Just when I established a rhythm, just when I thought I had it all under control, it all kind of oozed out between my fingers. Or at least one finger.
I was on a (writing) roll in February. Kids were tracking along with their things: music, school, some normal-for-the-age-social dramas; Mr. Hubby had managed to intercept and surprise his father in Paris (more on this soon); I was finishing up my third to last chapter in my memoir and blogging. My rising blog numbers were doing a lot to feed my jonessing inner stats junkie.
I had the world at my fingertips. Until I almost cut one off. This was not the kind of writers block I expected.
Faules fleisch musst weg. Lazy meat must leave.
My husband loves to throw this German saying my way, which usually results in a carrot or onion thrown his way. I will say though, it’s not a good sign when you mistake your finger for a carrot.
My youngest had a cold. So you know what kind of soup I was making… not vegan. Okay, so I have no problem occasionally setting aside ideology for practicality…
In some ways I was glad hubby was gone. If I even prepare a meal with a bit of meat, I get the recovering-meat-eater look. The look meant to instill a bit of mock guilt and social shame.
Remember in the 70s, how anti-smoker, former smokers could be? That’s my man on meat, anymore. Or no meat, as it were.
I was in a hurry. The knife was big, angled for the Chinese side slice. The cut was more than a nick. Much more. And, the knife was dull.
I’ve learned from so many wise men how to sharpen and use knives, the words of one, who lived in his van, flooded back: “Dull knives leave the worst cuts. Cuts that take longer to heal.”
I rinsed, trying not to look at the shark gill cut that left a flap of index finger falling forward toward the tip. Nice, eh? We won’t get into the blood. Nope. Let’s just say, my daughter wanted to drive me to the hospital.
I wrapped and compressed and looked for bandages. Nothing in the house. Not even a sanitary napkin—a trick I used to patch up a firefighter who almost lost a thumb when he crashed his ultra light into the side our hangar, in the middle of the high desert. After his (and my) shock subsided, he told me that firefighters often use sanitary napkins for such cases.
I managed to patch my finger together with paper towels and tape. In short, the pain and the bleeding woke me up in the night. I washed and re-applied another homemade bandage and kicked myself.
I knew I would not be able to write—for at least a week. And like a spurned lover, I couldn’t bear to look at the computer…much. But sometimes, when you’re writing a book, it’s best to leave it to simmer in what I call the back brain.
Chewing Gum and Soup Don’t Go Together
At least I didn’t drop my gum in the soup. I did that once. Minutes before guests were to arrive.
I rarely talk on the phone. But I was. Probably with my good friend Lisa. And it happened. The gum just popped out of my mouth and disappeared into the opaque soup. Perfectly camouflaged. Un-fricken-believable.
Hubby came home in time for dinner to see me madly spooning through the soup. What kind? Broccoli. The perfect soup into which to lose a lump of mint-colored gum.
Der Herr Gott strafft die kleine Dingen sofort.
(God punishes the small things right away.)
“What’re we gonna do?” I asked him.
“How did you manage this?” He asked, with that wry grin he cops when he knows I’m a bit boxed in and ready to spar.
In the end, I fished out the gum with a small sieve. I simmered the thickening soup on low boil. The guests arrived. I wiped the sweat from my brow, and if it weren’t for pointing a finger at my husband’s accusatory smirk, I don’t think anyone was the wiser.
Now that you’ve decided you won’t be joining me for dinner any time soon—or ever—that should free me up to get back to more writing. The book project looms. Looms large with several great connections and insights lately.
I love what you’re all up to out there. I’m glad to be back in the blogosphere with you.
What’s cooking behind your blog or book? And what has kept you from writing lately or pushed you to it?