My plan today was to tidy the house and dive into WIP edits; after a full weekend helping husband with roof-related project following a couple of days caring for my nieces, I was eager to catch up on writing-related work. Then hubs needed help with morning errands. We made it home shortly before noon. Still plenty of time to bring my plans to fruition.
Hubs returned to the roof, I was about to start making us lunch when daughter called. I wasn’t on the phone with her but two minutes and youngest son bellowed: MOM, DAD NEEDS TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL!
Turns out it wasn’t a joke. Hubs had indeed sliced his pinky finger, almost to the bone, on sheet metal used to line roof valleys (where two roof lines intersect). Five hours and fifteen stitches later we staggered in the the front door, and I spent the next half hour helping hubs wrap his bandage in protective wrap, and cut and fit a glove to go over his now 4x-normal-size digit and protect his remaining digits, so he could clamber up the ladder and resume where he left off and I could reroute to where I left off.
Fired up computer, and while it was doing its thing, I set about swiffing up the cat hair, taking out garbage and recycling, loading and starting dishwasher and a load of laundry, and was about to clean litter box (last job before sitting down to edit!) and Hubs came in, panicked look on his face.
“What time is it? I need more of these!” He hoists an empty box of 1 1/4″ roofing nails.
Hubs’s wounded pinky
It was 7:30 pm. Building supply store closes at 8 pm. Guess who had to hop in her flip-flops and then her car and zoom down to politely ask a weary man in an orange apron to roll his stairway to hell over to the roofing nail section and climb up and haul down a huge box containing the smaller boxes of the kind of nails I needed, because the shelf where said smaller boxes of nails should be, was empty? Yeah. That was me.
810 pm I delivered nails to the roof. 815 pm and I was scooping cat poop. Then I washed up and made tea. Before I could carry it to my office, my father-in-law called. After a lovely chat, I packed the phone up to the roof for hubs. Made new tea. Sat at my desk. Computer was in deep hibernation. Woke it up. Wrote this. It’s been fifteen hours since I woke up with great intentions.
Life happens.
I’m just grateful I’m able to happen with it. (And yes, squeeze in a blog post and a few WIP eidits edits.)
Deborah
I think the purpose of life is to be useful, to be responsible, to be honorable, to be compassionate. It is, after all, to matter: to count, to stand for something, to have made some difference that you lived at all. ~ Leo C. Rosten
