Monday Memories and Self-Portrait Tuesday—Bony Fingers

The other day I heard an old song on the radio, “Work your fingers to the bone, what do you get? Bony fingers. Bony fingers.” That song isn’t true. Over the years I have spent considerable time using my fingers and they are still plump—not as chunky as my toes, but definitely on the thickset side.

Finger Exercise One: Monday afternoon was a several-hour-mega-ironing session. Calvin mentioned a couple of days ago that he hadn’t seen a couple of his shirts for a month, I countered that surely it had only been a couple of weeks, but as I ironed my way to the bottom of the basket I found a shirt I haven’t worn since I went to see Rachel’s family, so that makes him the winner.

Finger Exercise Two: I had to sew a button on a vest and mend a tear in a shirt sleeve so they could be ironed. I pulled out my 25 year old sewing machine that was ancient even when it was new, yet seams fine for my sewing abilities. I learned to sew in 4-H on a curler bag, though my hair was too short for curlers and I had no need for a bag for curlers I could not wear. I had to rip out several seams on the little curler bag that held curlers for my hair that was too short for curlers. I got a red ribbon on the curler bag that I did not need. I hated that curler bag and sewing. But at least I got exercise for my fingers and learned to sew.

Little did I know that my primitive sewing skills and my little ancient sewing machine would be a golden hen. She has saved and made us more money than any other minor appliance in our home. Curtains, shirts, little-kid pants, a hundred rag dolls, hand-stitched wall hangings and pillows, a few quilt bindings, a couple of dresses, mending, and odds and ends projects have all added to her value. But . . . for all that ironing and sewing my fingers are still not bony.

Finger Exercise Three: Today I typed and typed and typed. My niece, Abby, wrote asking for activity ideas for an upcoming youth conference so I sent several. Today’s self-portrait challenge was to be taken giving a gift to a total stranger. My gift is the hope that some of those activity ideas will help some young man or young woman feel a part of a larger group, feel valued and make some new friends. But, still . . . for all that ironing and sewing and typing my fingers are still not bony.

Monday Memories and SPT—#21 of My 100 List

high school varsity letter

#21. When I graduated from high school I no longer had any desire to compete athletically.

When I wrote my 100 List (any other SPT’ers wishing they had taken a little more time to write a list of more substance?), this WAS a true statement. I had lots of opportunities to compete in high school, but the drive to do battle subsided when I graduated. I should have noticed it waning at one state volleyball tournament. We were in a final game and I was serving—my strong point. I quickly found the opponent’s weak link. She was in the back row, middle position. Again and again I kept serving to her, just above her chest but below her neck. Though they were strong serves, at this point of the competition she should have been able to return them, but she couldn’t. Points kept racking up. At first she was just frustrated but then she got flustered. Finally she started crying. I felt terrible. I felt awful. I wanted to pick on someone new and give her a break; however our coach was a strong presence. Finally, the other team’s coach mercifully called a time out and I trotted to our huddle. Our coach got in my face and wagged her finger and said, “So help me, if you quit serving to her, and I can see you’re going to because you feel badly for her, but so help me if you do, I’ll yank you and you won’t play again.”

We won the state tournament.

The will to compete athletically was gone until a few weeks ago when I was introduced to the Wii. Ignite the fire. There was still an ember in that little Wii tennis ball when it was my turn to serve. Calvin was my opponent. The more I served, the more frustrated he got. The more frustrated he got, the harder I laughed. There was no intimidating coach, there was no crying; it was just me and the Wii and Calvin cursing.

Does anyone know of a tennis Wii competition? ;0)
Are you still competitive?