My clicking days are over.
No more click of the fingers and glib "Garcon" for me in French restaurants.
No more casual, clicking along to music letting the beat feel its way to my snapping fingers (not that I ever did).
No more illustration of surprise moments with a quick snap of the fingers. No more "click" and snap they are gone. My potential for becoming a magician has left me.
Because my third finger of my right hand is just too sore.
If I could click with my left hand, I'd be set. This column would never be written, because I would be happy to know that the possibility of clicking remains, should it ever arise.
I don't actually remember when the ability to click was ever vital to me. In fact, I don't remember the last time I snapped my fingers.
But sometimes you don't miss something until its gone.
My finger has not been behaving itself. It no longer likes to straighten and it no longer likes to fully close either.
Actually, along with the clicking, is my ability to splay my fingers. Spirit fingers will have be created with nine digits now.
Conversely, there will be no more punch ups for me. Not that I've ever punched a person in my life, but knowing I can't is an entirely different matter.
I'm not too sure about being over 60. I'm not too sure about having a finger that has become arthritic (I checked at the doctor in case this was actually some rare case of a short tendon or something). I am not sure about having teeth that have no more feeling or too much feeling.
I'm not sure about knees that the physiotherapist tells you are "stuffed". I'm not sure about having soft and saggy skin.
I look at myself in the mirror, slightly bent finger at my side and wonder who it is who is looking back at me. How could this young person look like this?
It is fast becoming the face of a stranger, a stranger with smile lines and crinkly eyes and a saggy neck. I see before me a meandering road map, taking some side roads that perhaps were a little bumpy.
My thumb still works so I can still hitch hike. I just can't give the middle finger to the person who drives right on by.
- Linda Muller