Tied Up In String

I focus the Petzl: The string on the salami looks eerily familiar; so does the indentation left on the meat as I scoot the twine to examine the mold underneath.

It has been two months since our homemade salamis were hung to dry in the basement; the mesh closet allows air to enter but prevents mice and feral cats from doing the same. The aging of fresh salami is a delicate process. Ideally the meat should be stored in a cool 18 C (65 F) location, free from drafts and heat sources; an open window or a hot pipe may give rise to salami that is inedible.

I check the progress of the ripening visually. Soft greenish mold is good; yellow spotted mold is bad. With a stack of hand towels, I wipe each salami, scraping questionable growth. Airborne fungi spores encircle me.

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After the doctor removed the final set of “strings” in my leg, I was instructed to air the wound in an effort to dry the weepy areas. I crutch around the house with my right pant leg rolled up.

Down in the basement my mind is still making comparisons between the drying salami and my drying leg. Cleaning the mold, I am reminded of why I took the antibiotics to the bitter end (footnote 1) and in the bitter end (footnote 2), despite running out of uninjected territory (footnote 3). Amen! - I was spared an infection. And then it hits me: the floating fungi particles, the exposed moist laceration, my care-less-ness!!

Sirens ring in my head. I race to the medicine cabinet, douse the wound in Acqua Ossigenata, sprinkle the gash with orange Iodopovidone, and just to be safe, poke myself in the rear with a spare Ceftriaxone.

In the room next door, Iris is giving kind salutations to the departing Swiss guests; they purchase two salamis. She wraps them in butcher paper and ties the package in string.

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Footnotes:
1. Pun courtesy of friend, Santa Barbara, CA. Email 3/3/09
2. Pun courtesy of friend, Ojai, CA. Email 3/14/09
3. Pun courtesy of friend, Ojai, CA. Email 3/12/09