I seem hell bent on examining the limits of my body’s performance capabilities. Yesterday I discovered when tightening a pipe clamp that I could exert too much force on my thumb and that the joint was weak point. Something popped, l stopped and now my right thumb is sore and swollen. I still have movement but wherever it when in that brief moment the thumb is now recovering and I’m temporarily left-handed.

I made another discovery yesterday. My old roof tin would prefer to maintain it’s current shape. I tried to convince it otherwise, and it’s peaking around the corner, but it’s not going any further and my sore thumb is a testament to how pointless it would be to try to convince it otherwise. I now have another plan to mask the imperfection the folded tin was intended to mask. And there’s always the possibility the imperfection could be its own self, an imperfection.

Personally, I’ve learned to embrace imperfection. From my big ears that required surgical help in my youth to my wonky back to my faulty abdominal aorta, I am a pile of imperfections. And even my psyche may not stand up to close examination. So, if this next fix fails, I just may let my little building be a little wide at the back corner and love it for the shade it will provide this summer for the well and its water tank and get on to the next chore, which I’m sure will have imperfections of its own.