I love bacon wrapped stuffed jalapenos. My favorite is hearing the crackling of the twisted slabs of meat while the cheese melts into the green logs sending the swells of the savory aromas into the air.
It is truly the smell and taste of summer.
The process that goes into these decadent treats can be less than desirable if the poor soul is without proper gear. One swipe of the poisonous oils from the demon peppers across the eyes or in more delicate places can send shoots of unrelenting pain through the body. Time is the only forgiver of such an offense.
While my eyes were clear as well as my undercarriage, my left hand was less than fortunate in this process. I love being engrossed in whatever meal I am preparing. The seeds were not cooperating with my paring knife so I thought my thumb would better suit the occupation.
After 15 peppers were deseeded of their lethal weapons, my fingers started to tingle.
What is fascinating about a chemical burn is sometimes the full effects of the exposure isn’t seen or felt until hours after the event has already taken place and the remains of that event is well passed.
The sun was beginning to set and what was once a normal left hand began to morph into the 1990 film Total Recall’s mutant Benny’s claw-like hand. The pain surged up my wrist and my fingers coiled into submission. It was AWEFUL.
I, like a good millennial, posted on Facebook for possible methods of survival from this beast. Like good friends, or acquaintances, or creepy stalkers, the remedies poured in like a soothing balm.
Let’s just say a tomato died in the process of the search. Poor Bob.
After ice, tomatoes, yogurt, and then finally lavender, the pain and swelling had finally subsided. The victim was finally free. It is incredible how much heat the little peppers can hide in their crevices. Even more fascinating was the fact that the burn wasn’t visible until much later. And even then, the swelling didn’t occur until after the sun was fully set. It was only then where the blisters emerged from under the surface.
It brings me to question, how many events do we go through and are wounded but the wound is internal rather than what can be seen on the surface? Just because the wound isn’t bleeding outwardly doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there. In fact, I have come to believe pain felt under the surface can be more dangerous than what can be seen. Emotional wounds can’t be treated with ice or tomato juice. And contrary to popular belief, time does not heal all wounds. Infections can fester if left unattended. It takes Love to heal those types of wounds if the victim is willing to release the memory into the hands of the only One who can truly take the pain away. Shame and regret only feed into the heat of the pain while grace and truth and freedom allow the pain to be released, allowing the victim to feel again. Maybe you know what I’m talking about on a personal level. Maybe it’s time the reader is set free?
Just a thought… Needless to say I’ll be wearing gloves next time I deseed jalapenos. Stuffed pepper anyone?