When Things Go Sideways

Flipping the Magnet

July 21, 2026
9:47 a.m.

At eight o’clock this morning, I was scooping dog food out of the container and into Artemis’s bowl.

There was a giant basket sitting on top of the container. It was about shoulder height for me and filled with all sorts of little things. Jewelry boxes. Bags of balloons for making balloon animals. Jars of bubbles.

There are always jars of bubbles.

I finished feeding the dog and closed the door to the container.

Then—boom.

The basket flew sideways and toppled over a stack of empty egg cartons.

I counted eleven cartons altogether.

They had been piled there in a way that made it clear we are collecting far too much stuff. Now they were scattered across the floor, along with everything from the basket. Some of it even landed in the pantry.

I don’t remember touching the basket.

Maybe I brushed against it. Maybe closing the door shook something loose. I don’t know.

All I know is that one second everything was where it belonged, and the next, gravity decided to work sideways.

For years, I believed the universe was working against me. Even fifteen years ago, my coworkers could have told you how often things seemed to fall right out of my hands.

Now it happens more often.

Every movement requires planning. I reach for something and knock something else over. I try to pick up one object and drop another. The simplest task can turn into a fifteen-minute production.

But I’m beginning to understand that the universe is not working against me.

The universe simply exists.

Gravity pulls things down. My hands don’t always grip the way I expect them to. My balance shifts. My muscles respond late, or not at all. I shouldn’t take it so personal, although it certainly feels personal when eleven egg cartons are scattered across the kitchen floor.

Still, I have been thinking about gravity.

Every person has mass, so every person exerts a tiny gravitational pull. In theory, objects should be drawn toward me.

Most of my life, it has felt like the opposite. I have been some kind of reverse magnet, repelling everything within reach. Maybe I have superpowers I need to control.

I know I can’t pyhsically change what my body does simply by thinking positive thoughts. I can’t make my hands stronger or convince gravity to give me the morning off.

But I can change what I do next.

Just before the basket fell, I remembered I needed my phone. Our neighbor sometimes sends a message when she is ready to walk Artemis.

The phone was only a couple of steps away, sitting on the seat of my walker.

A couple of steps doesn’t sound like much.

I was sitting in the comfortable electric wheelchair my aunt gave me. The batteries are depleted and the controller no longer works, but it makes an excellent elevated chair at the table.

Unfortunately, I still have to work pretty hard to get out of it.

I leaned forward and reached for the stepladder near the window (I painted and plants on it). I put my weight on the top and took one step. Then I adjusted my balance and took another.

Now I could reach the phone.

I was careful. If I shoved it off the walker and onto the floor, it could take me fifteen minutes to retrieve it.

I lifted it with both hands. For a moment, I balanced my weight on one hand while securing the phone with the other.

It wasn’t graceful, but it worked.

I returned to my chair with the phone.

Success.

By then, I wanted to stay in the chair for the rest of the day. It was comfortable, and I was already feeling stressed.

Michelle is in Gettysburg for a week-long teachers’ convention. They are staying at the college, and she has a private room.

Late last night, she sent me a goodnight image and a picture of her cocktail drink.Reminds me of college.

Nothing from her this morning, but I know she has been awake for hours. She normally has a cup of Joe and a smoke by five. By now must sitting in her first lecture.

I remember how demanding the schedule could be when I attended barbershop conventions. Every hour was filled with something. She showed me her itinerary, and it is much the same: lectures, learning sessions, and social events.

With her gone, I am beginning to understand how a stay-at-home parent might feel when a partner travels for an extended time.

I woke up at seven, which is sleeping in for me.

In the first hour, I made coffee and drank two cups. I washed the dishes left in the sink from the night before. I let the dog outside. I took care of my own morning routine.

I made toast.

Then I became angry with myself because I couldn’t spread the butter evenly.

I also watered the plants. They didn’t look healthy, probably because I had neglected them for a week.

The Christmas cactus needs fresh soil and nutrients. It has needed attention for several weeks. I intend to do something about that today, promise.

Watering all the plants required four trips to the sink because I could carry only one cup at a time.Four trips just to water a few plants.

But this is where I flip the magnet.

I made the coffee.

I washed the dishes.

I fed the dog.

I made the toast, whether the butter was spread evenly or not.

And I watered every plant, one cup at a time.

The basket and egg cartons are still a mess, but they can wait. There is no spilled milk to cry over. Not even an egg.

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People sometimes see me have a little outburst when I become frustrated by something stupid caused by my disability. My wife sees it. A few other people probably do too.

What they see is one isolated moment.

What they don’t see is twenty-four hours filled with the same nonsense.

Every reach. Every step. Every object that falls. Every task requiring four trips instead of one.

Still, I get through it.

I become frustrated. Then I calm down. I find something to do. I keep my mind occupied. I move on to whatever comes next.

I don’t handle every moment perfectly, but I think I’m handling the whole thing pretty damn well.

Right now, I’m calm.

I’m also hungry.

The egg cartons can wait.

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Whiskers Treasures Memorabilia

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