Re-thinking A Position.

I was in a mood.
The one I sometimes get into when I'm on the other side of something bad, and I've come through it with most of me intact.
I've gotten two "Get Out Of Massive Head Injuries Free" cards - once in 2001 when I smashed one side of my face into the asphalt,(which, incidentally happened to be my own-ass fault) and didn't get more than, well, a half-smashed face - and this last wreck, caused by a cage driver who thought there was time to pull out in front of me.
There wasn't.
There was time to choose - barely. Choose between hitting the car, and hitting the pavement.
I hit the brakes, then I hit the pavement. As I was going down, I flashed on the last time it went this way. March 2001...
The way everything exploded white, then went gray for a few years/seconds when I hit the deck in a one-point landing, head-to-tar...
The way, as my head cleared a little, I could feel the blood running off my face...
The thought in my head: "Ohh, my family doesn't need this -" (Incidentally, for those of you who maybe thought I didn't have it in me - then I thought, "Ohh, my f'in' bike!")
However, while the part about the bike didn't flash through my head, the rest did.
As far as I knew, it was time for a repeat performance, likely much worse. I was wincing while I was still in the air.
Have you ever been involved in a wreck of any kind where your body has been thrown, and bumped hard, and you're actually still conscious - maybe in pain, but conscious? If it was just you, or you knew everybody else was okay, did you take a little mental inventory of how everything was feeling? Were you ever surprised?
I was.
I knew my arm was broken. How bad, nope. I knew the right side of my chest felt like maybe Lars or Neil or Ginger had just done a drum solo on it. I knew my feet weren't real happy either - bruises to go around! But...
My head. I hadn't hit it. Not even a grazing blow. My headrag wasn't even dirty.
I can't explain it. I was bouncing on that damned pavement like a piece of lumber that fell off of the back of a truck, lengthwise. I remember three very hard impacts - the first, when my arm broke, and two more. WHAM!, WHAM, whamthumpitythumpthump, and fetchin' up next to the offending car. Ow...
The EMTs didn't believe it. The X-ray/CT techs didn't believe it. I was in a wreck with NO HELMET, I must have hit my head, We're Gonna Look In The Coconut Tonight, Boy. And don't figure on goin' straight home with that bruised lung, either!
I found myself in a wheelchair in the Admitting area of the nearby hospital, trying not to smile. Trying not to smile, because there was so much misery around me. Sick folks, hurt folks, sad folks. Another Friday night in a metropolitan Phoenix hospital.
Realizing what an incredibly lucky cat I truly was. (Only 3 or 4 lives left, though.)
Seeing the faces of my brothers & sisters, and of my wife and Mom-in-law, as they came through the doors and saw me sitting there, grinning like a fool just because I was getting to see them all. Basking in the love like a lizard on a sunny rock.
There were other emotions at work, too. The fear that I could see had been in Li'lBit's heart. The relief in everyone's eyes.
I got swept up in my joy at being alive, rightly so.
But when I wrote the previous post, I had gotten cocky. I beat the odds, right?
A couple of weeks later a fella I've known, and ridden with, didn't.
It set me to thinkin'.
I've skated twice. Will there be a third time, if I can't avoid somebody again?
I've looked in the faces of the many people I know and love, some of whom even love me(!), and also in the little faces of some people who are just getting to know me.
I've spent quite a bit of time figuring out when to be stubborn, and when to compromise. I just never gave much thought to it. It's always been my choice. I've made another, now...
I'm going to buy, and wear(at least in our beloved city), a full-face helmet.
After all, it isn't a horse I'm ridin', so I won't look silly.

