Here I am @ 7 yrs old on Christmas day, both arms having been broken after a fall off the elementary school playground monkey bars during recess one day a while back, onto the hardpacked earth of the New Mexican desert. (Literally, the casts were removed the very next day to reveal my spindly, cooked spaghetti-like and oh so very itchy and wobbly 7 year old arms.) At the time, I still lived in the house in which I grew up, on the family farm and next to a pecan orchard. I was “pressed into service” as shell cracker (voluntarily bashing away at those pecan shells with my casts while the pecans were spread out across the piano bench on a tea towel) so Mom could make pecan pies (one of my favorite pies at the time.) Imagine the pecan dust those old fashioned and heavy plaster casts made until I got the hang of it and could tap those pecans with just the right Mojo to crack their shells?
And, oh, the pecan pies my mom made that year! And today? Still one of my most favorite pies. And, even with broken arms at the time, still one of my favorite memories. 🙂