When the lift disappears and the bare bones are left
Taking a break
When the lift disappears and the bare bones are left
Taking a break
You want to see a scar, then brace yourself. It is not pleasant and left a deep mark physically as well as mentally although me personal physician did his best with a touch of plastic surgery.
It happened during my cooking efforts in the kitchen. I too the guillotine from the cupboard to chop some innocent parsley and it fell out of my hands. A lot of things seem to fall out of my hands these days. It left a curel brown mark in my nice white kitchen cupboard on its way down. It decided to bounce off my cupboard door leaving a dent on the way. My beatuful cupboard door was no longer perfect, it had a scar. It left a deep imprint also on my sense of perfection. I studied this mark for at least 2 days desparing at the imperfection of the cupboard door, then one day I saw Mr. Swiss with a small bottle in his hand conntaining some sort of white fluid. Yes, this is the result. he painted the dent with white nail polish. I have never used white nail polish and neither has Mr. Swiss of course, but he once bought a small bottle for painting over small cracks. We now have an interesting dent on the door, but the colour matches the rest of the door.
Real scars are something completely different, but they have their positive aspects. If you have a scar you are somebody, you will be admired, people have interest in you.
“Where did you get that scar?”, “That is quite a scar you have there” “It must have been painful when it happened” are some of the remarks you collect. There is nothing better than a neat little accident. Broken bones bring the best reaction. The more complex the break, the better. If you have the luck to have a steel plate screwed onto the bone with 15 screws (as I do), even better . You will be admired, treated as a hero and then you can tell everyone aout it, you reach the pinnacle of attention.
Here you can see my scar that I incurred on the upper arm when I broke it. It looked much better when it was fresh. A red lined thread together with so-called stitches. I also have a photo, but found there might be a little too much technicolour to show on a children friendly web site. I just found the x-ray photo of my broken arm, fantastic. Our hospitals always give you a DVD of your scar causes as a souvenir, what a great idea. You can even invite your friends to a dia evening.
I was the center of attention and everyone wanted to see my arm when I returned to work. I also broke the lower arm a few years before. That was also very interesting as it was held together with steel wire at the elbow. Ufortunately the steel wire was removed after some time, as I fell on it and squashed it flat, which was causing a certain amount of annoyance. Yet a second scar after the wire had been removed. Unfortunately I have no pictures of the event. There is one advantage, that the scar on my upper arm continues with an interval of a few centimeters on my lower arm. It really makes a perfect picture and completes forms a certain symmetry.
These are the scars you can see. The two scars that are hidden are more interesting and would be a great cause for admiration. They were both due to the removel of my twin brother or sister, which I deicided was not going to happen. I fought against it since I was born, but he/she only began to complain when I reached the age of 50. Let us stick to the medical name of teratoma. My teratoma was a friendly one, but decided to grow and so it was removed. It did not scream or complain but was adament and so a few years later there was a second operation because he/she decided to make a comeback. I now have a horizontal scar on my lower back through the solar plexis, very interesting, and a verticle scar on my stomach. It is the product of two operations, one 3 hours and the other 7 hours. I am a murderer, I paid a medical doctor assassin with my medical insurance to remove my teratoma, to kill it. The surgeon assured me that he checked it all with a microscope and there is no chance that it would regrow again. This was after he had removed the stitches on my stomach and I asked him if he wanted to sign his work or art. Some how he did not get the joke. Surgeons are humourless persons. I think he sold the story to Stephen King afterwards, but am not sure.
I quite enjoyed this blogging subject. I just love to talk about myself and the heroic deeds I have overcome in my life.
Let us spare a thought on this May Day to the vacuum cleaners, here a close up portrait of my Dyson, who will be working even if it is a day of rest, known as May Day.
Today is 1st May, known as May Day in the english speaking world. In my little world which is Swiss German speaking, although we also use real German, it is known as “Tag der Arbeit” which is very controversial to my anglo translating mind as it would mean Day of the work. No-one works on 1st May, except for housewives, hospitals and other general life enhancing places. Even our police are distributing fines to falsely parked cars and ensuring that no-one robs a Swiss bank.
There are many customs attached to this day and every country has their own. In the olden days when I was still living in England, it was not celebrated by the masses. Only civil servants were rewarded with a day off work, meaning that my local library and the town hall was closed. As time went on, the workers in GB wanted what the rest of Europe already had. They looked to Moscow with their wonderful May Day parades, showing their latest rockets, tanks and other weapons, and decided what they have we want as well. GB have now joined the rest of Europe after all they are in the EU – at the moment. I do not really know what they do to celebrate, but I imagine maypoles decorated with flowers, Morris Dancers with bells on thei shoes and young maidens dancing around the Maypole. Perhaps I am wrong and everyone just does nothing.
We also have a few interesting customs in Switzerland – perhaps they also exist in other European countries. The first words from Mr. Swiss this morning were
“Everything is still OK in the garden, no mess with odd pieces of furniture and nothing taken.”
Just one of our customs where the male youth of the village remove anything we leave in the garden and collect it and perhaps replace it with the rubbish of the others. There is usually a notice somewhere telling everyone that any furniture articles missing might be found on the village square. It happened once to us a few years ago. We have a very small village square so everything is piled up. Something like this.
Not quite. This is a photo I took of our twice a year discarded items for the special rubbish collection where you can throw anything out. Generally most of is disappears before the garbage men arrive. There are certain groups of people touring with trucks collecting what might be useful for their own use.
The village square is a five minute walk from our home and Mr. Swiss collected it all after rummaging through the pile. I think he needed two journeys to gather it all. There is no point in reporting it to the local police, they are too busy searching for their own belongings. Perhaps a few bicycles and hats, “Now where did I put my gun?”.
There is a more civilised custom where the male youth of the village (again) put up a May Pole. This Pole is very high, almost as high as a house. On it there are photos of all the ladies of the village that achive their 20th birthday. You see them dotted all over the Swiss landscape in the villages on 1st May.
And now Mr. Swiss is celebrating the day by hoovering the living room. My celebrations also begin soon by starting to cook Sunday lunch. Today it is a veal ragout, and I like the meat to cook slowly, preparing it in my usual 5-star method.
Enjoy your May Day wherever you are, Inuit and Lapplanders, as well as our friends in deepest The Gambia. Everyone is entitled to a May Day.
A Londoner now enjoying country living.
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