An odd spot for a blister. Ain't a blister though...
that scab stuck between the two fingers of my driving-hand is the nearly two-week result of either a sting-ant bite or from a spider. Damn Mother Nature & Her Poisonous Varmits. Try putting anti-septic cream and a Band-aid in such a spot. I had innocently placed an un-gloved hand on a grassy bank to brace myself while I yanked-up a skyscraper tall multi-leafed-weed-with-flower. I had wanted the Garden to be ship-shape for our party last Friday night. No-one saw the Garden. They staid on the Cortile eating & drinking & talking & laughing. And, rightly so. There was tons of stuff to eat & get happy on. Anyway... the bite hurt like shit!!! The hills around Codiponte are still echoing with my medley of swear-words. I took Our Lord's Name in vain... Good Grief... and went on from there. It was very colorful language, to say the least. I could do NOTHING but hold my driving-hand & invent new swear-words for an hour afterwards. Then, like an insidious strain of magic, the pain disappeared. That night, however, I wanted to tear off my fingers to get at the itch, the bite itched so badly. Naturally, this happened during my REM sleep. I was oblivious to the consequences of the itching attack. Only, I awoke to an encrusted-with-blood driving-hand & stained sheets. All I can say is... I hope whatever multi-legged-micro-creature it was that bit me, it DIED A Terrible & Lonely DEATH!!!
that scab stuck between the two fingers of my driving-hand is the nearly two-week result of either a sting-ant bite or from a spider. Damn Mother Nature & Her Poisonous Varmits. Try putting anti-septic cream and a Band-aid in such a spot. I had innocently placed an un-gloved hand on a grassy bank to brace myself while I yanked-up a skyscraper tall multi-leafed-weed-with-flower. I had wanted the Garden to be ship-shape for our party last Friday night. No-one saw the Garden. They staid on the Cortile eating & drinking & talking & laughing. And, rightly so. There was tons of stuff to eat & get happy on. Anyway... the bite hurt like shit!!! The hills around Codiponte are still echoing with my medley of swear-words. I took Our Lord's Name in vain... Good Grief... and went on from there. It was very colorful language, to say the least. I could do NOTHING but hold my driving-hand & invent new swear-words for an hour afterwards. Then, like an insidious strain of magic, the pain disappeared. That night, however, I wanted to tear off my fingers to get at the itch, the bite itched so badly. Naturally, this happened during my REM sleep. I was oblivious to the consequences of the itching attack. Only, I awoke to an encrusted-with-blood driving-hand & stained sheets. All I can say is... I hope whatever multi-legged-micro-creature it was that bit me, it DIED A Terrible & Lonely DEATH!!!
This encounter with the Local Bug Life is just one example of what I have suffered the last two Summers gardening on the multi-terraced grounds of Il Poggiolo. Look at my leg!!! I even have scabs on my Scottish fanny from God-knows-what kind of blood-sucking-insect. My white-wine & pasta made with fresh tomatoes, garlic & basil nourished body rivals Kabul. Gads.
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