A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.
~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Flight to Arras, 1942
Last night I couldn't sleep. Nothing new, but this time it was because my heel was throbbing. Even SUPERCUTE new boots have their price.
You see, I had to get the perfect cupcake liners. No one notices these things but me, but of course it brings me a sense of satisfaction. But Sur la Table, the home of perfect cupcake liners, was surrounded by construction. I had to park at Barney's, and walk, in my new boots, quite a distance to get to Sur la Table. While I was enjoying showing off my SUPERCUTE new boots to all the people in their cars, stuck in traffic due to construction, I started to notice a big pain in my heel. Which I knew, from years of wearing point shoes, would turn into a ooey gooey blister. Cupcake liners, however, took precedence over pain.
Later, meeting my niece Lauren at the park for some roller skating, I realized that my skates would contribute to my foot wound considerably, unless I could find a band-aid, fast. I silently cursed my lack of preparedness, thinking of all the Hello Kitty and Barbie band-aids I had at home. Just when I was about to fall into despair, I spotted something very interesting on Lauren's arm. A band-aid. A Tweety Bird band-aid.
As luck would have it, she had just gotten a shot. It took some convincing, for children are especially fond of their band-aids, but I showed her my blister and she relinquished her band-aid to the cause of my foot wound. Thus, I was able to skate in relative serenity. But it still hurt. Lauren, who is fearless on her skates, seemed to do okay, even with the loss of Tweety.
Later that night, I was exfoliating and I came across four long scratches right on my bum. These scratches are a great source of confusion to me. The obvious suspect is, of course, Pan, my kitty. She sleeps with me. But I just can't imagine not waking up while she takes a swipe at my bum in the night, leaving these six-inch markings on my bum. They are kind of the same distance apart as her claws. The markings, I mean. But I cast my mind about for any other explanations.
A very macabre story came to mind. About the true story of a boy I read about in the library who was possessed. His parents were taking him to a priest in St. Louis to rid him of the spirit. The night before they were leaving, the spirit wrote "No Louis" on his back in scratches.
Pretty scary, huh? So imagine how scary it is when this thought strikes you late at night, in the shower, and you have unexplained scratches on your bum! VERY uncomfortable feeling. I hope this is not too scary for my many readers who visit my blog. But it is Halloween.
Recently, I bought my bunny a chew toy with noise makers in the middle. They are two walnuts that make clacking noises when the bunny chews on the toy, and this entertains the bunny. When he was done, Pan, who gets in his cage, started playing with the walnuts. They became her favorite toy. I threw them across the house, and she would chase them and bat them around for hours. I thought they were fake walnuts. I really did. I thought they were made of some special plastic. But this morning, throwing Pan her walnut, one hit a bookshelf and broke open. Inside was an actual walnut. Like, you could eat it. Then I grinned, and thought about what a city girl I am, not being able to tell a fake walnut from an actual one.
Nothing encourages creativity like the chance to fall flat on one's face.
~James D. Finley
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