Seven different hotels in 6 weeks…and at the first one I noted that the breakfast offerings included Frosted Flakes and non-frosted flakes ie; Corn Flakes. Yes, I’m leaving Tel Aviv and Israel for the warmth of NYC, SLC, and ONT. And had some extra time on my hands this morning.
Being a Frosted Flakes kinda guy, I chose to make this an opportunity to observe and learn. During the past five weeks, an intense study on human nature, proclivities for sugar, and the effect on the human spirit has been undertaken. This has been an intense experience, occupying all of at least 3-5 minutes per morning/day. You’re welcome (as your emails and letters have demonstrated appreciation for my efforts).
And the results are….
Travelling people prefer Frosted Flakes almost 2:1 over Corn Flakes.
San Francisco-Frosted Flakes all the way…
In Toronto, the Frosted Flake tube was nearly empty; the Corn Flakes tube was close to full (The Fruit Loops tube was about half way full).
In SLC, the Frosted Flakes tube was so empty that I observed the ritual re-filling while lemmings awaited and anticipated a dispensation of sweetness.
Mexico City; no comparison. Zero Cornflakes were gone from the tube, while echo could be somewhat discerned in the Frosted Flakes tube.
In Playa Del Carmen,…Frosted Flakes scored significantly higher (more empty tube) than Corn Flakes, Raisin Bran, FrootLoops, or Cheerios (this was a VERY high-end hotel)
Los Angeles; The hotel didn’t offer cereal at all (which was very odd and I informed them of such. I was told that they were health-conscious, whatever the hell that means).
Last but not least, Tel Aviv. Here in Tel Aviv, I’ve observed the Frosted Flakes tube either less than half full, or so empty that nothing was there but sugar dust. This morning I was a quarter past annoyed when the last full bowl was taken by this Hassidic guy ahead of me in line. I mean….what was he THINKING? Milk? Sugar? Corn? Is that *really* kosher or was he just faking it? Fortunately the manager of the restaurant and I had previously had conversations (as part of my research) and she quickly brought more Frosted Flakes. The thing was…I’d already filled my plate with egg and bagel. I’ll try for Flakes at lunchtime. [the above text is grey because I'm told grey has a studious appearance when grasping for spurious specifics)
In conclusion...the process of science and logic deduce there is a child inside specially marked boxes (coupons not redeemable).
Give in to him/her; you know you want to (even you, Hammo).
Embrace him/her. Have a bowl of Frosted Flakes on occasion. You'll be happier for it. I was horribly depressed before I began this trip (typical country song; I had surgery, close friend died, girlfriend left me, too much Oban/not enough sleep, cat hissed at me, dogs pissed at me), I've not had a moment of depression since this series of travel has begun. Only today, the first day in a long time that I have not had access to Flakes, have I experienced depression (it may just be a combination of the whitefish, leaving Tel Aviv, and jetlag, too. I'm not certain). The Flakes on the Flight to Tel Aviv were different than the Flakes consumed in the hotels.
Speaking of Frosted Flakes, I can hardly wait to get back to Temecula. Frosted flakes stalk the mall there, and they're kinda fun to observe on the weekdays. Jeff Greenberg and I observed a red-headed frosted flake on the beach last night. Definitely coated with artificial sugar; her smile fell off as soon as she thought we weren't looking, and we were -always- looking until she finally brought our food.
See you soon.
In the meantime, enjoy some Zappa serving "Flakes" with no offense intended to friends in California (special appearance by almost-Bob Dylan).
P.S. To-da to Ben, Smardar, Michael, Eran, Hector, Tal, Yeran, Avi, and everyone else that made the INPUT-NOW conference so much fun. See you at IBC.
Everyone around me is patting their butt cheeks and crotches…waving their arms in the air like a silly dance in elementary school that everyone was required to perform. Step this way, step that way, step lively now; there is always the fat kid that everyone teased because he couldn’t do it and even as he tries, he’s tripping all over everyone around him, apologizing as he stumbles past the edge of the stage.
Yep…Security at the airport is like that. We’re all following the rhythm of some off beat drummer that exists only in some heavily funded office in Washington DC, or perhaps it’s just how the TSA trains their employees.
I wouldn’t mind being in her shoes…
The flight from SLC to JFK was wonderfully uneventful. I spent the 5 hours conversing with a 55 y/o English teacher and her husband as they shepherded their 13 charges from Fresno to Cork, Ireland
Landing in JFK brought all the sighs and smells of New York into one building, air conditioner not functioning due to new construction. Airless JFK in July is something to be experienced at least once in a lifetime; preferably while one is comatose or following a heavy dinner of garlic (might as well contribute, right?
