On Sunday, I wrestled with my food processor and lost. After three hours in the ER listening to an elderly lady moan as if she was dying, I got five stitches in my left palm near my middle finger. I’m lucky — I could have lost a finger or torn a tendon or something else horrific. I still have my middle finger, which is quite necessary to give my food processor the bird, like I did today when I shredded the onions and carrots to make my famous minestrone soup (straight from Mark Bittman’s book). I opened the cupboard and said, “I’m not scared of you” to a kitchen appliance (it’s official, the desert has made me crazy). The soup is on the stove, the laundry is in the dryer, the baby is sleeping. And it seems as if I’ll get the stitches out next Tuesday so I’ll only miss one pottery class. Life is good.