Not Left Handed

Gram Appleby was ambidextrous. I remember her straddling a row of strawberry plants and picking with both hands flying as she walked along at a pretty good clip. She could fill a flat quicker than a rabbit could scoot. Even on my best picking days, I couldn't come close to matching her prowess.

Lately, the ladies who ring in the chime choir are struggling with handedness. Some prefer the smaller chimes because their left hands are not strong enough to support the heavier chimes. Some insist on ringing the right hand chime when the music calls for their left hand chime. It gets downright humorous when you keep hearing, "shoot" "shoot" "o darn" repeatedly!

I have always been strongly right handed. In grade school when we practiced writing with our left hands, my chicken scrawl would be nearly illegible. Left hand was my weak hand when it came to practicing the piano. I could knock off the treble clef melodies and runs just fine, but my left hand was always struggling to keep up, to voice properly, and trills? Forget it!

Hence my surprise to learn how much I actually *do* with my left hand. I open doors with my left hand. I sling my purse over my left shoulder. Can't button buttons without my left hand. When I stoop to pick up something from the floor - left hand. When did I become so left-handed?

What does it matter anyway? Only that with the pinched nerve and my aching left arm, it would be better if I did things with my right hand and gave the left a rest. But instinctively, I reach with my left, feel the jab, and *then* remember that I should have reached with my right. I figure I will just about get it when my arm will be better.

Makes me wonder how many other things in my life I am running on instinct, even when my behavior causes pain. Perhaps I should take a look! Maybe you can teach an old dog a new trick. It just takes a little longer and a more painful incentive.