Boarding the plane for Tel Aviv was a little more hectic than expected; apparently a flight the day before had been canceled and “Sir, we had to move you, but no worries, you’ve got an aisle seat still.” Of course, she could say that while I was still in the terminal, knowing the odds were that I wouldn’t be getting back off the aircraft when I realized my aisle seat was only one seat on either side of me away from the aisle.
Then comes Nick. And Sarai. And their sister Ruth. Nick is so large he can’t find the seatbelt but he’s a jovial guy, I’m happy to help them get their luggage into the overhead, and offer to trade my center-almost-to –the-aisle aisle seat with them so the three of them can sit together in the four-wide center section of the aircraft. Nope….Ruth needs to be on one aisle as she has a bad knee, and Sarai needs the other aisle because she has to you know, visit the ladies room often.
They’re nice enough people; Sarai is a retired seamstress from Jerusalem by way of Detroit. Nick is a retired busdriver (44 years, looka my watch!) and Ruth…I’m not sure what Ruth retired from but the poor woman had obviously fallen into a vat of potpourri on a tour or something. At first I thought it was me until Nick says “excuse my sister, her nose don’t work so good.” Funny peeps, no doubt.
Flight attendants were no doubt stressed too; I was kinda thinking about flirting with the lead, and then I watched her get really nasty with the guy in front of me. He was in a bulkhead seat and not getting his bags overhead quickly enough. He says “I’m sorry, I wasn’t counting on getting moved to this seat, gimme a second to fix my bags.” Her response was less than romantic; “Get your bag in the overhead NOW. I’ll toss you from this plane before I’ll let you delay us for one second.” Can you imagine what she’d be like with a waitress at a restaurant? DAYUM, and I thought *I* was hard-nosed.
I’m totally set to work on my presentations for Israel. Well…I was. Due to a canceled flight the night before, Delta swapped out aircraft. So, the plane that had in-seat power, internet, and seat-back video screens got swapped out for one of the first aircraft in the fleet (Vintage is in, y’know?) The projector hanging from the ceiling has a resolution of at LEAST 240 x 125. Impressive (if we were back in 1970).
I sorta wish the projector had better light leakage, because the overhead light for my seat (and several others) doesn’t work and the flight attendent wasn’t too keen on me reading by the warm glow of a Bic lighter.
And…so goes this flight. I’ll need to log off now because my laptop battery is about dead, and I can’t upload this story to the blog site due to the lack of…..
It’s been a while since I updated my blog Facebook and other social media sites tend to have that impact, I guess.
Two years ago I was involved in a very bad skydiving accident, which is documented as the Recovery Road series here on WordPress.
There was still a procedure or two that I chose to wait to have done: and then a fall in a small aircraft hastened the necessity to get this work done. Rather than write a lot about this experience. I chose to document it in video form instead. I recently got my hands on a Sony Bloggie camcorder and found it’s a lot of fun to shoot video with the small camcorder that’s built much like a cell phone.
This is a short documentary account of my MCL/Meniscus/Cartilage procedure and experience. No blood n’ guts, just a drug-influenced host.
This short video was shot with a Sony Bloggie camcorder, and given that I just returned from Mexico and having done a road tour for the new Sony VAIO laptop computer and the Sony Imagination Suite 2 software, I thought it might be fun to see how quickly I could put this video together. I hope you enjoy the video more than I enjoyed the experience of making it.
Only time will tell if the operation procedure was a success, but I’m very excited to get back into the sky as soon as possible. Thanks for all the letters and e-mails of support.
~d
One of my favorite images of Lennon, different from most others.
Snow pelting the windshield, ice on the road, it was a night of frozen hell as we crawled along I-80 at 30mph. We were already freezing from the heater not working. My biggest worry was that the Yamaha organ in the van wasn’t going to stay put if we went off the road. It wasn’t tied down, just held in place by wedges and big moving blankets. We were Sacramento-bound, and had to be there by morning.
I can still smell the musty, wet dog smell of the Uhaul blankets.
We didn’t have CD’s back then, cassettes were still brand new. 8tracks were something for the rich, and we just had the AM radio and an uninsulated Chevy van and that’s all right with me.
The radio had fallen into a series of Beatles songs to the point that it was becoming an annoyance. They played a Yoko Ono song and that inspired me to switch it off the noise when the announcer broke in and said that John Lennon’s death had been confirmed, he was gone. He’d been shot in front of the Dakota Arms apartments.
We sat in shock. And then I got sick. We had to pull over and I stood in the horizontal snow, vomiting. I couldn’t believe that one of the greatest musicians, a peace-proponent, and a bright light in my own musical journey had been murdered. It simply didn’t make sense.
Like most of those alive when Lennon died, we’ll always remember the shot heard round the world. The memory is as vivid as today’s blue sky. Twice now, I’ve visited that spot to steal a sense of his spirit, his soul. I’ve visited Strawberry Fields during many of my New York visits, simply to remember and be inspired.
His words will live on longer than most, and inspire generations yet unknown.
