First Cut

 

We are faithful fans of Forged in Fire and my husband John had reactivated his passion for knives and swords.  It has been a long time passion since he finished grad. school.

Whenever he passes a sword tent at some street fair, John will hoist a sword from its scabbard and says, "Hmmm. Nice balance..." even though it is clearly something from China. 

Note quality engraving

His love of knives and swords led me to purchase a good quality chef knife set. Made in Germany. Sharp as all get out (which means to the extreme). He exclaimed with joy as he opened it.

On Christmas day, I was going to chop chives for Christmas dinner. I'll just use these German Knives.                   

All was going well as I pulled the knife from from its block and picked up the chives, and made the first slice. That single slice resulted was totally painless until I saw my finger  was bleeding like a son of a gun (a mild or euphemistic term for son of the bitch). Looking down I could see the knife had sliced a translucent piece of skin from my left index finger.

Grabbing paper towel and racing to the first aid supplies, I ran water for minutes to staunch (which means stop the flow of bleeding). Also poured hydrogen peroxide. Then wrapped the dam with layers of gauze.

I picked up an old knife, finished the chopping. BUT my right little finger brushed the new knife, just brushed it. Another flow of blood. It was just a slice, a tiny slice. But, oh boy howdy (which means an exclamation of excitement and surprise from the South or Texas) that slice was leaking.

First aid, gauze, tape. Oh bloody hell (which means interjection which is an exclamation of awe and surprise, sometimes in anger or despondency).

Even as I wrote this, I had to do the hunt and peck typing
.
It was time to change the dressings. 

Cat Stevens

First Cut Is the Deepest

Sing it, Cat. I will definitely understand it.

 

This is a re-post from 2018. My husband was not thrilled of the gift, so the knives are still sharp.

 

Apocalyptic Christmas Gift

Amazon

2016 was a momentous time for us. After my husband's mother died, we felt a tie being broken. That was when we decided we could move. We had been in our house for 27 years, our children were adults far away, and we needed to be in a community where we could settle for our (hopefully long) senior years.

Box after box, Goodwill trips, trash bins were all part of the experience until we handed our life over to the moving company. Soon our new house was a wall of boxes.

Finding another box to unpack had become routine in our new house. At first there would be a "OhLookatThis!" then there would be a moment of discovery and/or disappointment.  With big sighs or sadness, the box was either unpacked OR closed up to be pitched out.  When will  this stop, I had asked.  When. Will. This. Stop.

“Ah-Ah.”

This was one of the many strange boxes, one that had been hidden in garage rafters, where dust and mites had settled.  Movers had followed blind orders and brought this one to here. On the lid of a battered cardboard box  were words written in our son’s peculiar handwriting, with his peculiar humor. This was a Christmas present for his father.

“If Zombies or commies or Red Chinese attack or Christmas 2013 comes first: Break the seals and open.  Open and prepare your body for Thunder Dome (That is probably the new law).”

I did open the lid, but all the warnings did not come to fruition. Written upside down (for the unfortunate opener) were directions:

(on one side) “These are for laundry, tourniquets, and needless hangings” with an arrow pointing down.

(next side) “Done cleaning? Make your broom do double duty to kill zombies.” Arrow pointing down.

(Last side) “ Instrumental CD” which was a combination of music from Jaws + Dune + 1812 Overture.

Strangely, the only contents of the box missing were only the broom (s), but included two pair of binoculars.  And it did include some awesome knives, which were apparently the real present for his father that Christmas.  

Our son has grown to have a successful life and career, become a husband and father. and has maintained his peculiar sense of humor. 

Do we still have some boxes? I know that we do, but it may take a while to find them.  And then what, I ask.