So I have a new friend. He's a chiropractor. I remember the good old days when I used to make friends at parties or playing sports. Now all my new friends have offices and medical supplies.
He was funny. The first medical professional I didn't so much mind going to see. He had a Riders garbage can in his office. His dad coached the Yorkton Terriers.
He said, have you ever been in a car accident?
I said, yes. A long time ago.
He said, did the car roll?
I said, yes.
He said, who was driving?
I said, me.
He said, was it your parents car?
I said, yes.
He said, was it a truck?
I said - look, I feel like I'm on trial here. No, it wasn't a truck. It was a car.
Then I sheepishly added - it was a brand new car.
He said - I'm writing that down...R-O-L-L-E-D--P-A-R-E-N-T-S--B-R-A-N-D--N-E-W--C-A-R.
He said - And now I'm going to underline BRAND NEW twice.
Wait...on second thought, he wasn't funny at all.
---
It appears I have two vertebrae's giving me problems so he insisted that I see him all next week. Fine I said, but can I still play ball? He said, NO, but if I choose to then I am not allowed to complain about it. I said fine. I won't complain. (I probably will though).
Then he said, we are closed next friday so I can only see you until thursday.
I said that's fine cause I'm leaving wednesday so I can only see you till wednesday anyway.
He said, ok well I guess we'll just have to fix you in three days then.
I said, Yes make sure cause I have to golf thursday and then waterski at the cabin and my ball finals are next monday.
He looked at me.
He finally said, you know, the worst things you can do are golf, bat and waterski because with these things your head is tilted forward and the spinal compression and then with the swing, the rotation....blah, blah, blah....and he had his little toy spine out and was bending and twisting it up as he spoke to show me what happened to the little bones and nerves when my bat hit the ball. It wasn't pretty.
When he FINALLY stopped, I stared at the knarled toy spine in his hand for a minute, then looked him in the eye and said, So you're saying that I should make some appointments for the week after too then?
For all that, I got a smile, an eye-roll, and three full weeks worth of chiropractor appointments. It sure didn't take him long to realize that he may be funny and knowledgeable and perhaps even a little scary, but I will always be the stubborn middle child who is going to do it anyway.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Old Oak Tree
I'm feeling a little sad today, you see there is this homeless man that asks for change and he stands on the corner across from my work. Since we moved to this office he's been there. In the same way the a 400 year old oak tree is always in the same spot when you walk by, he is just a subconcious expectation. A comfort. A sign that I'm only thirty steps from my elevator. He always sat in the exact same spot, facing the exact same direction, holding the exact same hat, smelling the exact same smell, and smiling the exact same smile.
He's been gone for almost two weeks and I can't get it out of my mind. Every morning it upsets me a little, i wonder where he is or what has happened. It's funny how I never paid much attention to him - having both a personal policy on handing cash to the needy, and a fundamental lack of spare change - but I really did notice when he was gone. He wasn't a part of my life in the sense that he had a lot of affect on it, but over the last few months, he had quietly taken a subtle, yet constant role in my life as a comforting everyday occurance. And now, he's gone.
I wonder if one day he will return or if one day I will forget he was ever there.
He's been gone for almost two weeks and I can't get it out of my mind. Every morning it upsets me a little, i wonder where he is or what has happened. It's funny how I never paid much attention to him - having both a personal policy on handing cash to the needy, and a fundamental lack of spare change - but I really did notice when he was gone. He wasn't a part of my life in the sense that he had a lot of affect on it, but over the last few months, he had quietly taken a subtle, yet constant role in my life as a comforting everyday occurance. And now, he's gone.
I wonder if one day he will return or if one day I will forget he was ever there.
Dangerous Driving
Yesterday I was driving down Deerfoot in the slush and the muck with my finger on the windshield washer button, thinking about when they would come out with a ‘Couch Potatoe’ game for the Wii – where you’d get points for sitting still as possible and slouching and eating potatoe chips and stuff – when I reached down to adjust my scarf and it hit me!!
No, not the meaning of life. The little metal thing on the end of the string from my hood!
The string was elastic and apparently I had gotten it caught between my two fingers as I adjusted my scarf, so when I put my hand down, the thing snapped back and hit me in the eyeball! So now I’m blind in one eye (which does nothing for depth perception by the way) and driving down deerfoot trail with a mud covered windshield. And I just thought, Wow, we should celebrate everything, after all - it’s a wonder we survive everyday. With the gang shootings, car accidents, plane crashes, and little metal things on our coats…life is dangerous. So to myself I’ve made the commitment to pat myself on the back every time I clear a hazard in life – every time I pass by a table and don’t stub my toe, every time I do up a zipper and don’t catch my throat in it’s teeth, every time I wave to someone and don’t knock myself out. After all, each of little wins lead to another wonderful day full of opportunities!
No, not the meaning of life. The little metal thing on the end of the string from my hood!
