Warning: blog-worthy but a bit bloody

Don't attempt to think up a post for your blog while you're making lunch. One of your ideas may just come true and/or revisit you.

One of my trains of thought was about a certain sister who, without premeditated malice, was the catalyst on two separate occasions for my receiving two substantial wounds. One happened when we lived in a random town in New Hampshire (ask another family member where it was, I don't remember, heh). She asked me to go to the basement to get something for her because, as she later admitted, she didn't want to do it herself. So I, like a good sister, started to make my way down the stairs. Part way down there was a landing on which were a couple bags of trash waiting to be taken to the can outside. In my hurry, I stepped on the corner of one of those bags and met up with a tin can which had been improperly opened (I think she said she was the one who did it... or was it me? I don't remember, but I'll say it was her because it makes for a better story), leaving the top edge perfectly suited for making crecent-shaped cuts on the bottom of bare feet. Weeee!

I remember sitting in the back of the van as my mum drove me to the doctor to get stitched up, with a towel wrapped around my foot. Then in the waiting room... then laying on the doctor's table while he took a needle and stuck it into the wound to numb it before he stitched it up. I wanted to watch, because I thought it was cool. My mum sat in the corner on a chair and felt a little green while she watched someone stick sharp objects in my foot. After I was all put back together, I was sent home with a pair of crutches. I was thrilled! What could be more fun than having to use crutches? Besides, I got more attention that way. I was a weird little kid. I still have the scar, too.

The second event was far less riveting. The previously mentioned sister had broken a mirror by accident. She'd cleaned up the mess and put it in the trash can (what is it with me, trash and sharp objects?). Later that day I stepped up next to the can on my way to do something else and my calf came down on a large shard of mirror that was protruding from the top of the can. Slice. Blood. And a laughing recount of aforementioned story. The end.

So, as I was making lunch for the Bible School students today, I considered this pair of stories as blog fodder, but rejected them as not interesting enough on their own and also because I didn't really want to shed a shadow on any of my sister's reputations. But then something happened to change my mind (sorry, Sister! *grins*).

I was running a little behind in time, so I hurried from the cooler with a two quart jar of apple sauce, shaking it back and forth to mix the thinner sauce at the bottom of the jar with the thicker at the top. I headed around the counter on my way to grab a bowl when it happened. The jar slipped from my grasp and shattered as it hit the edge of the counter. Apple sauce and glass everywhere! Including a fair portion on my *blush* not-wearing-shoes-in-the-kitchen!-stockinged foot and down the front of my skirt. There was a shocked silence (which wasn't surprising, seeing as how I was the only person in the kitchen at the time), and then I let the residual shards of glass left in my hands drop onto the counter. If that jar had been about two inches to the left, I would have included the noun 'blood' in with the "Apple sauce and glass... !"

But, thank God, all I had to clean up was two quarts of apple sauce, mixed with hidden shards of glass, from the counter, down the front of the cupboard and dribbled into a cold, gooey puddle on the floor. Yum.

So, like I said at the beginning, don't dream up blogs while you cook lunch. Your chances of getting a vital appendage cut off increase sharply.


Birthday greetings

Happy birthday, Lisa!

Now, tell me that isn't cool?

This is something

For lack of anything to post, I came up with something else to amuse my masses of admiring readers.

I will open my pictures file, avert my gaze and start clicking. The first picture I come up with I will upload onto my blog. Dangerous, I know.

**commences clicking**

Ok, here we have a coffee maker (obviously). I took this picture while in Israel. It contains some of the strongest coffee known to man. Just add twice as much grounds called for to begin with, then half way through percolation, remove coffee pot and pour coffee back through the grounds. Once it is totally finished, drink. However, if your stomach is not made of iron, you may need to look for something to calm its inevitable ragings.

That was fun... **starts clicking again**

Well, you already know what is wrong with me in this picture.

**more clicking**

This is a donkey. It lives in Nazereth.

**clicks again**

Aaahahahaha! I did this one really small because... well... you understand. Mel, remember? You told me I could post them?? Yes? You do remember, you must!

Eeeh heh heh heh.... I think I better stop while I'm ahead.

There you have it. Your entertainment for the day.


Not much, but at least it's something

Friday, Gerry let me drive the backhoe. Well, not drive it, but mess about digging in a hole. There are four levers to control the movements of the arm (it's an old machine), but it's like trying to braid four strands of spaghetti.

I was bad at it.

But it was fun, so it didn't really matter how bad I was. I guess.