All Wrapped Up and No Place To Go

This is what happens when you leave the garden untended for a couple of days while sitting inside feeling sorry for yourself recuperating valiantly from hand surgery. The zucchini morph into inedible, super-size proportions, making them suitable for use only as lamp bases, baseball bats, and the like.

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Meanwhile, the hand that was subjected to the surgery on Monday is super-sized in its own right, and not just from being swathed in yards of bandaging. Bruising and swelling and aching, oh my. Only ten days until the stitches come out and I can begin physical therapy. Which means there is hope that I will be able to return to knitting bliss before the fall weather turns really cold. Yay!

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Of course, it’s my left hand, and I am left-handed. My right hand has been often and derisively maligned as a “useless appendage,” but now that it is the only one I have that functions, it’s suddenly worth its weight in gold. I’ve discovered that there are all sorts of things I can do with my right hand that I never would have thought possible as recently as last weekend. And most of them are even fit for polite company. Typing with one hand is painfully slow and surprisingly inaccurate, but at least I can do it.

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