You can find a story idea almost anywhere. I found one early this morning.
I staggered down the hall to the kitchen at 7 a.m., still not fully awake. Strange, since I'd been lying in bed since 5:30 wondering why I couldn't sleep. Too many things on my mind. The day before Thanksgiving is cooking day and I have a list of things that needed my attention. I decided to make the Sour Cream Muffins right away. We could each have one with our cereal later in the morning. Brilliant idea? Maybe not.
I gathered the ingredients on the counter, except for the cinnamon/sugar topping I'd need. The half-pint jar was on the top shelf of the lazy susan in an upper cabinet. I reached up and behind a few other items. The sleeve of my robe caught on a bottle of soy sauce. It started to tumble and I caught it with my free hand, still holding onto the sugar jar. All was fine until the worcestershire sauce bottle got into the act. It did a flip, knocking over all the flavoring bottles next to it, and as I reached to grab it, the sugar jar slipped out of my hand, hit the granite countertop and broke into a gazillion pieces. Cinnamon-laced sugar landed on the counter and floor.
I didn't say a word, possibly because of my still groggy condition. Instead, I looked at the mess on counter and floor. Glass everywhere and most of the sugar on the floor. I decided I'd sweep up the glass with a broom and dustpan, then vacuum the rest. To get the broom, I had to walk across the sugar. Trust me, you do not ever want to walk on sugar! Crunch, slippery, nasty stuff.
I swept up the glass and part of the sugar, dumped it in the trash and then vacuumed the entire kitchen floor to make sure no errant piece of glass had been missed.