This year, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner in a wheelchair.

Not to raise funds for my favorite disability organization. Not as a show of solidarity with my friends who get around in wheelchairs. Not in memory of my father, who used a wheelchair to get around for 38 years.

No, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner in a wheelchair because I’m clumsy.

So clumsy that I fell getting out of the car, thanks to malicious purse straps that wound themselves around my leg, and broke my right foot. Since that day in early October I’ve had surgery, worn a boot while the foot heals, and am using crutches or a wheelchair to get around.

Mostly the wheelchair because crutches are not a safe choice for people who trip getting out of cars.

After the doctor pointed out the break in metatarsal #5 and issued strict non-weight bearing orders for what seemed like (and still seems like) an inordinate number of weeks, I vowed to do as much for myself as possible. As a result of that vow I can now do the following:

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