Lennon said ”A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.” My band, my friends…we dreamed together and so many things became reality.
Lennon said “He didn’t come out of my belly, but my God, I’ve made his bones, because I’ve attended to every meal, and how he sleeps, and the fact that he swims like a fish because I took him to the ocean. I’m so proud of all those things. But he is my biggest pride.”
I cannot think of a better way to describe my children and the love I have for them.
Lennon said “If being an egomaniac means I believe in what I do and in my art or music, then in that respect you can call me that… I believe in what I do, and I’ll say it.“
Fu** the haters. This quote has served me well in my life, many times over.
Lennon said, “Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted.”
Amen. I did a 4K motorcycle ride this summer, and the time spent is one of the most beautiful memories I’ll hold til I’m gone.
Lennon said, ”We’ve got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can’t just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it’s going to get on by itself. You’ve got to keep watering it. You’ve got to really look after it and nurture it.”
How much too late I understood this.
Lennon said, “Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will be as one.”
More powerful, more memorable, and more oft-repeated words shall never be spoken.
Tears are streaming from my eyes as I write, because although I never met the man, my life has been better for having listened to and hearing his music and words.
Imagine.
I did.
It led me to some magical places.
Thank you, John Lennon, for daring to dream and for sharing your schemes.
Yesterday was a day of bungie-jump emotion; four awesome wingsuit students, three of whom were working on the same techniques so we spent the day barrel rolling and laughing at the silliness and fun of it all (Barrel rolling is a pre-cursor to learning to fly on one’s back).
Running exits, floating exits, and gainer exits marked the day until I found a friend crying quietly in a corner. Inquiring what was hurting her, she simply looked up and told me “Jordan was killed in action two days ago and I just found out.”
I didn’t know Jordan Emrick well, and had only been on one jump with him. We’d spoken on multiple occasions about flying a wingsuit and he was looking forward to it when he “gets back.” Jordan was being deployed to Afghanistan, and he is an EOD specialist in the Marine Corp.
My first reaction was to cringe. It’s been a tough year with the loss of several friends in skydiving due to pilot error in one way or another. Now we’ve lost a really fun skydiver to the war in Afghanistan. Had you ever met Jordan, his unusually large, toothy grin was one that would never leave your memory. He simply was funny and light.
The second reaction was to want to “do something” whatever that might be. It seemed that many people were feeling the pain of the news, and there was a somber feeling amongst those whose lives had been touched in some way by Jordan’s presence.
We’d been preparing for a Veterans Day Flag Jump anyway, and so my flag was in my training room. I grabbed it and told my friend, “we’ll fly a flag in Jordan’s honor” and went up on a load.
A couple of guys on the load/aircraft knew what was going on and one of them tearfully shook my hand. The plan was to keep the jump low-key.
On exit and deployment, the setting sun lit up the flag in a way that the colors seemed surrealistic. The canopy flight seemed to go on forever. Tears filled my eyes as cheers filled my ears. The British Royal Engineers are training on the DZ, and they all stood for the flag as I landed. It was a great moment of respect for Jordan, for our flag, and even though it was a mere pause in the tickwork of the dropzone, it was beautiful to be a part of it.
Niklas Daniel is an amazing photographer who captured this in full glory, complete with emotion and powerfully moving shots.
For Jordan
You’ll be missed Jordan. There is a hole in the sky where you once used to fly. See you on the other side.
Paul Simon is playing through my head. Steve Gadd’s signature rhythm soothing my dreams, but somewhere Steve missed a beat or three and it startled me. As I opened my eyes, a tunnel came rushing towards me. Seriously. It moved in my direction. A massive void in a natural and organic space slowly gravitating towards my face and I’m powerless to do anything about it, horrified at the speed at which the gap was being closed.
If I didn’t do something quickly a horrible, distasteful contact would occur. It was like watching a horrible scene from an old Star Trek where the monster machine was sucking up every planet in its path.
His T-shirt was simply too short to cover the mound of hairy flesh that surrounded the oversized, probably lint-filled belly button pressing so closely to my cheek. We’ve all seen this sort of person, usually in social parody shows where the guy has a beer in one hand, a wrench in the other, and a tattoo of a curvy woman he’ll never have a chance of meeting tattooed upon his forearm. In many cases, the T-shirt also reveals what some call “Five-buck” pants, otherwise known as “plumbers butt.” This was one of those many cases. I found myself wishing for a quarter and instantly regretting the thought (no matter how humorous it was). Remember that basketball scene in “Meet the Fokkers?” Where DeNiro is slimed by Hoffman’s sweaty belly as he goes for the dunk? Yeah…it feels like that…
This guy even has the requisite tattoo, but it’s of a comic book character, not a woman.
