Being Right-handed

I have been thinking about being right-handed and how limited I am compared to so many left-handed people, many of whom are  close to  being ambidextrous. My husband used to write with his left hand, but played Squash with his right. As a cricketer, he bowled left-handed, but batted right-handed. (as an aside, our family is a perfect example of Mendel's Laws of inherited characteristics, of 4 children, two are left-handed and two right-handed)

Left hand/ right brain, is there a connection?

A writer friend has broken a bone in her writing hand. What should she do? This would not be much of a problem for me. I never write by hand, everything goes straight onto the computer screen. My left hand can take over what my right hand usually does. Of course the piece of writing would take longer, but wait a minute. Would that be the only difference? 

Thinking about being right or left handed, I remember an essay by James Barry. He was afflicted at one time with a bad case of what he called “Writer’s Cramp”.( I think that it was actually a form of arthritis.) He was forced to learn to write with the other hand. ( I am not sure whether it was his left hand, but it probably was.) Something very strange happened. He found that what he wrote with his left hand was very different to the kind of thing he wrote with his right. A play or story written with one hand had a kinder, more gentle aspect than a play or story written by the other hand.

I have decided to put this to the test with my own writing. Up to now I have typed all my stories or poems with both hands,

NEW PHONE (left hand)

The girl behind the counter was so kind,

There was a long queue behind me, but

she took the time to tell me all about

the features of  the

model I had chosen.

Pity she didn’t tell me how to use it.

So

Don’t ring me. I can’t answer

Don’t text; I can’t reply

I am excluded from the Net,

I’m techno-gagged and

I’ve been

cyber-silenced.

TOUGH SCREEN( right hand)

My fingers are so clumsy, I can’t type

he simplest message. I do try

but why do o’s turn into p’s and why

does the whole message vanish

before I can press SEND.

Bring me someone young, I cry

Someone like the girl at our poet’s group

Who can read from her Smart phone

so many lines she has written with such ease.

I wish that  she were here,  but I reside

In an old-age complex. where technology left fogies  

far behind, a long, long time ago.

It’s no good asking them.

and all my grand-children have gone away.

The staff are much too busy

for such a trivial problem, and so

I am left lamenting, all alone, 

my new and shiny, useless, touch-screen phone

(I would say left hand does better than right.)

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