artykins

It felt very much like autumn tonight
The bite in the air
The smell of change
Did you smell it?
It smelled like warmth
Like the whole of nature sighed from the depths of its ever fragrant soul

It was as if it was trying to commune with me
And with me alone
Take me in its arms
Remind me that this is the time of year when corn is picked
The time of year that pumpkins are placed in patches to be bought and sold
The time of year when the world around me, in all its magnificent glory, bursts forth the colors of a divine Creator

Harvest

That is, essentially, what it is
It's the time of year for harvest
For lightning bugs to stop appearing every night at the base of a distant treeline
For fires to be kindled and enjoyed
For fields to be left fallow for the winter
For the hope of everyone to lay patiently for those first few welcoming rays of spring sunshine

And so I sit at my kitchen counter
Staring blankly at the muddled blues and grays of the stone

I see pink in it too
I see the glare of the lights overhead
I see my own reflection in the polished stone and like it, I am blue and gray
I wonder why it is that no one seems to ask me how my day went

Is it that I am generally so steadily happy that no one thinks to consider that my day was anything but?
Is it that people forget to ask?
Or is it that people just can't be bothered for one reason or another?
Selfishness or neglect?

No
No one would ask because I give no reason to
Instead I cope quietly
Staring at the reminders
Seeing the proofs
Being injected with the truth that today my hope has been harvested

Yes, like the corn picked
Like the pumpkins gathered and sold
I have been robbed of my hope and it has been hidden from me
Hidden in a field or forest somewhere
Somewhere where I cannot find it
Somewhere where I cannot hold it
Somewhere where it leaves me lost

I spoke with the photographer today
He's a nice man
Always has been
He and his family own the business
And they take the photos of the Festival at church every year
Did you know that?

All the photos are downstairs at church
Lining the walls of the choir room
We have a couple of those photos here at home
I was just a child in them
But today I spoke with the photographer as an adult

And do you know what today was?

It was the one month mark

And do you know what I did?

I gave up the marker that was to be so much of my happiness
I allowed the harvesters in to steal one of the only things that keeps me alive
That defines a large portion of my world
I gave up my hope of a miracle being performed
I gave up my hope of not being forsaken by the same Creator that proves His divine nature through color each year
Through the smells that cannot be duplicated by man
With the feeling that cannot be found anywhere else except this short span of time between summer and winter

I gave it all up and like a piece of crystal thrown to the ground I try to pick up all the broken pieces of my soul
I try to glue them back together so that no one will know the difference
But there is a difference
The difference is that even with glue, I will never again be fully unbroken
Fully whole

So now, even with the sounds of harvest ringing in my ears, I move on
Where will I go?
Where any sensible person who has struggles goes

To the shower

And if you don't remember why it's the shower, allow me to remind you
It's because when you're in the shower
No one can hear you cry

Really quickly...

There's nothing quite so heavenly as chocolate. It can come in any form. It's delicious.

Now, if you'll excuse me, some chocolate covered coconut is waiting for me downstairs.

Later Days,
Arty

Howdy kids! Yes, I know the title of my blog is obscure and odd. I suppose I'll just jump right into what it means. It's Greek for 'apologia' which is where we get our English word of 'apologetics.' This, of course, is what we use to describe a person who stands up and fights against all odds. It's a person (or persons) that argue against what the majority is doing, someone who defends a position against attack.

Now, growing up so close to Berkeley (the birthplace of all those hippies), apologetics is not a foreign concept to me. It's true that some of the arguments are stupid at their core. I take an example from Ant, who has argued before with animal rights activists this point:

I understand that there should be no cruelty towards animals, but honestly answer me this: if your house was on fire and both your dog and your child were inside, and you could only save one of them, which would you choose?

Naturally, the answer is almost always the child, and with good reason. I, for one, am against cruelty towards animals, but I'm certainly not going to give a dog the right to hire an attorney to defend it in a court of law. That's stupid. And although issues like this crop up in Berkeley on a fairly regular basis, the point of this story is to illustrate that we, all of us, are apologeticists at one time or another.

