Band Aids


Today, I decided to go out in my yard and dead head iris. Many of them were tattered or had been flattened by the wind. So, a job was born. I was being careful not to step on any plants, I was cautious in not snipping the yet to bloom buds, and I was particular about which stems to cut for vases. I was being so attentive, I used my other hand to move the flowering petals aside, so as to keep them safe. Alas, my judicious pruning plans failed to keep in mind the sharpness of my blades. I watched the shears ever so cleanly slice open the fleshy part of my finger and shook my head. The tool is rarely cleaned, I use them for everything from daffodils to nightshade and small branches.  The blood immediately welled up, overflowed, and spilled down the slope of my finger. I was amazed I held up, blood is not one of my favorite things. My fire fighter son calmly helped bandage my dripping digit and sent me back out.

Band aids ARE important. They are often spoken of in a derogatory sense (especially in election years when politicians attempt to fix things) and they shouldn’t. They do help make things better, they protect, and hold medicine on a wound. I am very grateful for the blessing of band aids and those who help put them in place. I was also thankful I was using the clippers for something soft instead of thin lilac branches!


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