It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humour.
― A Christmas Carol
Our Christmas Miracle?
On our weekly family zoom chat, we talked about our scaled-down holiday celebrations. Since our family includes my nine siblings, their spouses, children, and grandchildren, in pre-Covid days this was a huge affair, with family at multiple tables and our family’s signature separate and overloaded dessert tables.
Of course, back when I was growing up, if you rang our doorbell at any dinner time and you were a cousin, knew a cousin, or correctly guessed the partial name of a cousin, you were brought in, another plate was jammed into the dozen already set up, and you got the first serving of pot roast. Meanwhile, kids were evicted from the “guest” room and you were urged to stay the night. At least.
This year, though, children and grandchildren were sheltering, stockings were isolated, and dinner tables were sparse.
But we still had a Christmas Miracle. It all started when I was using the immersion blender to make a crumb topping for the pie. I’d just put in the very last shreds of butter when the blender died. It was the kind with a dead man’s switch that only blends when you’re actually holding down the switch. (Anybody care to take a guess about where this is going?) So there I was with a deceased blender, the very last of the butter wrapped around its cold dead blades. I stuck my finger in to scoop up the rest of the butter.
What happened next was closer to inevitable than miraculous. The blender, with nothing remotely near to press its switch, rose from its deathbed and proceeded to blend the hell out of my poor finger. I wasted a moment gaping, and then further moments screaming, before I finally unplugged the thing.
All I could think was I could NOT afford to lose anything I was cooking for Christmas dinner because of the aforementioned butter shortage. So I wrapped a napkin, two tea towels, and a face towel from the clean laundry around my (don’t look, don’t look, EWWWWW!!) finger and noticed someone was still making a huge racket. Oh yeah, that would be me.
By now, the Hub and the dog were both there trying to help. He peeled back my gory wraps, made yuck faces, and called 911. Then he hung up, googled “emergency number in Italy” and dialed 112. The fun began as he tried to use Google Translate to convey “finger tartare”. (I’m almost positive I heard the word “hamburger”…)
Finally a lovely lady demanded to speak to me. “Do you need to go to hospital? Should we send an ambulance?”
“Um… couldn’t we just do one of those video calls where you tell us how to sew it up ourselves?”
She wasn’t in favor of that idea (although the Hub looked intrigued). Finally we agreed to just see how things went after dinner.
And that’s when it happened. The Christmas Miracle. The Hub, who in the 40+ years we’ve been married, has yet to cook anything with a longer recipe than “Pierce the film”—the man who gave his children microwaved plain potatoes and told them it was “dinner”, the same man who thinks the inventor of Ready Meals should get the Nobel Prize and possibly sainthood—uttered the immortal words, “I’ll finish making dinner.”
I had to stand there, bloody appendage elevated (and darn it all for not being a middle finger), and talk him through each step. But at the end, we had our Christmas dinner. He had to cut up my turkey for me, but it was delicious.
I never did go to the hospital. I’ve been squirting on antibiotic cream like it was ketchup, and wrapping it in bandages, all while trying not to look. I even figured out how to type with the bandage on. I told the Hub he could cook dinner from now on and he wondered if it was worth running a finger or two through the blender himself.
🎄🎄God bless us every one.🎄🎄
judithhb said:
OMG Barb. Hope it heals. But I must say it’s a drastic, may I say even a dramatic, way to get a man to help make dinner. Happy New Year to you, hub and your poor finger.
LikeLiked by 2 people
barbtaub said:
True, it took 40 years. But I can’t argue with success!
LikeLike
beth said:
Wow, you are a very brave soldier, here’s to a speedy healing and glad you still have all of your fingers. I love love your description of your big family
LikeLiked by 2 people
barbtaub said:
I’m actually a remarkably whiny little soldier…but I did get an excellent dinner out it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
beth said:
so there you go
LikeLiked by 1 person
Rosie Amber said:
OMG Barb!
LikeLiked by 2 people
barbtaub said:
I couldn’t agree more!
LikeLike
Cathy said:
Oh my! I wouldn’t have wanted to go to hospital either. Hope your finger is on the mend.
LikeLiked by 2 people
barbtaub said:
Right? I pictured it full of potential virus-murderers. Who needs a fingertip (or nail)?