I mention the field of apologetics because I have been battling it for quite some time. I feel like I've been alone in doing so as well. As many of you know, Matt and I have had to indefinitely postpone our wedding because the government is behind in processing visas. It's true that when I first heard the news I felt as though I had been hit by a speeding freight train, only I didn't have the good fortune of dying (metaphorically speaking, of course). Instead, I was picked up by onlookers and pieced back together with a paste that never dries. Occasionally pieces of me will slip to the ground again and someone will have to come along and put it back where it belongs. I lack the strength to do it myself and I don't know why.

Heartbreaking as it was (and is), I eventually pulled myself together with superhuman efforts and began the long, arduous task of researching the system and trying to find out if there was anything at all that could be done. I was in correspondence with senators and congressman, lawyers and paralegals, demons and God. I spent weeks in almost daily contact with these people, but in the end the overall concensus was that we had done everything we could and that no matter the drive, the desire and the will to change the outcome, there was nothing else that I could do but sit and wait.

In many respects I feel as though I've been screwed over by my government, because in many ways I have been. We filed when we were told we had to only to find out two weeks later that visa processing was running four to five months behind schedule. Expediting the process is a joke. Hoping for a miracle has slowly turned into something very much like torture. I worked like a mad-woman for two years in college, doing six classes that should have been given their own separate semester, in four semesters (yes, that's right...five semesters of work, reading, writing, headaches, exams and stress done in four) to get done in time to get married next month.

Oh yes. My faith has been severely tested with all of this. I cannot begin to explain it except to say that my faith has not disappeared. It's just been tested. I've had my fights with God where I sit and yell at him. Now, some of you might not see the logic in that. Some of you might think me mad to yell at my creator. The way I think about it, though, is that God is in control of everything. Since he controls everything, He can therefore change things, but for reasons that are unknown to me has not. I'm therefore angry with God because he is denying me what I've been waiting patiently for these last three years. All my hard work in school seems as though it's been done in vain (although I do understand the importance of graduating with honors from my school). All my hope, all my faith and all my patience has been wasted and because of that I feel hard done by and am bitter.

I've been searching these last few months for a picture that will adequately describe how I feel and the other day when I was with my mother, I finally figured out what it's like. My life, in regards to the visa processing times, is like a giant wound that refuses to and won't heal like it ought to. Every time someone asks me what the latest is, however good their intentions are, salt is added and I start to bleed all over again. Every time I add something to the apartment with Matt (furniture, art, etc.) it only serves as a painful reminder that I have been robbed of a goal that I invested all my energy into. I absolutely loathe that I'm being made to sit still and wait without being able to change anything or do anything about it.

You have my apologies for putting you through this dismal post, but it's been on my mind a lot, lately. This past Sunday a couple friends threw a bridal shower for me with a group of women I used to work with. It was wonderful to see everyone in the same room and play games and talk for a few hours, but when everything was said and done, I was left with a bunch of gifts meant for me to start a new life with Matt. My love, if you're reading this, that's probably the reason I've been in no hurry to move everything to the apartment from the house. I'm just reminded of the life I won't get to start with you and I can only bear so much of that.

This coming Saturday, the women at church are going crazy and throwing me another shower that's going to be much bigger than the one this past Sunday. My cursed hope is hoping that it'll be genuinely fun and I sincerely wish that to be the case. I need something fun to do concerning my wedding. For those of you that believe in prayer, I would request and crave your prayers that Saturday will be fun and won't be painful for me.

And now, if you'll be so good as to excuse me, I have chores to attend to, such as laundry.

Later Days,
Arty

11) When in doubt someone really likes you, lick.

12) Tennis balls are good for so many things: fluffing towels in a tumble dryer, playing tennis, throwing at younger siblings and, of course, chewing on.

13) Sniffing around the kitchen as some definite advantages.

14) Puppy-dog eyes, like crocodile tears, also have some definite advantages.

