So there I was, ready to get this New Year’s Eve party started. I only lacked my husband Steven (the only other guest expected since Spunky the dog was already here) and all the food I said I was going to fix. I thought it would be a good idea to open a bottle of wine, so I could sip a little while I chopped and mixed. And then things got ugly. A short time later, I was posting the following on Facebook:
“So I open a bottle of wine, so I can enjoy a libation while I fix the snacks. Somehow a chip gets broken off the rim of the bottle, and I cut my thumb! It’s bleeding big red drops (although a very pretty color)! I get a Band-aid on it and go to cry on Facebook, and it’s STILL bleeding! I fortunately do not bleed on my laptop. I employ pressure and elevation for a short time and it seems to have done the trick. Then I see my thumb is bleeding from two places. Two Band-aids later, I wonder if I can be trusted with a knife.”
It really does seem OK, but you know what a drama queen I am (it’s a little awkward to hit the space bar with the band-aids on my thumb) (it is my right hand, by the way). I thought it might be a good idea to make my blog post before attempting any further culinary adventures. I’m even thinking in a vague sort of way of sending out for pizza and making all the fun party snacks I planned tomorrow instead.
In the meantime, I had meant to write my blog post about quite a different thing. I was going to talk about resolutions vs goals and strive for some profound thoughts about improving myself. Or I was going to get all introspective about the passage of time and change and our own perceptions of what makes a good year. I even had some vague notion of musing on these artificial milestones we invent for ourselves: Why is one revolution around the sun called a year? Who even figured out how we got back to the same place in the planetary ellipse?
And here I am, doing what once got a professor really annoyed with me: writing about what I’m not going to write about (in my defense, he only wanted a two page paper; how much could I say in that?). My thumb is fine; my wine glass is almost empty. However, I feel disinclined to begin cooking or refill the glass, because a little dog (above-mentioned third guest at the party) is snuggled up next to me so cozily, I hate to disturb him. Happy New Year, everyone.
Mohawk Valley Girl 