Basketball

I went to the gym to play basketball with a friend.  It was February and the drive was especially cold.  After changing into my gym shoes and trying to rub my hands together for warmth, I dribbled the ball across the court to the far basket.  My hands hadn’t warmed at all; they felt like bricks as I dribbled.  I had no feel for the ball.  I must’ve looked like a five-year-old who had never dribbled a ball, slapping it awkwardly.  It had been a while since I picked up a basketball, everything felt so foreign.  My feet were in a cold sweat, hands cold and dry as we began shooting around.

My shot felt weak, like I needed to use my legs, jumping hard just to assure the ball reached its goal.  After a few minutes of “shaking the dust off”, i.e. warming up, we began a game of “taps”.  Taps is a game in which one player shoots foul shots while the other “taps” into the basket, any misses.  It requires the “tapper” to jump, catch the ball, and shoot the ball before landing.  I quickly learned that this was asking a lot.  There was a time when this game came as easily as anything, but that time had passed. 

When I found myself on the foul line, I learned that I barely had the strength to reach the basket without jumping.  Watch a basketball game, be it high school, college, or pro, no one over the age of eight jumps on a foul shot.  But I did.  I had to.

Later we played “21”, essentially a one-on-one game that also includes foul shots and a three-pointer at the end.  I found myself a step slow on defense, and my hands still felt like bricks when handling the ball.  I tried to execute moves I was comfortable with in the past, and failed.  I tried to drive past my defender, dribbling with my right (dominant) hand, but found that when I tried to collect the ball to attempt a layup, I couldn’t get a handle; the ball bouncing forward, out of bounds and into the wall. 

When I or my opponent brought the ball into the post, creating a bit of physicality, I felt okay with the slowed down pace, but soon learned that this too brought challenges.  I backed down my defender, using my body to shield him from my dribble.  I leaned in, pushing him closer to the basket and suddenly he moved.  He slid his body to the side and I backpedalled awkwardly towards the sideline.  It felt like slow motion as I first lost my balance, then control of the ball, then watched helplessly as my legs struggled to try to catch up with my momentum.  They didn’t; I fell, sliding backwards on my butt. 

I’m not sure what my friend and opponent thought; I didn’t ask.  Likely he was as confused as I.  Soon after, I called my doctor to set up an appointment.  

Pleasant

I like getting coffee.  It is so easy.  Breakfasts are nice, but the crowds, the task of eating a hot breakfast (while it’s still hot) makes for a different experience.  There are too many distractions for me.  Instead I enjoy the quiet simplicity of a coffee shop. 

I enjoy spending an hour or two in slow motion.  I enjoy conversation that isn’t interrupted by the arrival of plates of food.  I enjoy sharing a newspaper and the discussions that ensue.  I enjoy watching and listening as people come and go or sit for hours with laptop and headphones.  I am endlessly entertained and often bewildered by the plethora of coffee orders I hear.  I ask my partner (and former barista herself) what they are, hear stories of her days behind the counter, and learn a thing or two.

Sit, chat, read, listen, look, sip.  All things with which I have little difficulty.

More Contrasts

I remember growing up we were always asked what sorts of things we enjoyed doing.  Whether it was on the first day of school, upon joining a new group, or in a conversation with a new acquaintance, that question always came up.  It seemed like everyone but me always included one thing in their response; hanging out with friends.  I always wondered what that meant.  It seemed to me that any time I spent with friends was spent doing something, not just hanging out.  Riding bikes, climbing trees, building forts, playing catch or whiffleball or sledding in the winter.  Even when we were inside we were usually playing Nintendo or later Sega Genesis.  Playing basketball in the driveway might have been as close to hanging out as anything else; there always seemed to be a lot of standing around. 

I never really understood what kids meant when they listed “hanging out with friends” as one of their favorite activities.  I always had something to bring me together with my peers; something we all wanted to do, and something for which we needed each other, whether to round out the team or strictly for companionship.  There was always an activity to bring us together beyond hanging out.

As I got older the idea remained and although a few sedentary activities (like drinking or watching sports) were added to the list, many of my relationships still revolved around physical activities like hiking, skiing, golf, or basketball. 

These are aspects of my social life I will never replace.  I struggle to think of what to do with people, whether it is my friends or my girlfriend.  You learn a lot about someone on a long hike or playing a round of golf.  Things like that make for easy companionship.  Without those experiences that were always such a big part of my life, I feel empty, I feel unfulfilled, and I know that feeling is here to stay.

Use Your Head/You Get What You Pay For

In a restaurant, it is okay to ask if your meal is sourced locally.  

It is not okay to be a pretentious asshole about it.  