The string was elastic and apparently I had gotten it caught between my two fingers as I adjusted my scarf, so when I put my hand down, the thing snapped back and hit me in the eyeball! So now I’m blind in one eye (which does nothing for depth perception by the way) and driving down deerfoot trail with a mud covered windshield. And I just thought, Wow, we should celebrate everything, after all - it’s a wonder we survive everyday. With the gang shootings, car accidents, plane crashes, and little metal things on our coats…life is dangerous. So to myself I’ve made the commitment to pat myself on the back every time I clear a hazard in life – every time I pass by a table and don’t stub my toe, every time I do up a zipper and don’t catch my throat in it’s teeth, every time I wave to someone and don’t knock myself out. After all, each of little wins lead to another wonderful day full of opportunities!
Friday, August 21, 2009
My First Fishing Trip
There were three of us little ones - my brother, my sister, and myself - and we heard about this crazy thing called ‘fishing’.
So one afternoon (after I’m sure much nattering and pestering) my dad took us fishing. He dropped us in rubber boots and handed us each a fishing rod. Excited, we hoped into the Orange Ford and sped off down the gravel road. We drove through a field and stopped at this tiny little creek(actually ‘creek’ is a stretch, it really was more of a low-spot that had gathered some rainwater). Unbeknown to us, there were no fish there.
But dad was beknown…he knew that not a single fish could possibly exist in that puddle. He didn't tell us though, so we spent all day fishing and fishing! Dad taught us to cast and then he seemed the "appropriate-amount" of flustered by the fact that we were doing so well but we weren’t catching anything! When we went home and told mom, she was very surprized too that we didn't catch any fish but thank goodness she had already thought of a back-up plan for supper that night!
But you know, even though we never caught one, boy did we have stories about all the bites and tugs and all the times we 'almost' caught a fish in that creek that afternoon!
But they were stealth, those fish. They got away. To big for us to wrestle down i supposed…even dad couldn’t pull them up…if we had a fighter on the end that was close to pulling us in, we’d give him the rod to reel the monster in - and every time he got the hook unsnagged from the tree root we had it caught in and brought the line up - to our amazement - the hook would be fish-less!
“Maybe if you were quieter you wouldn’t have scared it away,” Dad would say.
Ya Dad...maybe.
happy friday!
Q: What did one math book say to the other?
A: Man I got a lot of problems!
So one afternoon (after I’m sure much nattering and pestering) my dad took us fishing. He dropped us in rubber boots and handed us each a fishing rod. Excited, we hoped into the Orange Ford and sped off down the gravel road. We drove through a field and stopped at this tiny little creek(actually ‘creek’ is a stretch, it really was more of a low-spot that had gathered some rainwater). Unbeknown to us, there were no fish there.
But dad was beknown…he knew that not a single fish could possibly exist in that puddle. He didn't tell us though, so we spent all day fishing and fishing! Dad taught us to cast and then he seemed the "appropriate-amount" of flustered by the fact that we were doing so well but we weren’t catching anything! When we went home and told mom, she was very surprized too that we didn't catch any fish but thank goodness she had already thought of a back-up plan for supper that night!
But you know, even though we never caught one, boy did we have stories about all the bites and tugs and all the times we 'almost' caught a fish in that creek that afternoon!
But they were stealth, those fish. They got away. To big for us to wrestle down i supposed…even dad couldn’t pull them up…if we had a fighter on the end that was close to pulling us in, we’d give him the rod to reel the monster in - and every time he got the hook unsnagged from the tree root we had it caught in and brought the line up - to our amazement - the hook would be fish-less!
“Maybe if you were quieter you wouldn’t have scared it away,” Dad would say.
Ya Dad...maybe.
happy friday!
Q: What did one math book say to the other?
A: Man I got a lot of problems!
How to Turn that Bocci Game Around!
Did you know they sell dual-purpose coolers nowadays? They look and act like normal coolers – keeping the lagers icy cold. But on top of doing just normal cooler-stuff – they have WHEELS!!!!
This is brilliant! Ingenious really! Cause now when the innocent little Bocce ball game turns ugly – you all know how it happens…same old story, you toss your ball – aiming for the little white one – and you land very close, your excitement barely contained at your sure-win, then your opponent tosses his last ball and you hear a loud SMACK! His ball comes down and knocks yours clean away. Your smile turns upside down and you start to argue, things get heated, people start throwing the balls at each other, someone even hurls their hot-dog-stick. Cutthroat. Lifetime friendships lost, engagements ended, family ties severed.
But now, all that can be salvaged – now when things start to turn ugly, you just empty out the coolers, climb inside and start the new game – COOLER RACES! People will scream with joy, bounce with laughter, and hug even strangers out of sheer delight… And the best part about this new game is finding the beer that got missed at the bottom of the cooler – like the French fry you find at the bottom of the McDonald’s bag – you crack the trophy beer as you plummet awkwardly down the hill encased in your Coleman.
