutz of the Year award. Such as today, when it rained, and I met the Puddle of Doom.

Most puddles, as I'm sure you know, are perfectly benign. Some of them are shallow, some of them are deep; some are wide, some narrow; all of them are great fun to splash around in if the circumstances are right.

But this was no benign puddle that rested in my way as I ventured to the Trax station after my American Lit class this afternoon: this puddle was not only wide, but indeterminately deep. After a careful survey, I decided that perhaps this puddle might be deceiving me. I optimistically predicted the puddle did not have much depth to it at all.

I was sort of right. The puddle did deceive me.

But it was deeper than I had predicted, not shallower.

The wedge (it's a type of shoe, people! don't raise your eyebrows at me!) on my left foot went one way, and my foot went another. My right shoe and foot magically managed to maintain a connection. But I still managed to wrench my foot somehow, even while it was in the shoe. (I know; I'm talented.)

And down went a Katie. I half expected for someone walking behind me to yell "Timber!" I admit, if they had, I would have laughed. At this stage, I'm mostly finding the experience amusing. Except when I stop to think about the pain in my left knee and my right foot.

Also, when I remember that I met a highly attractive man who asked if I was all right and I remember that all I could think to (defensively) say was: "I'm fine. Just a klutz."

Flying and Thuds

Anne Shirley: I can't help flying up on the wings of anticipation. It's as glorious as soaring through a sunset . . . almost pays for the thud.
Marilla Cuthbert: Well, maybe it does. But I'd rather walk calmly along and do without both flying and thud.

I have always envied the Marillas of this world--those who are solid, steady, eminently practical, and completely grounded in reality. It's kind of funny to realize this, but for a long time, I thought such people were boring. That they had no imagination. And also, that they had no chance to change.

It only recently occurred to me that many of them spare themselves unnecessary pain by being the way they are.

You're probably wondering what the impetus for this blog post and this new way of thinking is. Well, it's like this: yesterday, I wore some very cute shoes into work. Now, it's important to understand something about women's shoes: as shoes get uglier, they also get exponentially more comfortable and practical; as they get prettier, they become exponentially more uncomfortable and impractical.

Let's be honest here: I'd rather have uncomfortable feet in cute shoes than have solidly comfortable feet in shoes that, it's entirely possible, my grandmother also owns.

The shoes were a necessity yesterday, because I also wore a skirt. (And for those of you who know me and my dislike for skirts--what can I say?--maybe I had a temporary aneurysm?)

Well, as I walked into work yesterday, I found my shoe snagging an uneven piece of pavement. Since the cute shoes are backless, my shoe went one way while the rest of me went the other. The end results were a severely scraped knee (that is already coloring itself into a beautiful bruise), a scraped hand, and a strained shoulder.

All of these injuries--this rather acute 'thud,' if you will--could have been prevented by being more practical. (Also, please let it be duly noted that I was not reading and walking when this incident occurred. Also, please note that if you look at the driveway of the Gold's Gym in Bountiful, you can see bloodstains left by me.)

It seems that, literally and figuratively, the practical are far less likely to fall. This, I think, is a good thing. I envy this.

And yet, though I envy the Marillas of the world . . . I invariably find myself being an Anne. A little flighty sometimes, imaginative, impractical--a person, in short, with her head in the clouds.

Possibly because I'm of the opinion that the sensation of soaring a sunset definitely pays for the thud.

And also because the thuds often make the best stories.

Confuzzled's Sense of Gravity

Smilla had a sense of snow. I have a sense of gravity--that is, I fall a lot. I didn't really think about this until I visited a chiropractor for a consultation this week. He's the first person who has seemed like he could offer some helpful suggestions as to how I can feel better. Anyway, he's positive I'm one of the most mis-aligned people he knows (possibly also one of the most maligned, but I kept my puns to myself).

He asked if I had every had any kind of traumatic fall. The first thing that leaped to mind, of course, was my experience gracefully plummeting off the Trax train this summer. The short answer, obviously, was yes. But then my mom and I started talking about all of the times I've fallen.

Age 5: I was innocently walking to kindergarten, accompanied by my older sister and her best friend, when the sidewalk suddenly decided it hated me. Really, that's the only explanation I have. An unevenness I never noticed before caught my foot, and my face collided with the cement. If any of you know me, you'd be greatly amused by how distraught I was--that I wasn't going to school that day.

Age 6: My parents had a pole structure that held a porch swing--the same structure as a regular swing set, we just rarely bothered to hang the seat on it. It became, my default, our monkey bars. My older sister and I decided to chicken fight. (Actually, she decided and then bullied me into participation) In the course of the fight, she yanked too hard on my legs--I lost my grip, tumbled to the ground, and broke my arm for the first time.

Ages 7 thru 13: All of the usual falling, if a little bit more than usual. It never helped that my balance has always been awful.

Age 14: So I'm out in the front yard, playing Horse with my dad. We're bonding. It's good. But then he overshoots the ball and it bounces into the street. As I was standing nearer to the street at the moment, I was told to get it. What I didn't realize: I was standing next to the not-even-two-foot retaining wall. I didn't see it, because it was on my blind side. I turned to take a running step and . . . you guessed it, tripped and fell over the wall.

Fast forward to age 23: The Trax train incident. How embarrassing. And then today. Today I came to my parents' house in Centerville because my sister and brother-in-law are here for the weekend and because a girl I grew up with is going to speak in church tomorrow before leaving on her mission. This is, I freely admit, also a Stake Conference avoidance tactic.

Anyway, when I came inside, I was carrying all essentials: a backpack with church clothes, my purse, and my very full laundry basket. I set the purse in the living room and ditched the backpack, but then needed to proceed downstairs with the laundry basket. Let me emphasize again--that laundry basket was very full. Making it very heavy. And skewing my already practically-non-existent center of balance forward. In my defense, I made it halfway down the staircase. Well, I actually made it all the way down the staircase--I just made it down the second half by missing a step, losing my balance, and sliding the rest of the way down.

I believe I made a graceful noise at the bottom--"oof" as I recall--and listened as I heard my dad fighting the urge to laugh. "I'm fine!" I yelled. "Just a little banged up." Out-loud laughing now. I got up, picked up my laundry, and started dragging my now-sore body to the washer and dryer.

So yes, chiropractor, it could be said that I've experienced some traumatic falls. And my one regret about the most recent is that all of the sweet bruises I'll get from that fall (I bruise ridiculously easily) will be in places where I can't show anyone.