Tag Archives: Left-handed

Thumbs Rule

Recently, I discovered my thumb.

Well, I always was a late bloomer.

Seriously, I learned afresh this odd appendage accomplishes far more than catching rides.

My breakthrough resulted from a nutritious lifestyle. While slicing veggies, I sliced the tip of my right thumb.

I hate the sight of blood — especially mine — so I won’t describe the gory scene. Once the bleeding finally stopped, I sought bandages. Ours were antiques. Though left-handed, I couldn’t open the packaging, let alone apply the BAND-AID®.

Hubby to the rescue. However, the old BAND-AIDs® wrinkled, crinkled, then stuck only to his thumbs.

“When did you buy these? During the Depression?”

“Why should I buy BAND-AIDs®, anyway?” I retorted. “Aren’t you the doctor around here?”

Hubby tossed the latest attempt into the trash and turned back to his computer. “Actually … I’ve retired.”

Hmm. I could a) press this paper towel on my thumb for a week; b) go to the ER; or c) be nice. Though distasteful, the last option appeared simpler. And cheaper.

A few “pretty pleases” later, he had sealed a BAND-AID® over my thumb.

Now, I could return to my regularly scheduled program.

Nope. My thumb yelled in pain when I typed.

Didyouknowspacebarsareveryimportant?Andthethumbthatpressesit?

I couldn’t turn a key without blood. My wimpy fingers pressed the remote in vain. Couldn’t open a medication bottle. All because of a cut on my thumb.

I soon was to discover more tasks it had performed for years without complaint. Joining socks. Turning pages. Tying shoes.

I tried to persuade my index and middle fingers to work together to zip my coat.

Why, when I was left-handed, did this mess with my life?

I discussed the issue with Left Hand, soliciting more help until Right Hand healed.

Lefty, however, turned thumbs-down: “I’m good for writing. For feeding you. For six decades, I’ve covered the important stuff. If you think I’ll unscrew saltshakers and insert earrings, too, you’re nuts.”

So the week continued, with cooking, showering and playing euchre more complicated than advanced robotics.

Lefty, Righty, and I tried not to vent our aggravations on Hubby, who extended a frequent helping hand.

My thumb is mending. Recently, I inserted earrings without stabbing my ears. Or jugular.

Soon, I will return to life as usual.

Disabled veterans, minus more than a thumb, will not. Neither will my friend with multiple sclerosis and her husband. With a faith in Christ that staggers me, they daily invent new ways to cope.

I discovered my thumb this week. Overall, did the experience reap dividends?

I think so. Gratitude is priceless.

Though Righty took the hit, she agrees.

And even Lefty gives it a thumbs-up.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Have you rediscovered a reason to be thankful?

Blame It All

Hubby says, “Would you like to go out to eat?”

Do I like to breathe?

He complains the car is cold. However, I’m chilly, too — which never happens.

Hubby spots the problem: “Who flipped on air conditioning?”

Who can I blame? Where’s a grandchild when you need one?

Rats. They went home yesterday.

As a child, I never lacked blamees. While I longed to beam little brothers to the planet Gorlojxx, they served as excellent reasons for everything wrong with my life. I couldn’t complete kitchen assignments because they never stopped eating. I couldn’t finish piano practice because they shot me with dart guns. Later, I blamed them for my nonexistent dating life. What guy would brave those little commandos, armed with Crazy Foam™, cherry bombs and Peeping Tom mirrors?

I didn’t blame them for everything, though.

I blamed our parents, too. They should have stopped with me.

My left-handedness also came in handy. I first discovered this instant alibi while learning to tie shoes. No wonder, while doing The Hokey Pokey, I knocked down classmates like dominoes. No wonder I blew story problems, my socks slid down, and skirt zippers always wandered to the front. I was left-handed!

Later, I discovered right-handed people invented algebra. They also designed SAT tests and college applications.

The bank did not buy it, though, when I wrote my first overdrawn check.

And I thought story problems were a problem.

My generation and I blamed the Establishment, then eventually graduated to blaming the government: Democrats for deficits and potholes; Republicans for job losses and crabgrass.

McDonald’s, because they make us spill hot coffee.

If all else fails, we can blame the stars. Perhaps left-handed, too, heavenly bodies stumble in a cosmic Hokey Pokey that affects paychecks, love lives and bowling scores.

Some take the blame straight to God’s Complaint Department. “My life’s a mess. Your fault!”

He eyes the patched-up, parts-missing, jumble of perpetual motion. “Did you read the Directions?”

Um.

Funny. We rarely blame Him or other people for good things. Just sayin’.

  • Instead of pronouncing traffic “god-awful,” we could describe sunsets, babies and cardinals as “God-beautiful.”
  • We might compliment a busy McDonald’s employee for hot coffee.
  • Or even praise a hardworking public servant.
  • We could thank parents who let us live. Ditto for teachers.
  • I might learn to appreciate my brothers, even if they didn’t move to Gorlojxx.

Thankfully, Hubby has not moved, either, despite living with Quirkzilla for 44 years.

Approaching the restaurant, I admit, “I forgot to turn off the air conditioning. Seriously, that hot flash would have melted Alaska.”

He grins.

“Thanks for dinner out,” I add. “If I’m spoiled, I blame you.”

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Whom can you blame for something good?