Yes, my friend that is the moment of true euphoria.
happy friday!
Q: Why were all the ink spots crying?
A: Because their father was in the pen!
This is brilliant! Ingenious really! Cause now when the innocent little Bocce ball game turns ugly – you all know how it happens…same old story, you toss your ball – aiming for the little white one – and you land very close, your excitement barely contained at your sure-win, then your opponent tosses his last ball and you hear a loud SMACK! His ball comes down and knocks yours clean away. Your smile turns upside down and you start to argue, things get heated, people start throwing the balls at each other, someone even hurls their hot-dog-stick. Cutthroat. Lifetime friendships lost, engagements ended, family ties severed.
But now, all that can be salvaged – now when things start to turn ugly, you just empty out the coolers, climb inside and start the new game – COOLER RACES! People will scream with joy, bounce with laughter, and hug even strangers out of sheer delight… And the best part about this new game is finding the beer that got missed at the bottom of the cooler – like the French fry you find at the bottom of the McDonald’s bag – you crack the trophy beer as you plummet awkwardly down the hill encased in your Coleman.
Yes, my friend that is the moment of true euphoria.
happy friday!
Q: Why were all the ink spots crying?
A: Because their father was in the pen!
I'm an 'Avoider'
There are four types of people (according to the test that neatly categorizes everyone into little boxes) under the heading “Confrontation Styles.”
I fall smack in the middle of the “Avoider” box. And I mean middle – I won’t even venture near edge of that box to peek over and see what the Antagonists are doing on a dreary Sunday afternoon. Nope! I stand safely in the middle surrounded by millions of other Avoiders, right beside Waldo where no one can find me. I learned this about myself a few years ago when I attempted to manage people (for which I discovered my skills are as suited as a tutu is for a hippo. BIG thumbs down. The whole ‘if you’re happy - I’m happy! if you’re not – I will be over there’ philosophy doesn’t work that well in a management role. Who knew?)
I bring this up because I was reminded of this personality trait again this week. It was a little over two weeks ago when I secretly became addicted to that Big Brother reality show. It got so bad that I heard myself making excuses to leave social gatherings early. Which was difficult and mildly amusing in itself, you see over the years I have developed a habit of consistently being amongst the last-to-leave folks. A habit which has never allowed me to learn how to exit anywhere gracefully!
So I’d be out and after a few hours I’d see the time, panic, mutter some ill-thought-out-excuse, “hey, I have to go I think I left my blender on”, grab my coat and run out the door like I was escaping from Alcatraz. I’d get home with seconds to spare, settle into my couch and indulge my guilty pleasure of spying on strangers in the Big Brother house.
This Tuesday however, I decided that show is no longer for me. I’m sure that’s not surprising to those of you who know my flea-length attention span, but it wasn’t that I got bored so much as uncomfortable. In the span of one hour (minus commercials) there were tears, drunken slurs, screaming matches, and scandalous name-calling.
Halfway through I turned off the TV, crawled back to the middle of my box and closed the lid.
If you ask me, the world could do with a little less yelling.
happy friday!
Q: What is an algebra?
A: What a mermaid wears under her dress!
I fall smack in the middle of the “Avoider” box. And I mean middle – I won’t even venture near edge of that box to peek over and see what the Antagonists are doing on a dreary Sunday afternoon. Nope! I stand safely in the middle surrounded by millions of other Avoiders, right beside Waldo where no one can find me. I learned this about myself a few years ago when I attempted to manage people (for which I discovered my skills are as suited as a tutu is for a hippo. BIG thumbs down. The whole ‘if you’re happy - I’m happy! if you’re not – I will be over there’ philosophy doesn’t work that well in a management role. Who knew?)
I bring this up because I was reminded of this personality trait again this week. It was a little over two weeks ago when I secretly became addicted to that Big Brother reality show. It got so bad that I heard myself making excuses to leave social gatherings early. Which was difficult and mildly amusing in itself, you see over the years I have developed a habit of consistently being amongst the last-to-leave folks. A habit which has never allowed me to learn how to exit anywhere gracefully!
So I’d be out and after a few hours I’d see the time, panic, mutter some ill-thought-out-excuse, “hey, I have to go I think I left my blender on”, grab my coat and run out the door like I was escaping from Alcatraz. I’d get home with seconds to spare, settle into my couch and indulge my guilty pleasure of spying on strangers in the Big Brother house.
This Tuesday however, I decided that show is no longer for me. I’m sure that’s not surprising to those of you who know my flea-length attention span, but it wasn’t that I got bored so much as uncomfortable. In the span of one hour (minus commercials) there were tears, drunken slurs, screaming matches, and scandalous name-calling.
Halfway through I turned off the TV, crawled back to the middle of my box and closed the lid.
If you ask me, the world could do with a little less yelling.
happy friday!
Q: What is an algebra?
A: What a mermaid wears under her dress!
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