The Proper Use of Tools

There is a magnet above the sink where I cook. On that magnet hangs many knives. I have a curved knife for cutting orange skins, I have many pairing knives because pairing knives are my very favorite. I have a big Globe knife that Diana gave me years ago but still cuts magically through slices of rare flank steak cooked on the grill. I have a serrated knife because everyone needs one of those to slice through crispy hot ciabatta bread just out of the oven.  I have a long straight edge knife, it’s used for this and that not that much at the end of the day. But knives should not be used as tools other than the tool of knifing.

Yesterday morning our coffee pot ran over because Michael was in a big hurry on Friday coming from the ranch where many cows had been birthing and he had to get to dinner with Todd and Janet who graciously fed him (and me with leftovers) to pick me up at the airport Friday night and he forgot to put the coffee pot underneath the coffee maker. When that happens the water boils up inside of the coffee pot and makes a mess out of everything. It’s happened before. So dutifully I started cleaning the coffee pot after I got up on Saturday morning.  There was just enough to have a cup of coffee but it needed to be cleaned so I worked away. A knife should not be used as a screwdriver.  I have made this mistake before but never with quite the results of yesterday's slip of the hand. I knew as soon as I felt the ting in my finger that I had a pretty deep cut. “I’m going to have to go to the emergency room and this one'" I said to Michael.  There was a profanity uttered as well.  He immediately and rightly so began to question as to what had just happened realizing that I had cut myself really good this time with a knife.  Way to ruin a perfectly good day.  In the end I waited for 3 1/2 hours for the doctor to show up because he had a complicated wrist surgery before me. By the time he got to me it was 1:30 and then took 3 1/2 hours of surgery to connect the artery back together, the nerves, and the tendon that I cut through.  Now all bandaged up, I look back with a grimace of shame for doing something so stupid but also with elation that I didn’t cut off my finger. You always need to find something to be thankful for. The whole event ruined a perfectly good Saturday and now Michael’s behind and I feel bad. He’s off to Freedom to try to get things done.  I sit at this computer wondering how I’m going to do this.  It’s of course my right hand.

Good friend Cyndie, the owner of a hand therapy clinic, will be working on my hand tomorrow and getting me set up hopefully with a splint which I will be able to at least use some digits on my right hand; the two affected digits you can see below. Sorry it’s kind of a gory picture that may make some of you wintz.