It’s the 6:00 a.m. flight to Boston, and I’m sleeping very soundly as we leave Phoenix in the rear-view mirror. A voice from the seat next to me awakens me, and it’s at this point I’m faced with the Chunnel in front of me. My seatmate has a buddy who has walked up and like many men with monstrous pre-arriving protruberances, he feels the need to rub his mass against something.
In this case, my face (actually the seat side on which my face is resting.
Reaching up quickly and pushing into what felt like a well-worn mattress from a brothel, I push back. “Resistance is futile” began playing in my mind, but the truth was, the defensive move surprised my new friend as much as his belly had surprised me. He began a hasty retreat and to his credit, apologized. I smiled and told him that while I have a penchant for bellybuttons, his was not quite what I usually have in mind.
His name was James Ray. Hmmmm
We both got a chuckle and I did my best to apply mental bleach to the moment as the plane began its descent into MHT.
And so began my day.
Next up is a rental car and long drive to Jumptown.
Jumptown is a fairly large dropzone/skydiving club located in Orange, Massachusetts, and they’ve brought me in to install, develop, and implement a new video editing system, one with which they can automatically edit tandem and AFF videos for very fast delivery. I’ve never been to Jumptown, but have heard a lot about them. Within only a few minutes I can tell this is a place I’d like to visit often.
The system isn’t terribly different than the turnkey systems we’ve installed in Lake Elsinore and several other dropzones around the world, except that the dropzone has purchased this one on their own, and now they mostly need custom templates and training related to the system they’ve built.
Change always brings discomfort, and this dropzone is no different. As it turns out, there are videographers shooting 15 minute epic films for tandems, while others are struggling to meet the “six minute requirement” that the DZ has in place. The disparity is the greatest I’ve seen on any dropzone.
Some of the videographers are resisting the change from tape to file-based camcorders, and yet others are resisting the idea that their tandem videos will be fairly consistent with regards to length and content, to that of other videographers on the DZ. This is normal, I’ve seen it on a coupla dozen DZ’s, but usually the argument is about which camera to go with, not length of videos. Listening to the guys bitch and whine about “I’m a filmmaker, and I like telling the story of the person’s tandem….” falls on deaf ears from me. I truly am a “filmmaker” with a long history in the business, and 12-minute long tandem videos are not “films.” We’re gonna forge on anyway. Hopefully they’ll figure it out, but right now, the dialog feels something best illustrated “Brick wall, meet words.”
The next thing I know, it’s been a 12 hour day of computers, twitchy installs, and tweaky videographers. I want a bath, and head for the hotel as fast as my rented wheels will take me to one.
The hotel is best described as “quaint.” Sitting on a small hillock, it could have been a brightly painted inspiration for Hitchcock’s “Psycho” starring Anthony Perkins and Janet Leigh. Opening the door to my private chambers, I spy a chair in the corner, and have expect “Mother” to be waiting for me. Her chair was, but gratefully she was not in it.
Dawn springs forth, and a new day begins. This one should fall together much more efficiently than the last.
Taxi, Anyone?
Part of my deal with Jumptown is that I get to jump a time or two while I’m there, otherwise they’re gonna have to pay my full daily rate. Justin and Brian let me know that the weather is coming in, so I’d be smart to get on the first load of the day, can I make a ten minute call?
Well…I’m borrowing a rig I haven’t seen, don’t have my wingsuit zipped onto the unseen rig, helmet, goggles, alti, legbrace in the car, and I forgot my shorts that allow me to wear my bionic knee in flight and landing. All of this usually takes 20 mins or so to set up and properly safety check.
Of course I can make a 10 minute call, you kidding me?
With a little help from my friends, I’m ready to fly, but damn, we’re hustling to beat the rain and in our rush, I caught the leading edge of my wingsuit on a protruding hook in the loading area, tearing a small hole.
Stress is really built up at this point….I don’t just want this skydive, I NEED this skydive.
On the climb to altitude, it dawns on me to ask someone “What canopy is in this container, mate?”
“Uh, I’m not sure” is generally not the answer one is looking for when inquiring about a life-saving device used to slow the descent of someone whom has hurled themselves towards earth from a high object.
Oh well…I NEED this skydive, remember? What could possibly go wrong?
There may be “fifty ways to leave your lover…” but there is only one way to exit this aircraft….and I can hardly wait to toss myself out at 14,000. Regardless of what is on my back.
Justin and Lurch leave first because they have bigger wingsuits, so if I’m gonna sink out on them, I at least want a few seconds of grinning time as I watch them shrink above me.
As luck would have it, they both dropped to my level and I held out my left hand for Lurch to take. As I did, I felt a tapping on my right side and there was Justin, knocking on my door. I released my wing and took Justin’s hand. The three of us flew there together experiencing sheer joy that only wingsuiters can truly understand. Docking while moving forward at 100 mph is pretty specific and challenging. Most people would be afraid to line up three cars on the freeway, reaching out of their windows to hold hands with others, let alone doing it three across. Add the component that a wingsuit is much lighter than a car, and someone else’ movements will quickly impact your own flight, and it’s a recipe for aerial combat. Some people have even said it can’t be done, but we’re doing it.
