A BIG H

Nothing like a train wreck to get your attention. Whatever was on your plate before might as well never have been there. Forty six hours ago I was on my way to begin an hour and a half bike ride. Two hours later I was in the Emergency Room with a broken Scapulae and ribs. I was on my bicycle when we crashed in a heap. In the shadows and waning light I didn’t see the pothole. Flesh and bone are not as durable as steel so between me and my bike, I came out the worst for it. I don’t remember my head hitting but my $119 helmet has a deep, terrible scar. The CT scan showed no damage to the head other than minor abrasions so it did its job. Now, in the clarity of hind sight, all those things I intended to do yesterday and today, they don’t mean a thing. 

They kept me overnight and ran me through more tests than I thought I needed but that demonstrates the parallel principle of hospital-medical care. The people you come in contact with are doctors, nurses & technicians who only want to make you well again. Four stories up in a corner office, the people you don’t meet are preoccupied with a different priority. They are administrators who operate by a more complicated principle; the more services you provide, the higher the bill and the greater the profit. Who pays doesn’t matter, only that they make people well, and they are committed to that, for as much money as they can justify - and, my injuries were serious, with potential to be even more so. They really wanted to keep me another day but I refused and they let me go. 

I don’t know when I’ll brush my teeth again with my right hand or ride my bike for that matter. The young Orthopedic PA went over my x-rays and said, “On a fractured scapulae like this, recovery takes 4 to 6 weeks.” Short pause and I asked, “What about the hanging clause?” She didn’t get it. I continued, “The one that belongs on the end of that sentence: If you are 18 years-old.” “Oh, yeah;” she said, “it’s going to take you a little longer.” I don’t know what percentage my insurance will cover but her consultation will be in there for sure. 

There were no accompanying revelations or or paradigm shifts; I’m not going to get religion or change politics but I’m paying  more attention to things I’ve taken for granted for a while. I’m reminded that this life is not only precious but it is also fragile. I’m reminded how much you love the people in your Tribe. You may not like some of them all that much but you love them. I am compelled to take inventory on not only life but the times as well. I love my country but times are troubled. I’m too old to influence anything beyond my tribe but then I’ve never been a threat to anybody, no reason to start making noise now. I am, I think all of us are like the man riding his bicycle in the evening shadows, knowing neither when not where the next pothole waits or what will break from the fall. 

Too many of my cohorts are angry because they’ve been told they should be angry: that it’s someone else’s fault. They listen like disciples to narcissist hubris from self obsessed, ego maniacs and it’s bubbling like a toxic cauldron. The kettle hates the pot: those self styled messiahs can go to Hell as far as I care. I wouldn’t give them a dollar or a minute and I certainly wouldn’t vote for their selfish agenda. I’ll get back on my bicycle as soon as I’m fit and it’s safe and I’ll do better at reminding my tribe-mates that I love them, I really do, that I’ll buy coffee, and I’ll give them a ride or hold the light, whatever they need. 

I slept in my recliner last night, under a sheet, under the ceiling fan and I slept well. I feel better tonight than when I woke up, can do more with less discomfort (clinical term for bearable pain,) Thank Prometheus for the light and while we're being thankful, for ibuprofen as well.  I’ll go there again tonight. I don’t have faith in anything but I do have Hope with a big H. I can take it by its handle and move in sync with what is important to me. If humans are superior to animals then we should be more humane: we need each other, not as competitors but because this life is tuff enough when we cooperate. 

EMERGENCE

I had a birthday just the other day. One of my boys calls it the Anniversary Of One’s Emergence From The Maternal Incubation Unit. That it was. I had been advised by my coffee group that I shouldn’t miss our 9:00 a.m. convergence. Someone had invested in a BD card and didn’t want either to throw it away or take it home. So I did my own due diligence, made a blueberry cobbler for the occasion, took some frozen yogurt and we had a celebration. There were probably 10 or 11 in attendance. 

Someone asked about the number and I confessed, there was a time when I preferred one number to another but that’s history. The rhetoric about, “It’s just a number.” starts out as a thin denial about age but then one year, probably different for different people, a birthday comes along and you realize, you really don’t care anymore. It really is just a number. If I could just run like I used to; not fast or far but actually hit stride and stretch out crossing 4 lanes at a stop light, any number would be great. 

I’ve had plenty but remember only a few. It must have been 1942 or ’43, I would have been turning 3 or 4. Any younger and I wouldn’t remember, any older and I’d have been too big. I had two aunts, Raydean and Betty Jean, in their early 20’s, both married to soldiers gone off to war. They took me for a walk; we lived in the city with sidewalks and drug stores. I was between them, each one holding one of my hands, swinging them in time as we sang a song. I don’t remember the song but I was able to chime in on the chorus. When we stepped down off a curb I picked up my feet and they swung me up and forward. Throwing my head back I could see them upside down, they were beautiful. Across the street at the other curb we did it again, stepping back up on the sidewalk, every block, all the way to the drug store. It had an old fashioned soda fountain with chrome levers and ivory handles. At the counter we sat on tall stools that spun around. We did that for a while, waiting for the soda jerk to bring us our scoop of vanilla ice cream with red, must have been strawberry topping. Between the spoon and a straw, I made a mess. They took turns dipping a napkin into ice water, washing all the dribbles off my face. We retraced, repeated our curb swinging trek over 6 or 7 blocks, back to our house on Tracy Street. I don’t know what I got in the way of presents or what kind of cake we ate but there must have been a celebration. At the time, I was the baby and the center of attention. 

In my coffee group I must be near the high-middle or lower-older of the age span; nobody under 60 if I judge age right. One friend wouldn’t leave it alone so I told him the number. I’ve a thing with numbers. I remember jersey numbers from my own playing days and of my favorite players, any sport. My number this birthday is the same as my first football jersey number my freshman year in high school. It was our first game and we wore white jerseys with blue numbers. Coach didn’t even look, just grabbed one off thee pile and threw it at me. When I pulled it over my head and shoulder pads the sleeves hung down well past my hands. I rolled them up but they wouldn’t stay up. At 115 lbs. a freshman lineman doesn’t get to play in the game but you do get to line up in the pre game exercises and do tackling drills. 

#78 - my first football number and my current age number. The blueberry cobbler was a hit and I had some left over to bring home. It was so rich I was on a sugar buzz all day. Blueberries are really good for you, full of antioxidants and vitamins but they don’t change color on the way through the maze. If you don’t pay attention it might go unnoticed but I notice. I think it’s going to be a good year but years unfold a day at a time. It’s a good day today and I'll take it.