Thursday, April 25, 2013

A is for April. B is for Bee.

A wild Blog Post has appeared! Okay, geeky attempts at a jokes are over for now, probably.

I have been slacking off as of late in regards to my blogging. That much is fairly evident. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to think of a story, or perhaps I've simply been unable to conjure a poem, which is sad, since it is poetry month. Saturday, I sat at my computer and looked outside at the bluejay and the cardinal in our dogwood. I could read more webcomics or go out. What I should do is blog, but I can't think of anything, certainly not anything good. Out it is then. It was thus that I grabbed my camera and slid barefoot into the grass, and thus it was also that you should be provided with this post.

The summer after my fourth grade year, my mother brought my sister and me to Great Grandma's house. She had great, big (okay, great, big to a fourth grader) goose berry bushes. I loved gooseberries. My sister doesn't share that taste. Either way, we both searched thoroughly alongside our cousins. There were thorns, but we were careful. It was when we were playing in the yard that the most exciting part of the day took place. My sister was stung by a bee in her palm. There was great distress, and I got to watch my mother take care of her battle wound. I was at once fascinated, jealous that she got to be the first of the two of us, and embarrassed that she was making such a fuss (even if it did hurt a lot). At all points the phrase "summer after fourth grade" says a lot in way of explanation. Although if we had been older, I probably still would have been fascinated. She stayed in for the rest of the day, but my turn would come many years later. (Although you really should have guessed that by now.)

I have spent a wonderfully large amount of my life out side and a good chunk of that barefoot. If I were native to Tolkien's Middle Earth, I would, quite possibly, have been a hobbit. So it was Saturday that I slipped outside barefoot and trotted over to the flowers I saw, camera in hand. I took several pictures, a handful of which were "photo bombed" by Spirit. She was following me around. After some time I decided to bring something outside. I've always liked pictures that have something from the inside world in the outside world. Enter Rosie, a honey colored teddy bear that I made a "dress" for while watching Frankenstein when I was too young to be very interested. She is the closest thing to a traditional stuffed bear that I have. I posed her around and in a tree and took more pictures (and one of those was also "photo bombed" by Spirit). I picked her up and started to head off for another part of the yard. A few paces from the tree, I was "stabbed" on the bottom of my right foot. I figured it was a thorn. I was, after all, not far from the climbing rose (which doesn't really climb, more of makes a slight curve up then hugs the ground again as if it were afraid of heights). I hobbled a little ways and sat, twisting my foot to see the underside. Nothing really stood out among the grass that was stuck there, nothing except the thing a little closer to the arch than most of the grass. I pulled on it and realized that it had a clear bit attached somehow. Finally, I pulled it out. Low and behold, it was no thorn. It was the back end of a bee, not just a stinger. There was some exoskeleton and the clear stuff was probably some kind of bee gut. My theory is that it was already dismembered when I stepped on it, otherwise there would have been a whole lot more or less bee.

I limped inside and taking a cloth, cleaned it off. After all, there's no point in getting an infection. Then I limped off to find my father and casually ask if bee stings required any special treatment. He was a lot more worried about it than I was. I showed him the little red spot, and he sent me to find a large bandage. Maybe two or three minutes after the initial penetration of skin, it started to hurt a little, if hurt is really the best word for it. It felt different at any rate, odd maybe. When we looked at it agin, it was a red spot in a white circle, which, I was informed, was the poison. We applied the "magic" ingredients, put on the bandage to keep it on my foot, and pulled on a sock to keep the bandage on. After all that, I sat and tried to think of how to describe what it felt like. The best I've been able to come up with is, "a little less than a dull throbbing."

I am perfectly fine at this point. The only evidence is a dark spot under my skin the size of a pinhead, like a splinter.

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