15) The best place to rest is in the middle of a room where everyone has to walk.

16) While brunette girls are best, blond is the color to be in the dog world.

17) Everyone loves you.

18) Greet everyone at the door with enthusiasm and you're sure to win hearts.

19) Treats are good things when you deserve them.

20) One should shower at least (emphasis on 'at least') once a week.

Evening, kids. So, Pepper was here yesterday. Yes, we all know who Pepper is. Well, Jeff is taking care of AJ, a frickin' huge Golden Retriever for a couple days. AJ has been here a total of...oh...an hour, but already he's been teaching us lessons. I think I'll keep a running tab of things I learn from him, starting now, of course!

1) A new place is one of the most exciting things on Earth...but apparently not as exciting as one of Jeff's dirty socks left just peeking out from underneath the sofa. Yeah. I know. Wrong on so many levels.

2) When you have an itch, it's the greatest thing to scratch it...or as the case might demand, to bite it.

3) Nothing says 'I love you' like a big, sandpaper lick on your calf while you're standing, un-assuming, at the fridge door.

4) When being punished, look away and hope it all goes away.

5) Learning how to give someone a 'high-five' is totally worth the embarrassment of the chance of being left hanging.

6) Noisy necklaces are better.

7) Sometimes, running straight at a person to get attention is best. Don't worry about knocking them over.

8) When you're a candidate for blame, laying on the floor with a paw either side of you adds points to the 'innocent' meter.

9) Your best weapon is a large tail to wag. It's best to catch the enemy off guard and hit below the belt.

10) Toes are fun.

Three is a magic number
It's a remnant of perfection
Remanent of something that was
Perhaps is
But enitrely forgotten

There are three of us
Him, her and finally me
I sit and observe them
They're young
Not much younger than me
And they sit, like me
But unlike me, they are un-observant

Only I can see
Only I am curious
Only I will inquire

Who are they?

She
She is beautiful in a simple way
She looks in the mirror and knows she's beautiful
But far be it from her to boast

She is tall and dark
Olive skinned
Confident

Sad

He
He is classically handsome
Effortlessly messy hair
Inquisitive eyes
Serious

He, too, is tall and willowly
Pale skin compared to her
Un-assuming

Un-knowing

They sit in the same room
Marked for each other by a solitary band of gold
But they sit apart

He in his chair
Book in hand
With a reading lamp close by on a table

She, sprawled on the sofa
Comfortable
She, too, with a book

He, with a tome from Russia
Theology
Serious

She, with Dumas
Tennyson
Serious, too, but different

He with 'in the beginning...'

She with 'three trees upon a solitary acre stand...'

Arguably two works with the same meaning intended
But neither sees it
Neither can

Only I can

Only I can sit
And watch
Wishing I could approach him and speak
Say 'go hold her'
Wishing I could approach her and speak
Say 'tell him you need to be held'

Because, you see, at the end of the day
It's her pride and loneliness
It's his obliviousness and in-attentiveness
That leads here

It leads to the three of us lacking any kind of beginning
It leads to the three of us being three trees upon a solitary acre
A miserable, desolate, acre

So I long to speak to her
To say 'tell him'
I long to speak to him
To say 'listen'

I long to see an acre full of life
Of green
Where no pride
Where no loneliness
Where no obliviousness
And no in-attentiveness dwells

I long for her to speak
For him to listen
And for them to hold their lost and forgotten beginning

Okay, so I'm going to be a total geek right now and introduce you to some very funny etymologies. Etymology, for those of you who don't know, or don't remember, refers to the history and roots of words. So, for your viewing pleasure, a very funny etymology!

Avacado -

The word "avocado" comes from the Spanish word aguacate, which derives in turn from the Nahuatl (Aztec) word ahuacatl, meaning "testicle", because of its shape. In some countries of South America such as Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, Peru, and Uruguay, the avocado is known by its Quechua name, palta. In other Spanish-speaking countries it is called aguacate, and in Portuguese it is abacate. The name "avocado pear" is sometimes used in English, as are "alligator pear" and "butter pear". The Nahuatl ahuacatl can be compounded with other words, as in ahuacamolli, meaning "avocado soup or sauce", from which the Mexican Spanish word guacamole derives.