Camping, Batteries, and the Human Lung; An Excerpt

Most of our campsites came equipped with a gravel tent site, and unfortunately our first night’s sleep in a tent would be done without our queen sized air mattress.  After a short discussion including the phrases, “It’s almost big enough” and “Maybe we can force it”, we determined the mattress (60x80x9) would not fit in the 60x72 inch tent we borrowed.  Upon setting up the older, shittier, and larger tent we determined that it was plenty big for our mattress.  However we hadn’t thought to buy batteries for the air pump.  I hadn’t even thought of an air pump, but upon opening the cardboard mattress box and dumping out the inflatable, I saw it.  Turns out the device took six (6) C batteries.  I can’t remember the last time I bought C batteries.  Likely I never have. 

And if you think we should, or even could have blown up the mattress with human lung power alone, let me give you the facts.  A queen sized air mattress takes 43,200 cubic inches of air to fill, less perhaps the thickness of the plastic, assuming the dimensions are measured on the exterior.  That comes out to about 708 liters or 187 gallons of air.  The vital capacity, which is the maximum amount of air the average person can expel from the lungs following a maximum inhalation, of the average adult is between 3 and 5 liters of air.  That means that for the average adult, (and let me add that Hilary and I are most definitely on the smaller side of average) it would take between 140 and 236 maximum exhalations to fill the mattress.  As there were two of us I could divide these numbers in half, but my travel partner (in her infinite wisdom) scoffed at the idea of even trying.  

Back on the Home Front

“…In the service you just don’t use any adjectives, you forget all your adjectives and just use one or two.”

Interviewer: “Like?”

“Like I’m not gonna say.  My wife would come down from heaven and hit me on the head.”

WWII Vet from Mobile, Alabama talking about watching his mouth when he got back home

The Handicapped shop at Walmart

There are empty handicapped parking spaces everywhere you go.  

Then you go to Walmart.  The handicapped shop at Walmart.

Then I Woke Up

I had a dream last night.  I was in a spaceship with a friend.  He wasn’t human, but he was my friend. 

A door broke off the back wall and was sucked into the distance, a gaping hole left behind.  It was peaceful for the moment but we knew we were going to die.  We didn’t panic because there was nothing we could do.

We talked about our feelings at this moment.  I told him I was relieved.  I no longer had to struggle; I could rest.

He disagreed and told me so.  He reminded me of all that I would miss.  He told me of his life, the people and the places he would leave behind.  He almost convinced me that I was wrong, but I wasn’t so sure.

And then something happened.  What it was I don’t know, but we were saved.  We were going to survive.  My friend rejoiced, in tears with happiness.  I felt uneasy.  I thought it was over.  I had made my peace.  I was almost disappointed to be wrong.

The World is not Made for the Handicapped

The world is not made for the handicapped.  What was easy becomes complicated.

There are more questions than answers.  Most of them start with how and end with I don't know...I don't want to think about it.

Every answer is a compromise, a forced evolution.  Every answer is another move in the wrong direction, away from normal, away from familiar, away from independent.  And into something else...

Valentine's Day Special

Had a great evening with my valentine.  Braved the roads and made it to Michael's on the Hill for an amazing dinner (and some great wine).  Laughed together at the Masshole that couldn't get up the driveway, chatted with the only other Vermonter in the place (the waiter), spent too much money, and stared at the smile across the table.

And she even cleaned Phoebe's puke out of the carpet.  What a woman!

After a Diet of Caviar...

After a diet of caviar, you like to get back to ham and eggs.

-White House aid comparing Franklin Roosevelt to Harry Truman

One Dollar

There are 293 ways to make change for a dollar.

A Good Day

I, Ollie Stewart, of sound mind and fairly sober character, do solemnly give my word that I have never been kissed so much in all my life.  Almost every woman I meet on the street stops and kisses me on both cheeks.  It is a beautiful custom.

-American G.I. after the liberation of Paris from Nazi Germany

Dreaming of Reality

I have dreams in almost every reality imaginable.  But in every dream I am reminded of my disability.  I see people who have long since passed and experience things that would never happen.  Times meld together, but one thing doesn’t change, I am the me of today.  I cannot run free like the others.

More on the French

As to the consumption of wine there is little doubt…The bottle dumps at Colon were every bit as high as a house.  The foul alley behind Front Street was actually paved with wine bottles turned bottom-side up and became famous as “Bottle Alley.”

and 

The actual digging of The Great Trench – La Grande Tranchee – began at Emperador on Friday, January 20, 1882, with much champagne and dynamite.

From "The Path Between the Seas" by David McCullough