Gleefully.
We pull off the dock for 30 seconds. Now I’m ready to try to float on these two. I pour on the gas to build speed and leave em’ in the dust for a second or two. But…their bigger suits and longer tail wings have them both back on my tail like the highway patrol chasing a speeding teen.
No matter, it’s time to find out what parachute is on my back, so I wave off (indicating my intention to let my parachute out of the bag, it’s sort of like putting on brake lights so folks know you’re slowing down) and I pitch out my pilot chute.
Seeing your main canopy properly inflating above your head is always a good thing, and I was pretty pleased to see Plan A being perfectly executed.
Landing on the ground (down wind, of course), Lurch greets me with a yell that falls somewhere between a hoot, caw, and psychotic giggling. The embrace we shared made the many months since our last skydive together fall to the ground as new memories have just been made.
The weather rolls in, the training is done. All thoughts of computer hell, video prima-donnas, hairy bellybuttons, and long flights pass by me in the flash of a 2.5 minute skydive. CTRL+ALT+DELETE….
Truly…there are fifty ways to leave your lover, but I’m only leaving Jumptown one way; with good memories of a fast, productive, and incredibly friendly visit. And can’t wait to return.
Thanks Diane, Dave, Muppet (and everyone else that participated), for making this visit truly a fun experience. I hope to revisit Jumptown 50 times….
If you clap your hands three times and say “I believe in fairies,” good things will happen in your life (I don’t believe Tinkerbell will reveal herself, however).
I believe that love is when hurting her hurts you more.
I believe it’s taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I believe I’m a good person even as I work towards being better.
I believe in heroes. They do what needs to be done regardless of the consequences. Heroes stand up for heroes. Cowards hide in the dark.
I believe in Santa Clause; I don’t believe he has a big white beard and has a stable of flying reindeer. But he does come in the night, quietly, and leaves behind good will towards others.
I believe in angels. I saw one only today.
I believe that great friendship can grow over long distances. The same holds true for love.
I believe that the world revolves regardless of the griefs in our lives.
I believe that no matter how good or well intentioned a friend or lover may be, they’re going to hurt you once in a while.
I believe that every now and then I might be angry and I have ever right to be angry. But I don’t have the right to be cruel.
I believe in forgiveness.
I believe that forgiving others sometimes isn’t enough; sometimes you have to forgive yourself.
I believe that forgiving yourself is much harder than forgiving someone else.
I believe I’ve suffered great pains, but have grown upward from them.
I believe I’ve died a little and been reborn a little several times.
I believe in knights in shining armor, even if they’re wearing blue jeans and a hole-filled Tshirt.
I believe that love is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for.
And I believe that “if you don’t risk everything, you risk even more.”
I believe in doing my best for myself and for those around me.
I believe human beings are essentially good in heart.
I believe that some human beings bring out the worst in us while those that bring out the best in ourselves are the people we should be nearest.
I believe violence is acceptable in times of great adversity and all else fails to reconcile freedom.
I believe in adventure, in trying new challenges, reaching new heights, pushing the human body and soul beyond where apparent limits lie.
I believe in helping others to achieve their dreams. Failing that, being an intentional obstacle to an achieved dream is evil.
I believe truly good people can do truly bad things. Only those with an evil heart can act with malice aforethought.
I also believe I say more than I should, and don’t heed the advice of Andy Warhol; “Saying ‘I love you’ is like putting a loaded gun to my head because there is no other response than ‘I love you too.’”
I believe in so many things that I’m re-writing my life around the things I’ve believed in for a while now.
And I believe in suspending belief, if only for a short time.
Sitting between two Sumo wrestlers from the larger parts of Japan, I’m flying from LAX to SLC to spend this holiday with my familyand friends. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but some things are simply worth the hassle.
This is of course, one of them, but I’m planning on holding my expression of appreciation for the hassle until I’m no longer a head jammed between two separate sets of shoulders. Visualize a bowling ball stuck in a very narrow alleyway, halfway up from the street.
I’m actually grateful for the opportunity to be flying home as I was teaching today until 4:00 and didn’t leave for LAX at 3:00 as planned. A student who’d sworn up and down that she wouldn’t be later than noon showed up at 1:30 and we didn’t get into the sky until 3:00, about the same time I’d meant to leave for LAX. But…I’m also incredibly grateful for the opportunity to teach. In fact, it means more to me than ever. I’ll never be a world competitor-level skydiver again, and I’ll never be able to keep up with the twenty-somethings that can kick my ass backwards from Monday. But I do love the thrill of teaching, and will do so until the day I’m wormfodder.
