What made me happy today?
- Thread starter big soft moose
- Start date
That taint funny! Bonus points for Busta, though.
Well, maybe a wee bit funny...
Every now and then a book is able to get me to gasp because I didn't see the twist coming. The book I'm currently reading, while full of unpronounceable names and places, has been such a great time. I'm about halfway through it, and I hope it continues to be a good time.
Which book is it, Dogberry's Watch?
And since everyone is discussing injuries, I'll kick in my $0.02. When I was maybe ... five and a bit? ... I really, really wanted to help mum in the kitchen. (This was early 80s, so think 80s cartoons like Transformers, and then imagine how a kitchen, full of busyness, sharp shiny things and naked flames, would excite a boy with way too much imagination!)
Anyway, when my mum's back was turned, I grabbed a knife and tried helping by cutting a carrot. (What? I was five).
Unfortunately, I started by cutting it lengthwise, and it being the first time I cut anything, didn't know how, and the blade ended up slipping and stabbing deeply into a knuckle on one of my index fingers.
To cut a long story short (too late), cue a scene of indescribable mayhem. But lots of blood, screaming, panic, and a visit to the ER later, I had a visible scar ... and I still have it today, a pale but lasting reminder of how not to make dinner. =P
Of course, I'm much older and much stronger than I was then. I've been cooking just fine for decades now. But every so often I look at that scar and smile wryly at the memory of what an adorkable klutz I was.
And since everyone is discussing injuries, I'll kick in my $0.02. When I was maybe ... five and a bit? ... I really, really wanted to help mum in the kitchen. (This was early 80s, so think 80s cartoons like Transformers, and then imagine how a kitchen, full of busyness, sharp shiny things and naked flames, would excite a boy with way too much imagination!)
Anyway, when my mum's back was turned, I grabbed a knife and tried helping by cutting a carrot. (What? I was five).
Unfortunately, I started by cutting it lengthwise, and it being the first time I cut anything, didn't know how, and the blade ended up slipping and stabbing deeply into a knuckle on one of my index fingers.
To cut a long story short (too late), cue a scene of indescribable mayhem. But lots of blood, screaming, panic, and a visit to the ER later, I had a visible scar ... and I still have it today, a pale but lasting reminder of how not to make dinner. =P
Of course, I'm much older and much stronger than I was then. I've been cooking just fine for decades now. But every so often I look at that scar and smile wryly at the memory of what an adorkable klutz I was.
A great-great(-great?) aunt of mine wrote a journal where she chronicled the life of her and her family in the north of England up until about 1950. I’d always been interested in reading what she wrote and a few days ago I found the scans I’d done of the first few pages when I’d considered typing it up for fun - they were scans of scans, because we only have a copy of the original. Unfortunately, the handwriting takes a while to parse, especially where the scanner/printer had a bad day. I handed one of the worst pages over to ChatGPT to transcribe to text and it returned some very good text.
Lightbulb moment.
We dug out the printed copy, and just rescanned all 200+ pages to have a PDF version. I still have to look into the possible ramifications of loading a family history into ChatGPT, but I’m really looking forward to digitising the journal and finally being able to read it. From the excerpts I’ve flipped through, it looks like a gem. It starts with:
Lightbulb moment.
We dug out the printed copy, and just rescanned all 200+ pages to have a PDF version. I still have to look into the possible ramifications of loading a family history into ChatGPT, but I’m really looking forward to digitising the journal and finally being able to read it. From the excerpts I’ve flipped through, it looks like a gem. It starts with:
I've finished the first draft of my next novella, "Yandi and the Fire Mountain" (originally titled "The Bride of Fire"). After a few days' break, I'll start the revision process. I hope to have the thing ready for publication before the end of the year!
Oh, if we're talking injury stories, I've got one (I may or may not have posted on the old board when it happened)... Last year i accidentally sliced a chunk of flesh off the tip of one of my fingers. I swore a bunch of times, rinsed it off (that was probably the most painful bit if I'm honest), wrapped it in a clean hankie (I had a couple fresh out of the drier), and waited a little while to see if it stopped bleeding (the first aid videos recommend this). It didn't, and i was home alone, so I had to get myself to A&E... on the bus. Two buses actually. And I had to walk half a mile (with my hand elevated because it was still bleeding at this point), because I just missed the bus at my nearest stop and it could have been anything up to half an hour before the next one. The wound was too wide to be stitched, so all they could really do was stick a dressing on it for 10 days and then just ordinary sticky plasters until the wound fully closed, which was about 2 1/2 weeks after I injured it. Went on holiday with a dressing that I absolutely could not get wet... we went to the lake district. When i got back to work I found out that my supervisor had been somewhat dramatic about it, causing some people to think the injury was much worse that it was. I on the other hand was so UN-dramatic about it that they questioned whether I understood what I'd actually done.
My most spectacular injuries involved horses. 'Nough said about that.
Louanne Learning
Active Member
Member
New Member
Role Play Moderator
Winner: 4th Contest August
Winner: June Flash Fiction
I've never had a broken bone, but one time as a little girl I shredded the bottom of my foot on the pebble-dash of our house.
May I suggest you continue to avoid broken bones? They hurt.
As a former goalkeeper (and also one who saved penalties, and coincidentally also scored a couple of goals), I absolutely understand the elation.
