Monthly Archives: October 2009
springing up in the fall
because i have been away so much for business for the past few months, i have sort of let the garden do what it wants in my absence. oh, i peek at it when i’m home and yank a few rogue weeds, but the rain has been frequent enough for the few fall crops that i put in at the end of august, and i just haven’t had time to “deal with it.”
a few weeks ago i was lazily peering through the window to assess how badly i needed to get up and get my hands dirty. i noticed that the basil bush (yes, it grew to the size of the shrubs in the front yard bed) was in dire need of pruning, with nearly every stem flowering.
feeling tired and overwhelmed, i just shut the blinds and opened a book. a week or so later, i noticed that the wind had blown those flowers (and their seeds) all over the garden. tiny basil sprouts were emerging everywhere, as if it were early spring! at this point i was intrigued by my experiment in loose-rein, free-range gardening, and decided to let them be.
last week i finally resigned myself to the fact that the cold really was creeping in for good and it was time to start the winterizing process. by then i had about 20 little basil seedlings, plus two new clusters of dill!
i decided that these new growths were just the thing to provide my kitchen with fresh herbs through the cold months. because that thick, woody basil tree was definitely not coming inside for the winter. i got a couple dozen small ceramic pots in bright colors to plant them in, and set aside more than half for family, friends, and neighbors. what a fun fall gift!
now i plan to always let my herbs go to seed naturally after they’ve provided a good harvest, to keep new plants always rotating in. i’m sure i’ve overlooked this advice in one of my gardening books, but learning by trial and error is more exciting, right?
living out of a suitcase at home
during my ping pong-ing between these two homes, my trusty oversized tote stays stocked with all the necessities, ready and waiting on the floor of my closet. when i decide to make an overnight stay, i just relocate an outfit hanging in the closet to the hook in my car, and throw the appropriate accessories in the bag. the drawback to this system is that i invariably leave said accessories in the bag, so my collection is slowly moving from my armoire to the travel tote. combine that with daily needing the use of several toiletries and tools that do not have duplicates dedicated to travel, and i am officially living out of the suitcase consistently, whether at home or away. which equals not really knowing where anything is at a given time.
while this can be a bit annoying, the perpetual home-rotation has made me grateful for several things: grateful that i truly love visiting my parents and their beautiful, peaceful home. thankful for the bonus time with my titu (grandmother) and the fun girls sleepovers we’ve had. appreciative that i have a job that not only allows me the freedom (and reason) to be near my family, but also the flexibility to be at any medical appointment my mom may have. thankful that my husband maintains the perfect balance of independence and “miss-you-much” throughout my sporadic schedule.
i’m trying to be more intentional about having a positive perspective when it comes to aggravating circumstances. it seems like so many of my frustrations are actually borne out of blessings. i allow myself to get irritated instead of viewing the situation for the fortunate advantage it often is. now if i could just be as intentional about unpacking my tote each week…
stranger than fiction – part 2
yesterday i revealed that i have a habit of getting hurt in unlikely ways. it would be difficult to see the crazy pattern without a second illustration, so today i’ll share another example of the strange stories behind my scars.
this particular incident-turned-saga happened a few years ago as i was making breakfast. i did not burn myself. that would be too obvious. i did not cut myself. that’s so unoriginal.
as i cracked eggs, i collected the shells on a paper towel for the compost. when cleaning up, i wrapped the paper towel around the pile of shells and wadded it in my hand on the way to the kitchen compost crock.
as i squeezed the wad, i felt a sharp pain. it only took a moment to realize that a piece of shell had impaled my palm. i pulled the paper towel away to see a little jagged white piece protruding from my hand, which i promptly plucked – and then immediately regretted my haste.
i had the awful suspicion that i had broken off a piece inside the skin, but further poking and prodding revealed no apparent splinter.