Getting to LAX was stressful (LA traffic is usually about as relaxing as dodging seagull poop bombs falling on a busy pier) and true to form, the hurriedier I go, the behinder I get. The 91 freeway North had an accident. And of course, so did the 110. AND the 105. I needed to be at the airport by 5:30 to catch my flight, and at 6:15 I was pulling into the long-term parking lot. Not a good omen.
I’m grateful to a friend for talking me through the drive and keeping me calm while I was contemplating jumping out of my truck and screaming “I’ve got a temper and I’m not afraid to use it!” and hoping that would clear traffic ahead. That could have begun a bad day… Thankfully, my flight was magically delayed and I got through security just in time to catch the flight, even though it had been delayed by 30 minutes. Glad for the “no baggage” thing.
So back to the two Sumo wrestlers and the unmentioned guy across the aisle….
The gentleman seated across from me is having a discussion with his wife about “regifting” and how horrid it is, “how could anyone do such a thing?” What makes this eavesdropping really uncomfortable is that in order to listen in, I’m practically nose to nipple with the oversized man-boob of the 350 pounder sitting next to me. And I don’t want to rile him any (he’s sleeping, or pretending to be. Or maybe his eyelids are simply as overweight as he is, I’m not sure). But…the conversation is one I’d really like to jump into. We’ve all received weird gifts in the past, right? Yet my plane-mate is proclaiming that re-gifting is right up there with cheating at cards, taking the quarters from your daughter’s pile of tip change, or thumbing through Cosmo in the checkout line (it’s a Utah thing….)
Hmmm…I for one, don’t have a lot of use for the gallon of Old Spice that I received for Christmas one year. And the Chia Pet head of George W. Bush? It’s either gonna get round-filed or handed off to someone as a joke gift, or maybe as repayment for the strip monopoly game I got for my 40th birthday. Either way…it seems a shame to throw away a gift that is still shrink-wrapped. I’d return it, but the day after Christmas, Walmart immediately lowered the Chia-head of the president from 49.99 to 2.99. It wasn’t worth the gas cost to drive to the store’s return department.
Which brings me to another reason I like re-gifting; Return Departments. Have you ever braved one the day after Christmas?
I’m thinking that the French had a better time of it against the English Armada.
Very Large People In Polyester fighting for space in an area smaller than most corrals, these anti-regifters sound akin to braying donkeys as they argue with return clerks about why they should get regular price for something they’re returning even though the post-Christmas price is 90% off of whatever it was paid for. It was a gift, it cost them NOTHING! Whatever happened to “It’s the thought that counts?”
Duh…it’s also a new profit program, right? Mark up an item 150% of cost, then discount it by 50% of the retail price, which still engenders a profit margin of 50%, then discount it by 90something percent the day after the holiday and still clear a minimal profit for the fast turnaround.
It’s amazing the crap people will buy in the Christmas buying frenzy. Honestly….how many of your friends really NEED a Ped-Egg, and how many of them are wondering if they have funky feet and you’re trying to be diplomatic with your gift? When I got a gallon of Old Spice, I found my insecurities wondering if I smelled so badly that only a worser smell could mask the olfactory offensives? That 24 pack of battery-operated personal fans…let it sit right where it will be the day after Christmas. Honest. I don’t want/need one. Although they could be fun in freefall….Hmmmm….. Silly String is really fun in free fall too.
Back to reality here tho; I am a grateful person. This year, I’ve learned more about life than I had in the previous lifetime. If I were a cat, I’ve used up eight of my nine. I’m gonna make this last one count. I’m grateful for the thoughts sent my way, and I’m grateful for all the love and support sent my way. I’m appreciative of the cards, letters, emails….and I’m gonna re-gift them all. I promise, if you sent me some love, some support, a card, a happy thought, I’m going to re-gift it and pass it along.
Re-wrapped, of course.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours from my very humble trailer in Lake Elsinore, California.
Hello, let me introduce you to
The characters in the show
One says yes, one says no
Decide – which voice in your head you can keep alive
I dare you to tell me to walk through the fire
wear my soul and call me a liar
I dare you to tell me to walk through the fire
I dare you to tell me
I dare you to
(Shinedown/I Dare You
Some people follow their dreams. I’d rather chase them down and beat them into submission. If that doesn’t work, heavy boots may be necessary for stomping. Embrace life, stand up for what you believe in, and understand that failure is an important component of success. Fear Zero.
