There’s a lot I want to write about, but I don’t feel like writing about anything.
Does that make any since?

But, if I’m ever going to squeak my books, I really should actually start writing – anything from the start.   It’s easy to say you’re a writer, but hard to be one.

So.. um… here a random thing I don’t think anyone knows about me.

—-   Before you read below, cross your heart you tell anyone.
If you do, I’ll deny it.   I’ll claim someone hacked my account just like everyone else does.
————-   Hey, how do you know it’s not hacked right now?   Hummm…..

Okay, here it is.

The big reveal…

…………………

 

….

I really don’t know my left from my right.

Yeah, no, really I don’t.

I’ve gotten by all these years on a physical deformity.

—   Let me explain.

Cute little stubborn-butt me just got a puppy.    I don’t know how old I was, but I do know I had a dog before I had a brother.  We’d just moved from the yellow house to the house where I could draw on the walls and had a dragon living in the basement.

The little puppy wasn’t allowed in the house, but I was a child and alone.  I let the puppy in.  He was a mutt, yellow and white, that my parents graciously allowed me to take from the neighbors.  The parents, of course, protested, but cute stubborn-butt little me usually could have her way and she did.

Parents griped that I wouldn’t take care of him… the puppy was a him… and being me, had to prove them wrong.    I just got back from school.   The puppy was alone all day and, to take care of it, I had to feed it.

Since we just got him, the only thing we had in the house was canned doggie food.   For some reason, we hadn’t purchased any kibble yet.   I think it was probably because he was a puppy and we wasn’t 100% sure what to feed him.

I took out a can.   I think the label was red.  Maybe blue.   And went to open it.

Have you seen one of the really old iconic can openers?  They kind of look like a box and where usually white.   They have a silver handle that you hold down against the blade while the can turns around in circles?

Well, if you don’t know about that type of can opener, shame on you.   I’m not that old yet.

We had one of those, except it wasn’t white.   It was more white-ish, dulled by age.   The handle was tarnished.  The little circle blade wasn’t clean.   Rather, the edge was covered by unknown grime from countless soup and vegetable cans.  I was forbidden to use it.

Okay.   I could not use it and disappoint my cute yellow puppy.   Or… I could use it, show the parents I can take care of a dog, and do something I wasn’t supposed to do.

Well, that’s a big duh.   Of course, I’d use it.

And I did….

And I think I got about the can half opened when my hand slipped and the blade cut into my left hand, right at the base of my pointing finger.

I really don’t remember much except there was a lot of blood and, at one point, I swore I saw white, but that wasn’t important.

What — was — important was getting the top of that fracken can of dog food to feed my puppy.   He was hungry, excited, and happy.  I dedicated myself to taking care of him at that moment and that is exactly what I did.

Then, came the clean up.
I knew that, at one point, the parents were going to come home and I couldn’t have this mess everywhere.   I cleaned up the best I could, pressed a kitchen towel against my hand, and put a bunch of band-aids on it, think I could claim it was an accident from school.

Mom, I think, came in eventually.  I’m sure she had to know or suspect something was amiss, but I don’t think she asked and I certainly didn’t volunteer.  As far as I remember, I got away with taking care of my puppy.

Several weeks or months later, after going through a couple of boxes of band-aids, I noticed that I had scar right where that blade hit my left hand.  It’s crescent shaped.   At one point, it was really white, but age has toned that down.  Unless someone looks carefully, they probably wouldn’t see it at all.

From that day forward,  if I ever needed to know my left from my right, I would always look for that scar first.   And, year and years later, I still do.    So, it’s quite likely that I may not know my left from my right if I didn’t have my scar.