fast forward a few weeks, and my cut had healed over. the problem was, i still felt an acute pain in that spot whenever i gripped anything. i felt sure that a bit of eggshell was still lodged in my palm, despite the skeptical scoffs of my family.
brushing off the doubters, i decided to visit the walk-in clinic down the street. after patiently describing my invisible infirmity to the receptionist, then a nurse, and finally the doctor, the entire office echoed the situation like juicy gossip. (“did she say eggshell?” “is there really eggshell in her hand?”) i really know how to cause a stir.
half an hour and a little local numbing later, the doctor and her tiny scalpel had retrieved an itty bit of shell from my hand. feeling victorious and justified, i went home and proudly displayed my bandaged hand to my skeptics.
but that’s not the end of the story.
fast forward a few more weeks, and i still had stabbing pain in my hand. what?! not soreness, but a tiny pang when i gripped a doorknob, garden trowel, etc. i insisted on visiting my clinic doc again despite admonishments to “toughen up” from those who believed it was all in my head.
when Eggshell Girl returned to the clinic, the incredulous doctor decided mini-surgery was necessary. she numbed my entire hand with an injection this time, and i turned my head away and tried to relax as she dug deeper with her incision than before. with the help of an assistant and a strong magnifier, she finally located the foreign object with a little “tink tink” of her tool.
eyes wide with amazement, she pulled out the microscopic piece, and placed it in a little capsule of saline – my prize for being so brave, and proof of my sanity.
who knew making breakfast was so risky?
so now you know another weird thing about me. and i have more surprising stories where that came from. at least this oddity lends itself to a more entertaining bandage explanation than “i tripped.”
stranger than fiction – part 1
you are about to learn something very strange about me. no, not that. or that. okay, so maybe you already know about several odd traits of mine. well, add this one to the list.
i have a peculiar tendency to injure myself in very bizarre ways. i’m not necessarily a klutz (only occasionally), but i do get my fair share of bumps and bruises. that’s not extraordinary. what is remarkable is the curious manner in which i manage to incur real damage to myself. it’s weird in the way that causes medical professionals to blink at me in disbelief and glance around for hidden cameras. today you get one such example; tomorrow i’ll offer another.
the first weird wound i recall occurred during a high school musical performance (which also happened to be my 15th birthday.) the show that year was “barnum” and in the very last scene the stage is filled with nearly the entire cast performing a variety of circus-y acts in a colorful, chaotic musical number. i was dressed in red sequins and twirling a long ribbon, and thrilled to have a position atop one of the tall platforms beside the female lead.
i should tell you that our music and drama teachers did not direct half-hearted performances. our sets were always large and impressive. from my spot on the towering platform i could reach up and touch the top of the curtains – and i am not a tall girl. so there i twirled, stage right (high), mere feet from the barrel of a confetti cannon in the wings that would cap off the final song with a burst of paper bits to rain down on the stage. like i said, we put on all-out shows.
now, i’m not sure if there are different calibers of confetti cannons, but this one was powerful. when we tested it during rehearsal, a cluster of paper bits shot across the room without breaking up and took a chunk out of the wall. the first night of the show Miss Lead and i were stunned by the mass of confetti as it whooshed past us, and requested a forward scoot of the platform to avoid the assault in the following shows. i think you see where i’m going with this.
during our last show i was happily spinning my ribbon with my right hand with my left arm wrapped behind me, when the dramatic ending sent the confetti flying behind us. feeling a sharp pain in my left hand, i withdrew my arm to see blood dripping down my wrist and onto my sparkly ballet shoes.
immediately light-headed, i braced myself on my cast-mate so as not to plunge eight feet to the stage below, and tried to smile until the curtains closed. i made it down the ladder with one hand, got cleaned up, determined that i didn’t need stitches, and still managed to have a great birthday…but just imagine the doctor’s face when i said, “i was shot by a confetti cannon.”
i couldn’t make this stuff up if i tried. (tune in tomorrow for the second case study from my bizarre injury history.)
