No Pain, No Gain

Sometime during the middle of last month, I had a stupid accident. Judging from the lingering pain, I suspect I broke a finger. I accomplished this in a manner so incomprehensibly ridiculous that I am too ashamed to provide details of the incident. You must simply take my word for it that I feel like a grade-A nincompoop.

Even more stupid has been my resistance to going to the hospital. Instead, for 4 weeks, I've been sucking up the pain and inconvenience of a potentially broken bone. Why? Because I thought it preferable to the pain and inconvenience of sitting who knows how long in a waiting room with two very active boys and a screechy infant.

Initially, I doctored my finger with the help of some popsicle sticks and duct tape. I did this for a few days before I decided that looked just too silly. So I removed my DIY bandage and simply started walking around with my left index finger held straight up at all times. If you have ever played the videogame Halo 2 from the Arbiter's perspective, that's what I looked like -- only without the kick-butt energy sword. If you have not played Halo 2, the Arbiter is a space alien. He belongs to a group called The Covenant, which is attempting to activate an ancient artifact that will allow them to take over the universe. However, the Arbiter has gone rogue and allied himself with humans. The Arbiter sounds cool, but looking like him (or rather like his left hand) is not so much.

Last night was a turning point for me. Even though my finger doesn't hurt terribly anymore, I nearly burned it off in the toaster oven because I've lost 50% of all sensation in that digit. This is not a complete catastrophe since I still have nine other fingers. However, I'd hate to see my typing speed diminished in any way, so I've finally made a doctor's appointment.

Now I'm a bit apprehensive because I know Doc will send me for an x-ray (which means lots and lots of waiting-room time). Also, my gut is 100% certain he's going to have my finger re-broken and set. This second thought particularly bothers me because "I don't like pain -- it hurts me."¹ On the other hand, I know that choosing some temporary suffering will result in numerous benefits later on. Off-hand, I can think of a couple. A fully functioning finger would be nice. If it's not totally deformed by my earlier stupidity and stubborness, so much the better.

I've decided this whole experience need not go to waste, though. I've learned that I am periodically just plain dumb (there's no other word for it) regarding my body and its needs. In the future, I hope to demonstrate better judgment.

More importantly, I hope to show more sense when it comes to my inner life. Although I want to have a sensitive, teachable spirit, I have no illusions. I'm pretty positive I'll make some soul-crippling choices out of selfishness and pride. However, I also hope to have the grace to recognize when I need to be re-broken and fixed. In these cases, I hope I'll choose to do the right thing.

"[E]very time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different than it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing into a heavenly creature or a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is heaven: that is, it is joy and peace and knowledge and power. To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness. Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state or the other."

— C.S. Lewis

¹Daffy Duck
------------------

Epilogue

I drafted this post a little over a week ago. Since then, I've learned that my finger is not broken. (Hooray!!!) However, the doctor suspects that I may have damaged a ligament due to the fact that I still can't bend my finger, and the only way to be certain is an MRI. As I sit here self-treating by squeezing a squishy ball, I'll let you guys take bets on whether I'll actually go and have that done. Ahhh... History will teach us nothing.

She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep

I love snow. Specifically, I love snowfalls. I love the way snowflakes frost my eyelashes. I love how everything seems cleaner, quieter, fresher, softer, more inviting. Even the air seems tastier during a snowfall.

This winter, though, has been... I don't want to use the word tedious, but it has been a little. With a new baby, it's more difficult to enjoy snowball fights and sledding and making snow angels. As much as I love the baby, I just want to go outside!!! To quote my oldest child, "I really like winter, but even I've reached that point."

This longing for spring has brought to mind a poem by Robert Graves. It's not really about spring; it's simply where the random jumps in my brain stopped. However, I thought the imagery was great, and it would be a good read near Valentine's Day.

She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep

She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half words whispered low;
As earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts forth grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.

-- Robert Graves

Vive Le Sciurus Carolinensis!

