Under the Knife

When at last I retired, my employer gave me two presents.  One was an engraved Nambe plaque listing my dates of employment, detailing the value of my contribution during those years and signed by a newly appointed head hunter Administrator who would not recognize me even if we were to find ourselves stuck in an elevator for an hour or more.  For those of you familiar with Southwest Indian pottery, you will recognize the value of that plaque. The plate is the easily most expensive piece of earthenware in our home and is truly beautiful. It's really a shame it was messed up with all that engraving. 

Had my old boss signed it I would have put it on display.  He retired several months before I did and left for parts unknown without signing my plaque - I'll not forgive him for that oversight.  He was a real old school gentleman from the mid-west and I enjoyed working with him.  I guess the plaque will remain in one or another unpacked box left over from the move that has been  messing up my garage since the moving van was unloaded.  It will keep company with the other unpacked boxes we have carried around for the last thirty some odd years.  My labeling skills were not the best when I packed most of those boxes and we've forgotten what we have.  It must be important stuff because we've carried it around for so long.  And  I'm sure we need whatever stuff is in the boxes, all 23 of them, because it's only been 30 or so years since we last used/enjoyed looking at/played with it.  Someday I'll get around to building shelves and organizing the mess but that's a subject for a different post.

The other present was carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists.  I was in the middle of scheduling surgery when it became apparent I would need my wrists to make the move.  It's kinda hard to load a truck with your wrists in bandages.  The move was more important than the muscle mass in my palms so the surgery was put off.  We are now settled in so surgery is the next item to check off on my never shortening list.   That surgery will be underway this morning.  

I wonder how often a retirement package includes slit wrists?  Maybe we should ask the Madoffs.