I’ve been doing a lot of cooking over the past couple of months, as you could probably tell from the crawfish, the ice cream with chocolate shell topping, the vichyssoise and the Caesar Salad of the last four consecutive posts. (And let’s not forget the Sweet Batter Bread!) Sometimes that nesting, nurturing mood strikes me, and when it does, there’s no telling what will come rolling out of the kitchen. The house will smell delicious, there’ll be homemade bread in the toaster and something savory roasting in the oven or bubbling on the stove.
Well, it’s a good thing I got to indulge those kitchen cravings when I did, because now my cooking is on hold. Twelve days ago I broke a bone or two in my left hand while doing the laundry. And the important contributions an uninjured left hand makes to almost everything I do came as an unpleasant surprise to my right-handed self. For instance:
• Making the bed (However, I can still do a better job with one hand than Glen did [once] with two. It was sweet of him, though.)
• Showering, getting dressed and flossing my teeth
• Taking care of our Australian Shepherd Lucy and Queen of All She Surveys Phoebe (Thank heavens The Daughter was here for a visit when I hurt myself. She fed the animals and cleaned Phoebe’s Cat Box of Diabetic Doom for three days before she had to fly back to Colorado. Thank you, Katie!)
• Driving anywhere (Grocery shopping, PO Box checking, appointment-keeping? Cancelled. All of it.)
• Cooking, of course (Thankfully, Glen knows his way around a kitchen, so we’re not going hungry. In fact, we’ve learned that his breakfast tacos are better than the ones I make with both my hands.)
• But here’s the one that feels like the biggest hindrance: typing. Since the laundry accident, typing has become a task I have to perform almost entirely one-handed, although the injury is getting a little better. Slowly.
Glen calls me “Monkey Arms” because I have a history of flailing my limbs about and banging them into things. Years ago I broke my right hand in an inglorious moment during a throw cushion/glass-topped coffee table incident. (Don’t ask.) The result of this current round of gracelessness is that I’m behind on finishing The Realm Below. I’d still like to have it out before January 2019, but this is crunch time now; we’re in the butt end of 2018 already. I have a few thousand words to go, and then comes beta-reading and editing, formatting, etc. It may be doable, but I’m trying not to get overly stressed in case it isn’t. I’ll just have to give it my best shot.
So unless I make tremendous progress on the sequel to The Space Between over the coming two weeks, the July 19th blog post will likely be a rerun of an earlier one. (This one is post # 92, so I have a few to choose from.) Please forgive me, but doing that would give me a much-needed month to focus entirely on finishing the writing of Book 2 (and all that typing!). After that, the rewriting shouldn’t be much of a problem. Fingers crossed. I’ll also be saving time on some household chores. Like the laundry, for example, which I plan never to do again.
Some of you might be wondering, “But how on earth do you break your hand doing the laundry, Monkey Arms?”
In these two easy steps:
1. You remove Glen’s damp blue jeans from the washing machine and, using both hands, begin to vigorously shake the wrinkles out of them before throwing them into the clothes dryer.
2. You’re still shaking them when your left hand loses its grip on the denim, and you watch helplessly as this appendage goes crashing at top speed into a corner of the dryer’s exterior. *crunch*
(There was a third, verbal step, but it isn’t repeatable.)
That’s the method I used, at any rate. And guess what? It worked like a charm!