I took a spectacular tumble this morning, launching ice, sandwich and myself into the air while walking on the porch. The ice and sandwich impacted and ricocheted; I just impacted, with the brunt on my knee. This is the paragraph with which I am starting “Take Two.”

The “Take One” post started with the following;

I’m 67, political incorrectness can fall out of my mouth as easily as the crumbs from a powdered sugar doughnut. Added to my age is my tendency to pun, joke, all right – outright mock. Not that the the above that are meant to be derogatory, but the word play has an irresistible humor, sort of.

I certainly see no humor in the spate of terrorist attacks, but I still tumble into the pitfall of letting anything set me off-balance concerning straight-faced, somber subjects.

Then I went on to relate various possible terrorist scenarios regarding my fall that popped into my head. Well, rats, I suppose it would have been okay for someone right there, listening at the moment, to hear it; but in writing it does seem not a little over the top, but somewhat under the bottom.

So, I am not including it. Do you know how hard that is for a person who used to write a series of stories about a really odd and crazy family called The Wickhams for a newspaper? Delete my words, Oh, horrors. However, I must say this is not in the same category as boys playing ball with the spongy jell-o salad Aunt Opal made for every family reunion. So, when it comes to ending the post, I’m taking a knee. No, I’m not; I hurt it. Hmmmm:

I guess what is usually said now is: Ya shoulda been there.