LikeLiked by 1 person
Cathy said:
Exactly 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sue Vincent said:
I know you got your Christmas miracle, but do keep an eye on that finger!
LikeLiked by 2 people
barbtaub said:
Yes mom.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sue Vincent said:
Granny, please 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person
Georgia Rose said:
Bit of a drastic way to get your hub to reveal his carefully hidden culinary skills, Barb! I’m so glad your finger is on the mend and it’s a good reminder to us all not to poke about in the workings. Hope you get better quickly. x
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
His cooking skills weren’t just hidden. They were under such deep cover 007 couldn’t have found them if he invoked every gadget in MI6’s secret arsenal. So while I (deeply) regret the workings-poking, I’m still in awe of the dinner.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Judith Barrow said:
I squirmed as I read this, Barb. I hope all is well now. Lovely husband! Take care. x
LikeLiked by 2 people
barbtaub said:
Sorry about the squirming. And yes, he did good. (Or at least well enough to be forgiven for speculation on who would get both of the ‘good’ pillows if the other one succumbed to the virus first.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
jenanita01 said:
I would recommend plenty of salt water… and I hope you killed that blender!
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
The murder-blender was consigned immediately to the bin. (The Hub did suggest we let the manufacturer know what happened so they could prevent future finger-mangling. But when I pointed out that someone who wasn’t me would have retrieve the binned offender and also wash off the gore, he decided future users were on their own.)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Books & Bonsai said:
Best place for it, Barb…
LikeLiked by 1 person
quiall said:
Only you. Only you could have a horrible accident morph into a wonderful post! I applaud your chutzpah.
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
I admit there was a lot of screaming, whining, and extremely unattractive blubbering plus much mixture of bodily fluids that really should have stayed inside where they belonged. But after that, I really had to look for the funny side.
LikeLike
junekearns said:
Fabulous, Barb!! Xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
And one more for the win? I can bandage my own finger in seconds. Life skills!
LikeLike
Darlene said:
Oh dear! I thought we had decided that three drastic events were enough already!! Glad you are ok and that you managed to talk hubby through the dinner. We tried that with making pancakes when I broke my ankle. Cajun pancakes anyone? Happy New Year to all of you. xo
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
Sorry Darlene. You don’t think this means I’m on to the next three disasters? Because, let’s face it, that’s kind of my MO…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Mary Smith said:
Ooh, ouch! I wouldn’t want to go to the hospital either. But well done The Hub. Do you think he might take up cooking without you having to mutilate more fingers? Or does he feel once was enough?
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
Frankly, he thinks my willingness to cook actual food that he gets to eat is more incredibly amazing than the discovery of penicillin. And since I really don’t want to risk more fingers, I’m guessing we’re not looking at him to take over cooking duties any time soon.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Kassandra Lamb said:
So glad you were able to avoid the hospital. I don’t supposed you were able to juggle a camera while holding said finger aloft and giving cooking instructions. I’d love to see the visual evidence of Hubs cooking!
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
I was in such awe that it never even occurred to me to turn photo journalist. (My kids said same thing as you. They won’t believe it until they see it…)
LikeLike
noelleg44 said:
A pretty dramatic Christmas present, Barb – but getting your husband to cook is a benefit. Use the antibiotic cream and DO NOT get the finger wet! Hope it is healing up. The only thing close I experienced was blending up a cream of carrot soup. The blender stopped, I took off the lid to see if something was caught in the blades, and it started up, spraying carrot soup all over the kitchen and the ceiling. No fingers.
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
OMG! I’ll bet you were finding reminders of that carrot soup forever. My own disaster was (thankfully) far more contained.
LikeLike
TanGental said:
So this is some sort of culinary spy story, right? Where our accidental hero triggers the sleeper from his deep state and now has to stop him taking over all the catering which initially seems great but then he starts getting cocky and experimenting. And using that crusty pot of harissa to spice up the porridge…
LikeLiked by 1 person
barbtaub said:
If only… I’m afraid the only way I’ll see a repeat performance is to sacrifice more digits.
LikeLike
Jennie said:
How could I be so unkind as to laugh my head off when you were badly injured? I think it was being disappointed that it wasn’t your middle finger that did it. Super post, Barb! I do hope you didn’t get an infection. I would have chickened out at looking at it, too.
LikeLike