|
 “Never
give a sword to a man who can’t dance.” Confucius
“My alter ego ‘Stumbalina’ strikes again.” “I trip over my own
toenails. This is a proven fact.” Pinterest.
I was cleaning out dresser drawers the other day. Extremely proud of
myself, I had the courage (or idiocy) to throw out all the stray
socks. It was a difficult decision to either wear mismatched socks
or toss them. I decided to toss. With aplomb, pride, and delight of
a job well done, I slam dunked my final pair into the dresser
drawer. Pain shot through my ring finger on my right hand. I had
embedded a sliver about half and inch long down into my nail bed.
Have you ever hurt so badly, you don’t even want to look at what is
causing the pain? That was me. It turned my stomach when I finally
realized what had happened. It was a deep sliver with no portion of
it available to pull out with tweezers. What to do? What to do? My
first thought was Urgent Care. Then I worried it wasn’t a big enough
injury to go there. Then I worried my insurance wouldn’t cover it.
Meanwhile I’m hopping around the house in pain. No. I have no idea
why I hop when I hurt. I just do. Heavy sigh.
Deciding I’m a big girl and I can do this was the final decision. My
after thought is I should have gone to Urgent Care. It was on my
right hand and I am most definitely right-handed. I do not have good
control of my left hand. I tried to prop a magnifying glass under a
lamp and force tweezers under my nail. After more hopping and tears,
I tried cutting my nail way down to get ahold of the sliver. I
cursed my sock drawer.
“It is not enough to know what is good: you must be able to do it.”
George Bernard Shaw.
I knew what to do. I just couldn’t do it. I called a friend for
advice. His advice of sterilizing a needle and going forth appalled
yet repulsed me. I called my son that is a nurse. He asked about my
last tetanus shot and wished me luck. Nurses are mean people.
Suffice it to say the next couple of days were painful and I tried
all kinds of procedures and options. It’s been over a week now. The
sliver is mostly out and I can suffer in relative comfort. I’ve
decided it will grow out or get infected and my finger will fall
off.
Do you ever wonder how it would be to live in a body that was
actually coordinated? I am in constant battle with inanimate
objects. Clothes hangers are the bane of my existence. I hate them
but they are a necessity. Wire ones, wooden ones, padded ones…...it
doesn’t matter…... they cling together and seemingly mate together
and conspire together to make my life miserable. I struggle from
taking them out of their holder….to putting my clothes on them….to
hanging them in the closet. They truly have a life of their own and
I hate each and every one of them.
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Lou Holtz, coach, “Ability is what you’re capable of doing.
Motivation determines what you do. Attitude determines how well you
do it.”
Well Coach Holtz, I definitely have a hanger attitude.
For years I volunteered at Chicago Episcopal Cursio. It equates to
Living Waters, Walk to Emmaus, etc. I cooked, cleaned, gave speeches
and loved every single second of it. The problem was the music. I
adored the singing, and dancing, and clapping. The conundrum was I
wasn’t coordinated enough to keep up with them. I’m swaying
impaired. As we stood in a loving Christian circle and sang praises
to our Lord, we would sway together in harmony with one another and
our love of God. They would sway right to left. I would sway left to
right. I would stop singing so I could totally concentrate on the
correct way to vacillate. It didn’t work. It only made it more
difficult. Thankfully my brothers and sisters in Christ accepted my
disability and would hip bump lovingly and prayerfully with me.
Then there’s the songs of joy where one just must clap to show your
appreciation of life. I’m always half a beat off with the other
clappers. Why is this? Wouldn’t just the probability of life be that
I’d be on beat once in a while? Nope. Again, the group accepted that
there would be that off beat half clap between the regular rhythm of
the crowd. They even kindly bought me a tambourine thinking that
would be my salvation. It was too difficult for me to simultaneously
remember the words, the tune, shake the thing and hit it with my
hand or on my hip. I was truly overwhelmed. With much rolling of his
eyes, and a hug of appreciation for a job badly done, Richard took
my beloved tambourine away. He advised me to clap softly for my
Lord.
Today I go to a church that really gets into singing and praising
our Jesus on Sundays. There are hands raised, songs of joy, and
clapping enough to make ones heart soar in exultation. I stand
desperately grasping the back of the pew ahead of me to keep from
embarrassing myself and those around me.
Now, I know the Lord loveth an uncoordinated soul. But I still plead
with Him daily that perhaps He could extend me just a bit more
deftness, agility, nimbleness…...a bit of zip if He would, please.
My mouth is also an awkward part of me. Have you ever jokingly said
something to someone and they don’t realize it and spend thought and
time to answer you? There just is no coming back from that.
“There is nothing quite as painful as truly awkward silence.”
Author, Obert Skye.
L. Maxine McQueen
may be contacted at
maxmac.1@juno.com
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