Slivers Of Time - Solstice 2008

At any rate, he didn't grow up to be a vegetarian.
We were both pretty young at that point - him at just over a year, and I had just clocked in at the ripe old age of twenty. Can you tell it's 1976? My eyes keep gravitating to the muttonchop sideburns, hah!
I had just begun a job at a local bakery. It still holds the record as my longest gig, ten years; a comfortable place for the guy that I was, accustomed to chaos, smart as hell in the academic sense, not so much when it came to the world and the way of it. I got that way, fast enough, but at the time, we were both babies yet; it was just more obvious (not to mention cuter) with him. My in-laws were amazingly patient and loving with me, in spite of the fact that I wasn't as cute.
Normally I don't give Time much consideration. I've spent a lot of it educating myself in the nature of our little blue marble, so that tends to color my perspective on it. 100,000 years, to me anyway, is a blip, barely worth consideration overall. Why would it be, when the bedrock under me is not just millions, but hundreds of millions of years old? When very little changes but the weather(and just incidentally, us)?
I have occasionally suffered such a thing as skewed perspective, no, really!
Ennyhoo, 20 came, then 30, then 40, and a couple of blinks ago was 50. I've gotten more considerate of time in the last eight years. I suppose it accompanied the passing of my Dad.
Without going into too much detail, the last 9 3/4 years of my time with him were some of the best in my life. His influence on me reeled wildly from one extreme to another early on; his intelligence, his focus, his high standards for himself, and thus, for me; his addiction, which distorted him and the rest of us that were affected; and ultimately, his recovery from that addiction, which began long before mine.
The shot on the right is him with my oldest, just a day or two after his birth. You may see, perhaps, his fashion sense wasn't always switched on. I was hoping that what appears to be the pattern of his trousers is only something covering his lap while he holds his first grandson, but somehow I don't think so...LOL! I've always liked this pic in any case. I've shown it to family and friends and said, "Compare their faces!" Dad ever so slightly in his cups, and Dana, fresh... The tone of their flesh, and their facial expressions are what I focus on. Could be I'm just full of it, too, but who asked ya, anyway?!?
So Time, despite my increased consideration, is not, and probably never will be, especially important to me. I suppose it's because I focus on Today. I've been functioning on a level where I maintain, for the most part, that the Present is the most important; all that has gone by is History, Tomorrow's a Mystery. That doesn't stop me from planning ahead, or having dreams of things I'd like to do, but it does help me focus on the idea that I'd better do a pretty good job on what's right in front of me, right now.
Because all that I do in the Present affects the Mystery ahead.

So Much For That

Yeah, okay, medical updates are boring.
Since I've had much more time on my hands, I've been surfing the 'Net a great deal more. Nice to see I'm not the only one idling about on a keyboard. I tend to reserve comment on most goings-on, simply because SO many people have so much to say already... I can only read so many posts that are variations on a theme before I find myself thinking "Alright! ALRIGHT! I get it, you're (insert adjective here) about (insert subject here), and there are folks out there who agree!" Therefore, I shy away from beating a dead horse, most days. I can only hope that the passion for issues I see expressed is matched by action; that's really the main thing, in my view. I can carp all the livelong day about things I feel strongly about, but if I don't take action - whatever that action may be, voting, calling the congresscritters, etcetera - then it's all meaningless, just another rant disguised as my opinion.

Bah!

I have a delightful new scar, courtesy of the other driver...
It is the result of a Two-fer: that is, in order to repair the fracture on the bicep side of the elbow, Doc had to cut apart the two bones in the forearm side(I guess it qualifies as a Three-fer, then!) and put plates and screws on both sides. Lovely.
All things considered, I'm not doing too badly; I have to passively exercise the arm, that is, let it hang down so gravity aids in straightening it; rest the elbow on my knee as a pivot point and push it gently as far out as it will go, and then fold it as far as it will go; and last, and by far the most fun, Doc has me placing a book on my open palm - again, resting the elbow on something - and letting the weight of the book work on straightening the arm. I thought I knew what a stiff joint felt like already - my healing elbow informs me that I didn't. Whatever; I make a little more progress every day - it seems maddeningly slow - but after a couple of days go by, I notice. It's just that every gain is measured in fractions of an inch, and I'm not the most patient guy, y'know? Still, I heed Doc's advice and I don't go overboard. It's too important to mess up by getting in too much of a hurry.