As anyone knows who has ever studied an instrument -- oh let's say for the sake of argument, an accordion -- life is not fair. You practice and practice, and when it's time to perform at, let's say, your last class of term, things still don't work out.
It has nothing to do with character or karma, as we all know that fairly awful people can sometimes perform quite brilliantly. And meanwhile, why do bad things happen to good people?
As anyone knows who has ever used a food mandolin, there is one thing that is certain in your future. It is that you will be putting a little bit of yourself into the food you lovingly prepare.
That is the best outcome.
The worst is the Emergency department, and a lot of blood-soaked rags.
If you have your inevitable mandolin outcome while you are home alone, you are forced to deal. Fainting is not an option. Fortunately, the part of you that looks after stuff while the ostensible you is freaking out, knows this and is aware that you will bleed out if left to your own devices. So it hoists your hand in the air while it rummages in the medicine cabinet for bandaids, cursing like a sailor and taking deep gulps of air.
How could you be so stupid?
Did I nearly cut off my finger so I wouldn't have to play?
*****
On the bright side:
Kerry Clare of Pickle Me This has written some nice (I want to say perceptive) things about a long-ago essay of mine that she found in a back issue of Descant magazine.
It has nothing to do with character or karma, as we all know that fairly awful people can sometimes perform quite brilliantly. And meanwhile, why do bad things happen to good people?
That is the best outcome.
The worst is the Emergency department, and a lot of blood-soaked rags.
If you have your inevitable mandolin outcome while you are home alone, you are forced to deal. Fainting is not an option. Fortunately, the part of you that looks after stuff while the ostensible you is freaking out, knows this and is aware that you will bleed out if left to your own devices. So it hoists your hand in the air while it rummages in the medicine cabinet for bandaids, cursing like a sailor and taking deep gulps of air.
How could you be so stupid?
Writing this as I am, just prior to leaving for my final accordion class, scribbling with one swaddled hand held high in the air, I have one niggling question:
Did this injury happen to thwart me?
or
Did I nearly cut off my finger so I wouldn't have to play?
*****
On the bright side:
Kerry Clare of Pickle Me This has written some nice (I want to say perceptive) things about a long-ago essay of mine that she found in a back issue of Descant magazine.
I'm telling you this not just to be vainglorious and self-aggrandizing (though there's that, too) but also because it's a wonderful blog for anyone who loves books, and especially for afficionados of Elizabeth Bowen, Margaret Drabble, and all the other English novelists those names evoke. Barbara Pym enthusiasts, take particular note!
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I was trying to figure out how you cut yourself on a mandolin. What the heck is a food mandolin anyways?
ReplyDeleteInterestingly, the mandolin entered American popular music at around the same time as the accordion, and both substantially from Italian immigrants and makers. Mandolins became a fad in the 1880's when people started forming mandolin orchestras, and Italian music teachers went "Music Man" style from town to town selling instruments to all the new players.
Bill Monroe, father of bluegrass music in the 1950s, got his start on one of these instruments with his brother in the 1920s.
I'm sorry you cut your hand on one though. Accordions have less sharp edges, at least on the outside.
Ha! Thanks for the info on the less diabolical side of the mandolin family tree. Its more dangerous cousin, the food mandolin, is an irresistible (well to me, anyway) kitchen gadget that slices things incredibly thinly. If that is your thing, you cannot be without one. It comes with a hand guard that renders it safe and all but nonfunctional. Nobody uses it. Instead, you slice away your veg with your hand to a safe limit ... and then what? Mark Bittman says to throw away the rest. How wasteful! When you could easily get a few more slices out of .... oh s**t.
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