Friday, July 5, 2013

The Harar Curse

Since I married my husband, we have been afflicted with what I affectionately refer to as the Harar Curse.  It is a mysterious, invisible entity that seems to encapsulate my family at all times making sure that no matter where we go, trouble will find us.  At times, the curse lies dormant, leading us into a false sense of security. 
This, however, is not one of those times.

I think it's fair to say she was a better
doctor than artist. 
Thinking back, the trouble started brewing around the end of March when I merrily skipped down the stairs in my parent’s garage and swung my hand down at the same time.  My pinky whacked against my mother’s car (don’t worry, the car is fine) and I tore the tendon and chipped off a piece of bone on my right pinky finger.  There is a lovely picture to the right, courtesy of the doctor, for your viewing pleasure.  I had to wear a splint for six weeks and, although it healed, my pinky is still crooked.  Any hopes I had of becoming a hand model were cruelly dashed forever. 

And, if you must know, I was skipping because I was getting wood floor samples from my car to share with everyone.  It was very exciting.
The bone on the right should
be parallel to the bone on the left.

The trouble was just beginning with the pinky, however, because one week after my doctor gave me the okay to remove the pinky splint, I got a call during class.  This is bad.  Very bad.  The front office only interrupts my teaching if there is an emergency, and it was a doozy. My son broke his wrist.  I’m talking a complete snap in half of the bone.  Poor baby.  Anyway, the magic number is six, and he wore the cast like a champion for all of those weeks.

This skating rink is dead to me.
Not to be outdone, about two weeks before Joey got his cast off, I went roller skating with my daughter’s Girl Scout troop.  I failed to give roller-skating the respect it deserves and became over-confident.  I tripped and my right knee slammed into the ground.  I tried to play it off like everything was fine, but the intense swelling and pain got the better of me the next morning and I went to the emergency room.  An MRI, crutches and four days later, I discovered that I cracked my kneecap.  I’m in a leg brace for . . . you guessed it . . . six weeks.   

Last weekend, my husband hit a fox and we got two flat tires while we were in South Carolina.  Sorry.  No picture.  But we did look for it on the way home.

The Curse is back with a vengeance and appears to have no mercy.  Looks like I’ll be throwing salt over my left shoulder, pulling out my statue of the Virgin Mary and avoiding black cats for a while. 

Beth – 0
Curse – 1
Fox - 0