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Showing posts from February, 2016

A Few Loose Screws

Each time, I glared at the tiny screw (or nail) on the floor in annoyance.  My 10-month-old daughter is adept enough at ingesting every inedible thing she finds, without the additional temptation of sharp, shiny objects.  Even the endoscopy-trained physicians at our hospital would be little match for her covert reconnaissance missions. As I picked up each offending piece of metal, I pondered where to put it.  The garbage?  No. Only "burnable" (plastic, paper) items could be taken to the incinerator. The compost? Obviously not. The ground? Burying it would be too much work. After exhausting this mental checklist, I had thrown a nail and two tiny screws into a little dish atop my dresser. Last week, the gardener needed a nail. I thought about how I had almost buried it as I gave it to him. Oops. Today, I was trying to cover an unpainted patch on the wall (in true avant-garde fashion, the layer of paint had been applied over a taped telephone cord in the middle of the room)