Agreed about broken bones. When I was younger and stupider, I played goalkeeper for many years (both in indoor and outdoor Association Football aka soccer), and I can't begin to count how many short-term and long-term injuries I had: bruised ribs, elbows in the face, accidental kicks in the groin, and even concussion once. But I count myself lucky, because one of my fellow goalies once saved the goal but was tackled recklessly, which broke his leg.
He was out for a whole year. Nice guy, too.
I retired from the game a few years ago. I still play it socially now and then (especially indoor), but injuries wear you down.
Happy in a reflective sort of way.
I picked the final cucumber of the season this morning (unless one lies hidden 'neath the detritus that lies (or lays[?]) on the garden floor). Not so long ago we planted the seeds in a barren-seeming plot, and without much help or prodding from us the vines poked through and worked their way around, some up the chain-link fence, some even through it to hang on our neighbors' side, like this one. Rains and sun rolled round, and the earth did its magic. Now that season is ending, the vines are yellowed, the leaves torn and tattered. In the next few weeks I'll be gathering those and piling them up for the city to add to its massive composter. Gathering too the tomato cages and trellises, in anticipation and hope of a traditional winter.
Happy to have been granted this summer, and grateful for it all.
I picked the final cucumber of the season this morning (unless one lies hidden 'neath the detritus that lies (or lays[?]) on the garden floor). Not so long ago we planted the seeds in a barren-seeming plot, and without much help or prodding from us the vines poked through and worked their way around, some up the chain-link fence, some even through it to hang on our neighbors' side, like this one. Rains and sun rolled round, and the earth did its magic. Now that season is ending, the vines are yellowed, the leaves torn and tattered. In the next few weeks I'll be gathering those and piling them up for the city to add to its massive composter. Gathering too the tomato cages and trellises, in anticipation and hope of a traditional winter.
Happy to have been granted this summer, and grateful for it all.
Watching the bird feeder outside my kitchen window, as morning sun bursts through after a thunderstorm. Mother and juvenile cardinal were there; even though the kid (can't tell the sex at this age, a male won't get red until later) is as big as mother, the kid keeps chirping and shuddering, begging for food, and mother patiently feeds it. A couple finches were eating from the other side of the feeder; another finch was busy in the nearby hanging birdbath. On the ground a couple sparrows were picking through the trickle-down seeds, and a chipmunk worked around the edges.
A pleasant reminder that life goes on without me.
A pleasant reminder that life goes on without me.
"Paladin, Palidin, where do you roam?
Paladin, Paladin, far, far from home . . . "
Raven
New Member
We've been out of water for almost a week. Today the borehole company came and drilled down to 80m. We were worried for a while, since they drilled quite deep and just found rock and dust, but when the water started spraying it was smiles all around.
While they were still busy I asked the foreman if they had a geological survey map of some kind to help in finding the water, since I expected some scientific comfort in this expensive endeavour. You know, something talking about layers or strata or some such. Something convincing with numbers and lines and... topography. He put out his cigarette, smiled, and produced a chicken egg from his pocket.
"It stands up in your palm if you walk over water," he said confidently in a heavy Afrikaans accent, strutting and demonstrating the method.
Sometimes the world still works on magic just fine, if you let it. Or maybe it was science, somehow? These days I'm just along for the ride, and I'm smiling again for a change.
While they were still busy I asked the foreman if they had a geological survey map of some kind to help in finding the water, since I expected some scientific comfort in this expensive endeavour. You know, something talking about layers or strata or some such. Something convincing with numbers and lines and... topography. He put out his cigarette, smiled, and produced a chicken egg from his pocket.
"It stands up in your palm if you walk over water," he said confidently in a heavy Afrikaans accent, strutting and demonstrating the method.
Sometimes the world still works on magic just fine, if you let it. Or maybe it was science, somehow? These days I'm just along for the ride, and I'm smiling again for a change.
A knight without armor in a savage land - nice reference!
My new Mac Mini arrived. As expected, it compared to my old systems like F1 racers to Model T's. Same mission, different level of performance.
And yet the new Mini migrated files and apps from my arthritic iMac without issue, without apparent judgement of the superannuated hardware it's evolving from. What happened next was a scene out of Brickdust Row.
The migration left the new Mini quiet, without even a hint of fan noise. It was as if after all the fanfare of unboxing, after all the stellar performance antics, it regarded the old iMac and my equally ancient Macbook and realized it "no longer saw a rabble, but his brothers seeking the ideal."
I turn 70 in a few months. Like Brickdust Row's Blinker I could turn my back on promises of salvation with scorn and a curse that it's too late.
But there's a word processor in that new Mini. Where lies the means to write lie paths to redemption. I must explore while the stars in the sky still wheel above. I'm not special. It's what we all must do.
My new Mac Mini has been henceforth known as O.Henry.
This reminds me of back in the day when I lived in the country. You'd hear from time to time that a family you knew was getting a new well dug, and more often than one might think, they'd get a "witcher" to find the proper spot to dig (volunteer for prestige, or for hire). Some would hold a stick and say that it's bending down when they're over water, and others might hold a piece of metal on a string, and when the metal started spinning in a circle, that meant there's water down below.
I later learned in high school physics class that none of this is based in reality; there's no such physical connection between groundwater and a stick, or ring on a string, or an egg. I reckon most of the volunteers really believed they had some kind of mystical gift, and that most that charged for it knew they were scamming people. Simple fact is, if you drill down deep enough in most places, you're very likely to reach the water table.
They're quite good for detecting the gullible.
