Feed me!

I borrowed Andy's jigsaw from him about three weeks ago. I had intended to have it exactly one day, but, for reasons I really can't explain, I continue to have his jigsaw. Determined to return it today at practice, I pulled out the shelves I was intending to jig, and started cutting away, expecting each shelve to take about 5 minutes, realizing quickly that the 25 minutes I had alloted myself before practice was about ten minutes too short. I'd have to hurry.

I was half way through my first fig when I paused and went into the kitchen to get something. As I entered the kitchen from the garage, I realized that someone was rattling on the front door, following our open door policy: just walk in. If the front door is unlocked, we're not having sex on the living room floor, and all friends are welcome to walk straight into the house, no doorbell or knocking needed. Andy has a similar policy, and honestly, even when he's expecting us, it's still hard to just walk in without knocking. However, it keeps the dog barking to a dull roar when visitors don't knock. Sometimes said visitors can actually manage to enter the house without a dog noticing. Said visitors are rare and usually named "Megan" or "Mike."

My visitor was having little luck with the front door, however, as I hadn't unlocked it after the morning tryst on the living room rug. I looked to see it was Mark, and hurried to unlock the door for him.

A few hours earlier, Megan had called our home phone, the one I rarely answer since the only people who call the number these days are telemarketers, political auto-dialers and people with whom I have a professional relationship but who mistakenly believe calling my home number is okay. Well, and people I really like to talk with, like Megan, Jessica, Mike and Andy. Which, honestly, is why I keep answering that phone in the first place.

So, Megan called, asking if the new medical facility over by our house had emergency care. I told her it wasn't emergency, but rather walk-in, urgent care, open from like 9 to 9, but yeah, it had walk-in health care, what was up?

Turned out, Mark had possibly broken his hand and needed it x-rayed, could I recommend the new facility? Except for the devastating environmental impact of the facility and the overwhelming inconvenient traffic patterns the infrastructure created, yeah, I could recommend the facility. So off Mark went.

After his xrays and cast and paperwork adventure, Mark stopped by to visit with us. He had, indeed, broken his hand, his fourth metacarpal bone with both a break and spiral fracture, caused by the power tool that had caught when Mark was doing electrical work on his house, spun his hand around and slammed it against the nearest wall. He might need surgery, but was out of commission for at least two weeks.

Oh, and he hadn't eaten today, could I feed him?

Uh...

Minor panic, sure.

We don't exactly have "snack" food in our house. I haven't been eating many wheat products as of late, having neither the particular desire for large amounts of bread or posta, much less bought any wheat products, as loaves of bread will go stale or moldy before we finish it. Kris has his own crackers, but I haven't bought any in over a year or so. Uh... what could I feed him?

Apple and peanut butter? That's been my snack for a while now, more so now that I can walk outside and pull an apple off the tree to eat.

How about yogurt? Plain or vanilla?

A glass of juice! Yes, that will get sugar into your blood stream quickly.

I then remembered that Mark likes avocado, so I pulled out the second half of the one I had started for breakfast that morning, sliced it up and poured balsamic vinegar over it.

After about 10 minutes of eating and chatting (only brieftly with Kris, who hadn't gotten up from his WarHammer game, WarHammer, the new World of Warcraft), Mark turned to me and declared, "Ahhhhhh... I feel human again."

Except the broken hand thing, I think.