I’d like to say more, but I think my new mantra is just that. Fear Zero. I can’t recall having been as frightened as I was going out of the door for the 1388th time. Jump 1387 nearly put me six feet under. Jump 1390 put me in seventh heaven. Either way…
We can choose to fall, we decide to fail, we can choose to succeed and cry in the process, we can dust ourselves off and get back up, and we can be cowards and lie down in our endeavors. But whatever we do, we own it in entirety. As Dylan said, I will not go gently… I own myself, I own my life, I own my surroundings, and by god, I’ll own my smile. NOTHING you do can take this from me. Clutching my spirit tight to my breast, I dare you to show me. I dare you to walk through fire and come out the other side. I dare you to run. I dare you to be the very best you can be when your ass has been kicked six ways from Sunday. I dare you to make a difference. A good one. I dare you to fail. And when you do, you’ll revel in the knowledge that you know exactly how NOT to do something. I dare myself every day. In fact, some days when it’s particularly hard, I double-dog dare myself. Some folks wonder about my perma-smirk. Maybe this resolves the wonderment?
A friend told me today “I’m not sure how you’re gonna take this, but in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to be so happy. Yet I’ve never known you to be so broken. What’s up? What is it that changed in you? I think it’s a good thing.”
What’s up? Well….as dramatic as it sounds, death knocked at my door. I treated him like a Scientologist. Middle finger extended, defiant grin, and told him nobody was home. I kicked his ass. Man, it feels good. I made a series of goals, and have met nearly every one of them. I’m on a great journey. Wanna join me? Pick up your baseball bat, grab a box of attitude on your way out the door, and march with your head held high with a resolute smile. Because we’re gonna win this day. I’ll help you, you help me. Let’s do this thing, OK?
I was told I’d not walk for months. I gave it the finger.
I was told I’d not skydive for a coupla years. I gave it the finger.
I was told the pain would make me scream. I give it the finger each morning.
Fear Zero.
Jump # 1388
Embrace the hurt, the anger, the sorrow, whatever might ail you and use it against itself. Let it be the fuel that makes your motor scream at 10,000 rpm as you hurtle yourself down the freeway, exiting only when arriving at the destination. No distractions, no offramps, not even changing lanes unless an obstacle presents itself.
Get the hell out of the way…because I’m coming into my Second Rising….whatever that may mean.
On broken wings I’m falling
And it won’t be long
The skin on me is burning
By the fires of the sun
On skinned knees
I’m bleeding
And it won’t be long
I’ve got to find that meaning
I’ll search for so long “Broken Wings” (Alter Bridge)
I’d originally planned on saying nothing more about my recovery, but the past week has been nothing short of miracles. I had my first visits with a new physical therapist, who measured me at the outset as having 8 degrees of extension and 40 degrees of flexion. In other words, I couldn’t bend my knee very much.
This left me with a depression almost as bad as the CRiPS mentioned in my “No Regrets” blogs. I need to reach 150 degrees before I can fly. That’s a helluva lot of bending required. Wednesday was not a good day, one mostly filled with tears at the pains of pulling a knee farther than it wanted to go and significantly less than it needed to go before I can achieve my dream of flight.
I’m very grateful for Azee’ choo’nii’gii’ and all that these things bring. I can feel the medicines working around my knee and legs, and continue to grow stronger each day.
Additionally, this day marks the third month since my incident, and it’s sort of an unexpected landmark. And in this, I’m searching for the meaning of my incident and all I’ve learned since that afternoon.
I purchased a stationary bike on Sunday, and started working the pedals. Due to the loss of range of motion, I can’t rotate the pedals a full 360, but I can push my leg to about 60 degrees. Hurts like hell, but that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Like they say, “If you’re going to be stupid, you’d better be tough.”
Which brings me to the third reason I decided to blog further on my incident. Recent accidents in the skydiving world seem to often involve pelvis fractures amongst other things. I want people to know how painful this can be in hopes that maybe, just maybe….my experience might invoke some caution in some of those that are being too aggressive or not really thinking they’re vulnerable to the same things happening. Since my incident, I’ve become aware of two other dropped toggle incidents, both of which happened to skydivers with greater experience than I have. Both have broken pelvis’ and both are in serious pain. One person who suffered a broken pelvis yesterday passed away this morning. BSBD, Aaron.
Maybe, just maybe, one of you reading this will avoid a similar fate.
On Monday I met my new physical therapist in a town nearer where I live. He was surprised to see me walk in without crutches, but rather limping in on a brace. He commenced to warm my knee before beginning therapy, and then we went straight to it. I started the session with a flexion of 48 degrees, so I’d done some good stretching over the weekend, bringing my cold start flexion from 40 to 48 degrees. He put me on a stationary bike for a while before moving me to a Flex cage, which allowed me to work my upper body and new ACL stretches. I’m so weak, these are incredibly difficult. Lying in bed for three months has not only atrophied most of my muscles, it’s also reduced the thickness of my thighs by a full 6.5 inches. And I can’t do more than two or three pullups without being tired. I was never a bodybuilder, but before my accident, I could hold my own in terms of strength and endurance. Now…I’m a noodle. I might not be able to make my goal flying by November 1, as it’s less than 50 days away from where I am. This alone is hard to consider, as missing goals is not something I’m used to experiencing.
