If You will take your seat we’ll get started. Let’s pretend this is an unofficial White House (“room”) Press Conference and…Mr. Obama won’t be coming because he doesn’t know anything. Clarification: he doesn’t know anything about my injury and why I’m now delivering this press conference address and most other comments in…lower case…and why I won’t be entertaining much of anything but my [now] usual afternoon nap.
Remember my previous post MYRNA AND ME? For My Reader who did read that missive…thank you so much.
You didn’t? Yes, I’m talking to You the other person in the room seated in the last row. You go have a look-see at “Raye’s Portland Sunrise” picture…and then imagine me tripping [envision crashing hand/face first] over a moored ship’s line on the west side river wall right about…there…that dark spot down in front. See? If there was a question and answer time, which there is not You might be asking, “What were you thinking…?”
ABBA. I was thinking ABBA and listening to “Dancing Queen” and making hard-fast time: 3.5 miles in under fifty minutes. Satisfied?
No more questions for You. Period.
Right hand will be in a cast contraption for a long while. Pavement burns disappearing. Bruises once purple and ugly now yellow and ugly.
Left hand working overtime:
+There are good hair days and bad. It is difficult to tell which is which.
+Have given up wearing anything with zips, snaps, small hooks.
+Elastic, spandex. pull-ups and pull-ons are my best friends.
+Along with Morphine, Valium, oxycodone, Tetanus injection…and aspirin shooters.
+Hoovering is not a priority…which means my cats who sow kitty litter like Ohio farmers planting spring corn…leave grains of litter everywhere: floors, rugs…my knickers…since I fall down while pulling them on with one hand. You can be sure that’s an ouch on the cheek and I’m not talking face…..
+Piano-ing Haydn, Beethoven or Bach, Joplin or Brubeck two-handed…a long slog away according to my twelve-year-old-looking hand surgeon.
This White Room Conference sans Mr. Obama is now officially closed…not to be repeated, regurgitated, reviewed or re-examined. It does not surprise me that My Reader, and now You, are better informed on not only my hand injury…but…most everything else.
On that extreme high note (no pun) indulge my Left-Hand in celebration of a left-handed attempt at pen & ink, watercolour and collage’ in recognition of: E.R. and Hand Surgeon Docs who give care, healing advice, hugs and some wee drugs; perfect strangers for helpfulness; friends for assistance; family for unconditional love; ABBA for reminding me that the “Dancing Queen” crown belongs to someone else…temporarily.
I am calm and yes..I will always carry on….
“Dance me to the end of love…” leonard cohen