The Unfortunate Plight of the Uncoordinated.

My son ice skating for the first time.

I had happily gone the first twenty seven years of my life believing I was just one of the poor souls who were less than graceful. This past winter I had to face the harsh reality that I have less coordination than a three year old learning to ice skate for the first time. There are many reason I could console myself with, most are medically legitimate. But I cannot allow the knowledge of things out of my control to assuage the frustration for not being able to change the facts to the fiction I have written in my head of how situations ought to have turned out.

The last of the roasted beans were used a couple mornings ago. The sun had heated the back deck to a temperature I was sure could bake granola. After the debacle of near asphyxiation the last time I roasted in the house, I decided to set up on the front porch. After recording the settings and the type of green bean I was going to roasted, I filled the roasting canister with three ounces of beans. Shoving the small book with a pen to document the roast in my pocket, I had my hands free to carry the roaster to the front porch. With my elbow I pushed open the screen and felt rather proud of myself for slowing the inevitable slam with my foot as I made sure my body was clear of the doorway.

The story should end with me roasting the most delicious cup of coffee I have ever consumed. It didn't.

I used to be able to say I had a blond moment, but the great state of Illinois considers me a brunette. What I actually had was an MS (multiple sclerosis) moment. The right half of my body decided to take an unapproved break. The roaster tumbled from my hands as I fell to the ground. The glass canister filled with green beans waiting to achieve their full potential shattered as it hit the edge of the porch. If this is where they story were to end, with me shooing the birds away from the beans that had been scattered in the mulch as tears filled my eyes, it would be a true tragedy.

Shortly after the crashing of glass, my husband came out to find me distraught (okay, so I was a bit more than just distraught!). He tried to convince me with logic that it wasn't technically my fault; that it was really just an accident, but I was a woman in emotional duress, beyond logical reasoning. As we sat on the wooden planks of the front porch, he pulled out his phone, looked up the replacement part and ordered it for me. I love that man. He is so good to me.

So, with a replacement roasting canister ordered along with more green beans to roast and sample, my roasting adventure will continue. In five to eight business days that is.