Who the heck knew that avacado came from an Aztec word for testicle?! It may be crude, yes, but I find this very amusing. Very amusing indeed.

And now, I'm in need of some sleep.

Later Days,
Arty

Afternoon, kids! I trust you're all well. Yes? Excellent. I, myself, am doing alright. I'm a bit surprised at the popularity of my last blog, but there you go. The following blog is going to be snippets of my life the last couple weeks. That's to say it'll mainly be instances of hilarity, moments of hysterical interludes and in the simplest form, just good old fashioned good times.

I give you the hilarity that can sometimes be my life.

--

Last night

I got in about half past nine and was promptly scolded by my brother, Jeff, for being 'out too late.' This, of course, comes from the boy who skived off school a couple days after I had left the country in May for what he dubbed his 'Ferris Bueller Day.' Oh yes. The boy who scolded me, skipped out on school with a couple friends, went to the city (San Francisco), bummed around, saw a movie, came home and then proceeded to lie to my parents when they already knew what was going on and then added to the conversation that if it made my parents feel any better (i.e. 'please don't punish me more than I need to be'), he received a $50.00 parking citation.

It didn't work in terms of diminishing the sentence he had to pay as punishment.

I must confess, though, that I knew well in advance about this Ferris Bueller Day, but I didn't say anything. I even went through some kind of ethical/moral dilemma because my mother (sneaky-operator that she is!) was chatting with me online one afternoon when I was in England. She asked me if I knew anything about Jeff planning something. The conversation went something like this:

Mom: want to run something by you
Mom: jeff had the car yesterday for school and to go to church to set up the tables for the ladies
Mom: he then went to montclair to get a jamba juice for ms james

Me: ...yeah

Mom: when i told him the car was not for all kinds of running around he kind of said ok
Mom: but
Mom when i mentioned it to uncle arnie
Mom: he said
Mom: jeff had been talking about cutting school yesterday and going to sf with will
Mom: we don't think he did
Mom: but
Mom: how should i approach jeff?

Me: with a stick?

Mom: don't want him knowing that arnie said anything to me
Mom: lol
Mom: a big one?
Mom: or should i just let it go this time?

Me: well, you need to nip it in the bud
Me: he seems to think that being 18 and having his license is the great end all be all

Mom: i agree
Mom: he doesn't know much does he?

Me: he seems to be pretty cocky

Mom: yeah

So, as you can clearly see, my mother knew something was up all along. I personally think this is due to the fact that my mother is part witch. It's kind of creepy how she knows things like that. I think she knew before I did that I was going to marry Matt.

Yeah...spooky, I know.

--

Last night...again

A week or so ago Matt and I were going through our garage looking for some spare pots and pans to use until we get our own at the apartment. It was me, Matt, my mom and Jeremy. Three of us were doing actual work and one of us was...well...he was working in a different sense. You see, while we were opening the various tubs and boxes in our garage, we came across three or four bins of stuffed animals that had been put away several years ago for safe-keeping (my mother wants to have things for her grandchildren, eventually).

Jeremy was beside himself with happiness. I imagine it was a lot like every Christmas when I unwrap all my ornaments for him. He spent the better part of half an hour just digging through the open containers and pulling out some of his childhood favorites. To be completely fair, I was distracted for a while as well. There were quite a few things in there that I had forgotten about. Like my Raggedy-Ann doll that my mom made for me when I was a girl. I found Snowberry too, which is a white teddy bear that my grandmother gave me one Christmas when I was about seven years old. Snowberry still had the little green scarf with white snowflakes on the ends and red mittens on. He was still kind of flat from all those mornings when I would wake up to find I had used him like a pillow.

*sighs* I'm terribly sentimental.

