It’s remarkable that technology allows me to acces the internet on my phone, but it is less than convenient to blog on a miniscule keyboard and two inch screen. Who thought microsoft word would be a good idea on a phone?
For the second time, I’m on the road in an 18-wheeler. I enjoyed the first venture and wanted to give it another shot, but I hadn’t planned for it to be so soon.
My fiance, Will, and I had big plans for the weekend. It was Memorial Day, so there was an extra day to enjoy. Will’s family has a big cattle ranch in the Flint Hills and that’s where I headed Friday. That evening, some of Will’s friends were having a barn party. As soon as I arrived, Will wanted to hurry out the door. But first he just HAD to show me the WWI trench knife he’d just bought. The knife has a metal scabbard with a very small opening. Instead of shoving the knife back into its sheath, Will accidentally shoved the knife an inch into his hand.
He put the knife down and I saw that it wasn’t in the sheath. Will looked like the cat who swallowed the canary. “Did you just cut yourself?” I asked.
“I think I might have.”
“How bad is it?”
“I haven’t looked yet.”
At this point I went into panic mode. Will’s mom is a nurse and I made Will show the wound to her (rather than just stick a bandaid on it like he wanted). After threats of emergency room, Will promised to be careful with his hand and we went on to the barn party.
Will’s mom had worried that the party wouldn’t be what I was expecting. I was expecting a bunch of people drinking in a barn and fortunately that’s exactly what it was. There were only about a dozen people there in the coolest barn I’d ever seen. It had a wooden floor and a bar built in and up in the loft was a stage, bleachers, and picnic tables.
Half the people there had guitars, plus a mandolin and a banjo, and they jammed out with every folksong and bluegrass tun they could remember. Everyone sang and if you didn’t know the words you just drank your beer and nodded along.
We closed down the party and in the morning when everyone was awake and sober, we showed Will’s hand to his dad (a doctor). Doctor Billy was somewhat appalled and we immediately drove 10 miles into town to get it stitched up.
The shot to numb it is always the worst, so I hear. After it got all numbed up, Dr. Billy brought in the suture kit and handed me a bottle of Lidocane and a clean syringe. “What’s this for?”
“If we need extra, you’ll draw it up.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“You’ll learn.”
Fortunately I didn’t have to learn. Five stitches later and we were back to the ranch. But then came the question, how was Will supposed to steer while shifting gears, write his logbook, or open/close the tarp on his truck with his dominant hand out of commission? That’s where I came in.
So I’m an honorary trucker and Will’s left hand for the week. With my fiance next to me, delicious onion rings in my belly, and the Kansas sunset on the other side of the bugsplatted windshield, life is good.
The Blargh Critic 