this is week no. 6 without a cell phone, but i've been comforted by the presence of 50-some men and women from around the country who, upon arrival in town, lost coverage as well. the ultimate black belt test has descended upon greensboro this week for several days of intensive home-building labor.
after some long days on site, i'm surprised that i'm not sore at all. perhaps the only pain i feel is the particular burning sensation that comes only when those oh-so-zippy cajun spices coating boiled crawfish come in contact with the ever-annoying splinter under the fingernail. ooph. we treated the black belts to a crawfish boil at the baptist church this evening. imagine a long, narrow table with lipped edges and three circular holes cut out revealing soon-to-be-full garbage cans. 70 or so recently-cleaned and ravinous folk. out from huge basins come the boiled crawfish, corn on the cob, and potatoes, by the pitcher-full, flung out across the table. grab a crawdad, twist apart, pinch the tail, suck out the goodness, toss it in the can. repeat. i came home to find my lips completely swollen from all the spice.
of course, this post wouldn't be complete without a picture of the boil. it's a rainy evening, i'm snug in my bed, and the last thing i feel like doing is tromping all the way across my spacious cottage into the other room to get my usb cable, but in an effort to deliver quality reporting and coverage (npr would be proud), i have retrieved the cable. granted, i had to bribe myself with another cup of tea.
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