Anyway, the point of this story is that Paco was uncovered. Paco is a pig. And not only is he a pig, he's a puppet as well. Paco belongs to Jeff and Paco was one of the toys Jeremy smuggled back into the house and was allowed to keep inside (we had already stacked everything back up and couldn't be bothered to undo our work). As such, Paco has been inside for a week or so now. He kind of lies around like third base a lot, but last night Jeff decided to give him some life. Being Jeff, however, Paco's life was definitely not boring.

You see, our grandmother was at her computer in the dining room doing whatever it is she does and Paco was in the living room. From his spot on the floor, Paco began whistling and using words like 'chica' and 'mamacita' to get my grandmother's attention. Yeah. I know. Wrong on so many levels, but funny on every single one of them.

My mother, wanting to stop the noise, approached Paco. Paco, being sufficiently clever, fled from her much like the English would have fled from the Spanish armada had the armada not been decimated by the English. My mom eventually got her hand on Paco's ear, at which point Paco decided to play possum. He rolled over onto his back, threw open his mouth and began to snore.

--

This coming Saturday

Uncle Ron and Aunt Becky are coming this Saturday for a visit. They're also coming to bring a sofa to the apartment. You see, Uncle Ron and Aunt Becky were looking for a new sofa, so they offered their old one to us, which Matt and I accepted. It'll be nice to actually have a sofa to sit on now. We've only had dining room chairs for a while now and it's a lost cause to try and curl up with a good book on one of those. No, a sofa is much better.

Because Uncle Ron and Aunt Becky are coming, chances are Pepper is coming with them. Now, I know most of you know who Pepper is. Those of you who don't, Pepper is their dog. We occasionally will babysit Pepper when Uncle Ron and Aunt Becky go away on holiday. Some of my favorite memories of Pepper have occured while she was here.

For example, she's a relatively well-behaved dog. We spoil her when she's here, but to be fair she loves coming and we love having her. When she's here, we don't need to sweep up the kitchen floor. No indeed. Pepper is our live-in Hoover. She keeps the kitchen floor spotless between her begging sessions. Of course, being clever, I've discovered a way to get her out of the way.

You see, whenever someone goes into the kitchen, Pepper follows in hopes that she'll be fed some scraps. I wouldn't mind this so much if she weren't under foot all the time. She doesn't stay in one place, but rather follows you around when you're trying to cook. So, to get her out of the way, all I have to do is look down at her and say 'let's go get a bath, Pepper' and she's gone. She flees to the sofa (we put down a couple blankets and she sleeps on a corner of the sofa) and looks at you as though to say 'I'll be good, really I will...look...I'm tired...I'm going to bed now.'

--

This past Saturday

Matt and I spent the day with Jeremy, my mom and Uncle Benny out and about. Of course, like most good days, that particular day ended spectacularly. Our last port of call that day was Mi Pueblo. I'm not sure I've spoken much about Mi Pueblo here. It's a Mexican market that rocks my world. They've got a panaderia (bakery), a carniceria (butcher), a pescador (fish monger) and a taqueria (read-made-very-good eats). This is, of course, on top of a killer produce section, a cheese and tortilla shop and several aisles of groceries. It's a great place. So great that Alfredo wants to live on aisle fourteen.

Anyway, we went to Mi Pueblo and got fixin's for tostadas. I got some black tiger shrimp for Matt and a six-pack of beer (it goes really well with Mexican food, okay?). There were other things that were bought, including some salsa rojo and guacamole ranchero. The salsa kicked ass, if you'll excuse my turn of phrase. It was SO yummy.

Home again we went once we were finished and cooking began. My dad mixed up a pitcher of margaritas and to make a long story short, we feasted. And then, of course, we had some homemade chocolate chip cookies that my grandmother had made. Mmmmmm.

--

Today

Jeff refers to his 'sex-elence' and I am nearly ill.

--

Well, I do hope you enjoyed your little romp through a few things. I'm off to go watch a DVD or something. 'Or something' is probably a safer bet. Anyway, on behalf of Paco, Pepper and pueblos, until next time!