I worked my ass off on Tuesday. My knee and lower leg have nearly doubled in size due to the stress I’m putting on it, but my flexion seems to be about 60 degrees, or a decent right angle. I’m feeling pretty good when the therapist measures it to be 63 degrees cold on Wednesday. Now the work begins….because the primary obstacle in front of me before I skydive again is me….
“I curse my worth and every comfort,
it blinded me for way to long,
Damn it all, I’ll make a difference,
From now on….
Before tomorrow comes, we can change every thing,
We can be so much more than we are….” “Before Tomorrow Comes” Alter Bridge
As the weekend rolls around, I’m determined to extend my flexion, and with my brace, I attempt to walk at a high speed. Strangely enough, high speed walking is easier than walking slowly. Balance seems to be there. One of my exercises is to close my eyes and balance on one foot and then the other. Yet I don’t fall down.
Not once.
Tuesday (today, I visit the therapist again. This time, I’m given a different doctor and we first measure my flexion after the weekend’s worth of at-home workouts. My flexion is up to 110 degrees cold. YES!
It’s a small victory, but over the last three months, small victories are savored as sweetly as being part of the 71 way record in Elsinore last year. I’m looking forward to the day that I can eat peanuts again; small victories are milestones that mark successes as they come.
During therapy, two unique experiences occurred.
The first was when I was in the Flex cage moving my knee and working my upper body, I asked the therapist, “What will happen if I lift my left leg off the ground, will my right knee support me?” He responded with “You’ll probably fall down.” I asked him to stand behind me in case that happened. He wondered what I was up do. I lifted my left leg so that my right leg and arms supported my body weight. Lowering my arms, my leg bent quickly and I discovered I could do pullups and flex my knee at the same time. My therapist kept shaking his head with “I wish you wouldn’t do that, you might lose your grip and fall.” Well….Imight have a bad landing or my main might fail or yadayadaya….without pushing the limits, how do we know how far we can go? Can’t be afraid of “might-happens.”
And why do we fall down? So we can get back up and try again….
The next experience occurred after they’d done the shock therapy, warming therapy ,and iced down my knee. I’d put on my knee brace and was ready to leave. I asked the therapist if their treadmill was working and if so, could I try it.
He walked over with me, turned it on, and asked “what are you thinking of doing?” I told him I wanted to do a fast walk. And proceeded to turn the machine up to 7mph (a fast jog). I had no problem managing the speed, but it was obvious my cardio wasn’t going to hold up very long. First the therapist says “Remember George Jetson and how the belt threw him off? Please don’t do that?” I slowed the treadmill down to 3mph and did a fast walk for a coupla minutes just to smooth out the heart rate. My therapist’s parting comment was “I’d really appreciate it if you would learn to walk before you try to run.” Well…can’t argue with that but the truth is, I’d rather fly before I can walk.
My greatest fear is that while I thought I’d beaten or at least contained the CRiPS/RSD a couple of weeks ago, it’s returned with a vengeance. Please, PLEASE help get the word out about this dystropy that normally ends with amputation or suicide. No one knows much about it outside the military. Imagine a cotton ball feeling like a hot dull razor on your skin….that’s not even close to the intensity of the pain, but it’s the best description I can come up with.
Hopefully as soon as the sutures on my knee close, I’ll be able to get back in the current pool again, as that seems to be what brought the CRiPS under control last time.
The points I’m trying to make aren’t about how tough, how innovative, or ahead of the curve I seem to be. Rather, what I’m trying to say is, the road from recovery is tough, it requires one helluva lot of passion, and requires an intense support system of family and friends. I have all of the above, thank heaven.
When I think about how far I’ve come from June 8, 2009 to now…It’s almost a dream or a nightmare, depending on how you wish to look at it. Exactly three months ago yesterday, my family was told I might not live through the night.
Exactly three months ago today, I was told I might be paralyzed in my left leg but they’d do all they could.
Three months ago this coming Friday marks the first of several times I fell out of bed attempting to get out of bed and walk or transfer to a chair on my own.
90 days. 3 months. I was told a minimum of 6 months before I’d be able to walk again, let alone run. I fully intend to be skydiving before year’s end and at this pace, will do so with my doctors blessing (albeit grudgingly).
I still have a long ways to go in endurance, strength, and building more flex in my leg, but like the lyric above says, “Damn it all, I’ll make a difference.” I believe I was spared for reasons unknown, but one of those reasons (I hope) is to be around to make a positive difference in this sport, however that may come about.
Please gang…pay attention to what you’re doing, take care of each other out there, and most of all, take care of yourself. Make a difference. Move out of your comfort zone and watch how others are flying, how they’re landing. If you’re experienced, take them under your wing and gently guide them to a safer course.
