At approximately 8:30 in the morning on Friday, July 13th, I ended a 42 year run of being able to say, “No! I’ve never been stung by a hornet!” I was outside watering my tomatoes and roses and when I went to return the hose to its rightful place, I felt something on my left hand. When I looked down, THERE WAS A HORNET SITTING THERE LOOKING AT ME IN ALL CAPS!!! I did what anyone who is not experienced with venomous insects would do. I freaked out, the bee inserted his/her stinger halfway between my thumb and wrist, and I screamed. (I can’t remember the last time I screamed. Wait. Yes I do. It was four years ago when this happened in the parking lot at Starbucks.) I’ve been through an appendectomy, two c-sections, oral surgery during which six teeth were removed, a tattoo, a nose piercing, and several car accidents and break-ups. Nothing compares to The Sting of The Hornet. Let’s shorten the story. I took a bunch of pills, and I iced the sting all day. Every time the ice bag would melt, the pain returned.
At 7:30 on Friday night, I went to the urgent care shoebox hospital place, where the doctor: 1. Yelled at me for waiting so long to come in. 2. Was all concerned about the black spots around the sting until I laughed and said, “Oh! Those are Oreo crumbs!” and brushed them away. 3. Prescribed a steroid, an antihistamine, Naproxen, and VICODIN. (I threw away the Vicodin prescription, because I’m afraid I might like Vicodin a little too much.) On Friday night, I slept with a huge ice pack on my hand. By Saturday morning, the pain was gone.
SO, we packed up the car and drove to the mountains.
This is the view from our cabin. The week is going to be perfect for many reasons, including the fact that we found someone to watch our house and our dogs. All is well here, and all is well back home. This means I can eat my cereal (with almond milk!) on the front porch with a ripped-up Vicodin prescription and absolutely no need for Xanax.
This morning I woke up at 4:45 and heard something walking around on our porch. I looked out the window, but I didn’t see anything. I read in bed for a bit (Catching Fire!), and about every 15 minutes or so, I heard the noise. When Jeff got up at 7:00, he found a dead and mangled mouse right outside our front door. I know this is probably the work of a cat or a raccoon (or hopefully, a sweet baby bear!), but my mind wants to believe that we’re going to have our own Boo Radley during our stay in the mountains. Please keep your fingers crossed that tomorrow will find us holding some fresh hand-carved wooden dolls at 7:00 in the morning. (I’ve pinned a note to the rocking chair that says, “We prefer craftiness to carnage.” Here’s hoping Boo is able to read and respect.)
Because Kris Allen told me to live like we’re dying, this morning I went to a spinnery, spun some wool on a Sidekick, and purchased eight ounces of merino/tussah.
It’s going to be a good week. I hope yours is the same.