Later Days,
Arty

Yes, to the cow in the Lexus SUV. The cow in the Lexus SUV that was driving along Otis Blvd. earlier tonight. The cow who was exceeding the speed limit. The cow that was tailing me and flashing her brights. The cow that probably has had plastic surgery to remove hairline wrinkles around her mouth because she frowns too much. The Lexus-driving, dosey cow whom I slowed down purposely for, just for the sake of annoying you.

Yes, to the cow that passed us on the right. The cow whom Matt stuck his tongue out at because you were being a fat, ugly cow. The cow who probably went to Trader Joe's because you're a Berkeley wanna-be who probably doesn't shave your legs or armpits...the one who probably has more testosterone than the average teenage male.

Yes, to you, you dosey Lexus-driving, tailing-hag, soccer-mom who's child repeatedly misses the honor role, thus denying you your tacky bumper sticker, self-righteous, nasty, smelly cow, I have one thing to say to you and it's simply this:

You suck eggs.

That is all.

Afternoon, kids! Well, I have a slight reprieve from my duties around the house at the moment and I thought it'd be nice to blog again. I've been decorating the dining room for the better part of the last hour. Jeremy's birthday was this week. He turned fourteen on Tuesday, but because of various plans already in place, we weren't able to have the family celebration that always takes place on birthdays. So, we're doing it today instead, just two days after the fact, which isn't too bad.

The rule in my house when it comes to birthdays is this:

Whoever has a birthday gets to pick what they want to eat for dinner the day of their birthday. It's quite a nice little set up. It's great, but it becomes even greater in July. Why, you may ask? Well, my uncles were born in July. And their twins. As such, it inevitably ends well for the rest of us in July because we get two special dinners within a week of one another. Now that's even greater.

Jeremy has chosen for his dinner, rolled enchiladas, Spanish rice and frijoles. All of us are thrilled with his choice. Especially Matt, who's taken quite the shine to Mexican food. I honestly don't know what he would do if he lived here and didn't like Mexican food. It would be like going to visit or live in India and not like Indian food.

But I digress.

For dessert Jeremy chose creme brulee, an odd choice to go with enchies, I know, but still. Last night, he decided taht due to the hot weather, he wouldn't make us slave in the kitchen to make it, which was jolly good of him, I thought...

Until he said he wanted chocolate cake.

Well, we had to use the ovens anyway, so there wasn't much difference there. What surprised me, though, is the weather. California has been experiencing an unprecidented heat wave. For those of you unfamiliar with the typical weather patterns here in California, let me clue you in.

It's not that we don't have heat during the summers. We do. We just don't have heat for prolonged periods of time. Usually the weather up and down the state is generally mild and pleasant. When heat waves DO happen, it's only for about four days (at the max!!) before mild weather returns. This current heat wave has been perpetual for nearly two weeks now. Honestly, we don't know what to do with ourselves.

The Los Angeles basin has been have triple digit, record-breaking heat (those of you who don't know, Los Angeles sits in a crater-like basin surrounded by mountains, thus the terrible and famous smog...no air comes in to blow all the pollution out, so it just sits there). The rest of California hasn't fared any better. The Central Valley is like the gateway to hell and the Bay Area has been suffering from tempuratures that range from the mid 80s at the coast to triple digit heat in the inland valleys.

As such, several wildfires have been torturing us throughout the area from as far away as Plumas County. A whole bunch of smoke from that raging fire was blown directly over the Bay Area yesterday by a northeasterly wind. Of course, there's another fire much closer to home, in Henry Coe State Park (the south bay), that's been burning for days and has destroyed 19,000 acres of land.

Today, however, the weather has decided to surprise us all and make those of us who are native to the state a little apprehensive and wary. It's relatively cool outside. Don't get me wrong, I've still run all my errands in shorts and a tank top, but it's been overcast all day and there's been a cool breeze. It's hard to explain, but trust me when I tell you that it's earthquake weather. There's always a certain feel in the air.

