I guess it is obvious to my followers that I am accident prone. My left hip is still bothersome after plummeting off the deck while holding a hose. My new right hip is great, but neither leg is strong yet. My mountain goat status has been put in jeopardy indefinately.

Well, today I got stuck on a bucket.
This is the type of thing I would call Sandra about to make her laugh. We loved the word fiasco.

All I wanted to do was cut some of the broken dahlias for a vase before they got ruined. I grabbed some scissors and headed down to dahlia row.

Upon closer inspection I realized that months of neglect had caused havoc among the dahlias. One Thomas A. Edison had never even been put in a fence ring.

I started trimming them up but got very tired after only a few minutes. The only possible thing I could use as a seat was a nearby five-gallon bucket.

When I finished pruning all the plants within reach, I realized I could not get up off the bucket. Luckily, for me not for him, Mr. Flower was down the hill picking up limbs from Helene’s wind.

I loudly announced that I could not get up. Then I had the idea that if I fell off the bucket uphill I could push myself up. By the time he got to me I was cussing and crying with my face in the four o’clocks.

He helped me up and went to find a more suitable seat for me to sit on. He brought back an old church chair that I had painted bluebird blue.

I told him to look up here once in a while to make sure I wasn’t lying on the ground. He said he was sure that if I fell again, he would hear me before he saw me.

This is wisdom after almost forty years of marriage. He knows me well. My response was a loving hand-gesture.

FLOW