We live in a relatively rural area. I say "relatively" because it's not as sparsely populated as Maza, North Dakota (pop. 5), but it's 30% less crowded than Chubbuck, Idaho. (What? You never heard of Chubbuck?!)

Access to the Mother Nature was one of the things that attracted us to our present location. Our current house backs up to some woods and a farm. As a result, we periodically get visitors like bears, deer, and foxes, which is always something of an event. In our house, it is implicitly understood that if someone spies one of these Very Cool Animals, a call is sounded, and we all immediately drop what we're doing to watch at a window.

We also have gray squirrels. Lots of gray squirrels. Short of trapping and relocating these furry roaches, I don't have an efficient way to count them accurately. However, I think that a good estimate would be scores and scores of squirrels.

Now in their naievete and unbridled enthusiasm for all living things, my children have not yet figured out that the squirrels are just squirrels; they're not one of the Very Cool Animals. At least a dozen times a day I receive this urgent breathless summons, "Come!!! Quickly!!! There's a... squirrel!" So I drop the dishes I'm doing, wipe my hands, and run like a madwoman to the window, just in time to see a whole -- what is the word for a group of squirrels? pack? herd? cabal? -- whatever of squirrels dumping out all the bird feeders.

These yard monkeys are ingenious really. One of them climbs a tree and tips a feeder. Then they all descend upon the spill to enjoy a nosh while they plot global domination and how to force me into putting out more peanuts.

Those of you familiar only with scrawny urban squirrels are no doubt scoffing. How could a flibbety-wibbety wisp of fluff possibly accomplish such wholesale destruction and forced servitude? Simple. These are super squirrels. They are fat and sleek and highly muscled from their rigorous PT regimen, which includes leftover waffle-lifting, aerial drops on my roof, and paw-to-beak combat against small birds. I've even witnessed them breaking out their squirrel-jitsu moves on merlins and emerging victorious! Do you know what merlins are? They are small raptors with hooked beaks and razor sharp talons that are designed to eat squirrels, and in my yard, they don't stand a chance!

So forget Planet of the Apes. I'm fairly certain that in the end, Sciurus carolinensis is going to rule the world. In fact, I'm setting out a peace offering of peanuts right now because it's never too early to begin appeasing our future overlords.

This image of a covert meeting of
Sciurus Carolinensis, Winter Squadron,
was taken from a safe distance using a telephoto lens.
Those inexperienced in repelling squirrel attacks
should not try this at home.

What is a one penny jumble packet? (Oh, and welcome to my blog, btw :-)

My father grew up on a farm in the mid-west where I think, at one point in his childhood, all the blood in his body was replaced by soil and seeds. I cannot remember a time in my life when he wasn't gardening or planning a garden. Even when we lived in places that had no yards, he would still find a way to plant things.

In an effort to pass this love of growing things on to me, his impressionable child, my dad would allot me a portion of his precious garden space. The catch was that I had to provide the seeds for it. Fortunately, Gurney's (his favorite seed catalogue) provided a solution to my dilemma. At the end of each season, Gurney's mixed up all its leftover vegetable and flower seeds and packaged them. This resulted in a product tailor-made for young children -- The Jumble Packet -- which was quite reasonably priced at one penny.

Of course, using a Jumble Packet was a risky business. One never quite knew what would result from such a planting. Some seeds were pretty easy to identify -- corn, peas, beans, sunflowers. You knew what they were going in, and you could identify them coming up. However, there were always surprises. These were the plants that you just knew were something special, but you had no clue what they were. So you waited and waited and waited and checked on them every day to see what would happen. This was, in essence, the beauty of the humble jumble packet.

Fast forward 30 years, and you will find me typing this entry. If you're looking thoughts on a specific topic, you'll probably want to clear out now. This blog is my new test garden to collect random thoughts, observations, reviews, recipes, craft ideas... who knows where this will go? You might find some sunflowers and peas in here, but you're just as likely to get kohlrabi and bachelor's buttons. If you're still reading, though, stick around -- let's see what comes up! :-)