Yes, I know...earthquake weather sounds like a flimsy excuse for anything. Well, scientists have been arguing that there's no scientific research to back up the claim that there can be 'earthquake weather' anywhere. Still, how does science explain that all those animals disappeared right before the tsunami that happened at Christmas time a couple years ago? They can't. Yet all the animals disappeared to higher ground and were spared the devastation that people couldn't detect.

I'm not trying to disprove science here, kids. I quite like science and I'm quite good at some of it (the organic sciences), but I'm just saying that science can't prove lots of things. It doesn't stop something from being true. So when I say it feels like earthquake weather I don't want someone to launch into a long-winded, fact-based rant against it. I know there's nothing solid to prove it, but I would much rather trust the gut feeling of a local, who's lived somewhere all their lives, in something.

I mean, come on. You're reading the words of a girl whose grandmother survived many a hurricane while growing up in Puerto Rico. It's fresh in my blood.

But again, I shall digress.

The title of my blog today might confuse some of you. Any guesses where it comes from? No? Pity. Read up on some of your classic literature, kids.

The title of my blog comes from the character of Billy Bones in Treasure Island, penned, of course, by Robert Louis Stevenson. When I was a child I read this book and fell in love with it. I've had a thing for pirates my whole life, so it shouldn't really come as a surprise that I like this particular book so much. If it didn't take Daniel Defoe so flipping long to get to the pirates in Robinson Crusoe, I might like that book more, but that's really a side note.

When I was a kid, Jim Henson did a film called Muppet Treasure Island in conjunction with Disney. I was struck by one of the lines that Billy Bones says in the film today for what would seem like no apparent reason. He says, and I quote:

"Beware running with scissors or any other pointed objects. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye."

And then, at that point in the film, he dies from a fear-induced heart attack due to receiving the Black Spot from Blind Pierre. It's quite comical, really, the way it's done.

You might be wondering why I was recalling that line from my childhood. Well, truth be told, it came to me because last night while I was at the apartment with Matt, I was cutting some bread with a serated knife and I sliced clean into my left index finger. There was lots of blood, so much so that I was unable to see at first how badly I had cut myself. In order to assess my wound, I had to apply pressure. Of course, my mother having been a nurse was my first phone call. Matt drove me home as a result of my wound.

I did everything I was supposed to, though. I wrapped my finger in a paper towel, applied pressure, kept my hand above my heart (it slows bleeding down) and lastly, I had Matt put some ice into a plastic bag and wrap that in a kitchen tea towel (ice also slows the flow of blood). All that done, Matt piled me into the car and drove me home where I was able to assess my wound much better with the aid of my mother. The blood had stopped by the time we got home.

It isn't a large cut, but it's fairly deep, thus the amount of blood last night. It doesn't require stitched of any kind either, just a butterfly bandage. My mother made me clean the cut out with hydrogen peroxide, which I wasn't thrilled about, but I did it anyway. After cleaning, it was antibiotic ointment and a butterfly bandage to hold the skin together, followed lastly by a regular bandaid to cover the butterfly.

I can now report, without question, that our knives at the apartment are superior products. Meh.

Of course, having the wound requires that I keep it dry, which makes general bathroom duties like showering very interesting. I resorted to having a bath instead of a shower this morning all the while keeping my left arm elevated. Washing my hair was a trial with just one hand, but the good news from all of this is that it's all very do-able. It'll just take some adaptation.

So now, as I sit here blogging, feeling very little sensation in my left index finger due to the heft of the badages, I think of all of this while listening to some Glenn Miller. I think I'll go watch an old movie with Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. I'm in that kind of mood this afternoon.

So until next time, kids, beware running with scissors or any other pointy object. I think I'll go one step further than dear Mr. Bones and add that you should all invest in some armor-plated gloves before attempting to cut anything, especially bread.

Oh, and I still want a cookie.

That is all.

Later Days,
Arty