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IcedJanuary 31, 2009 Or, "A hand is neither a cushion nor a flying saucer." The ice has been melting. Well, not much melted today because the temp never got out of the mid-twenties, but you can actually walk with long strides down most of Pine Hill, around the field at Misty Meadows, and back on Halcyon Way. Until you get to the un-halcyon hill, the glacial grade that defeated Uhura Mazda's uphill climb the other day. This morning it defeated me: I was walking very carefully down it, Travvy wasn't pulling a bit, and whoosh, my Muck-booted feet slid out from under me. As my butt headed for the ice my left hand reached down and back to break my fall. Dumb dumb dumb. I've never broken a bone so I don't know what it feels like, but I'm 98% sure my bones have survived this mishap intact too: nothing snapped, and 12 hours later the pain seems to be diminishing. It still smarts, though. My fingers can spread and clench, but they sure don't want to. All day my left hand has been leaving the driving and lifting to my right. It probably wasn't a great idea to be kneading a fairly stiff bread dough immediately after I got home; on the other hand, maybe this saved me from permanent paralysis. My wrist feels better in its elastic and velcro brace but I can't say it feels exactly good. The bread came out great, though. Sourdough whole wheat, with OJ for the liquid, a couple tablespoons of grape jelly for the sweetener, and a big handful of Craisins to grow on. Update, 1 February: Motion is returning to the left hand, though it's noticeably pudgier than the right. Even for a right-hander, barn chores require considerable left-hand involvement: carrying buckets, wielding a pitchfork, pushing a wheelbarrow . . . I managed to do it all, but very carefully.
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