I would have really pissed off the guy behind me though if I had stopped, opened the sun roof and began savoring. And singing. Nevertheless I did experience bucket list like bliss for a few scant seconds.
Apologies, apologies and one more apology for not posting sooner, especially in this time where some off the wall humor couldn't hurt. I haven't posted here since my old buddy the Amazing Martin Q passed away last October.
I still think of him quite often, sigh. And so it goes.
Poo tee weet old friend.
Believe it or not I have been incredibly busy, even in this time of isolation. A forthcoming post or two will explain a lot. A big part of my busi-ness has been an invention my son and I have been working on over the last couple years that is related to the cannabis industry. We will ultimately have three patents on it and are just now doing the final prototype road tests before going public.
What is this wang-dang infernal contraption thingamajigger I'm referring to? Next post, within a couple weeks. I promise.
OK, now we're going to venture into territory that will certainly make my style points drop. Why? Because this old man did a really, really stupid thing that injured his poor old aging torso. Again. That's why. So lemme cogitate that for a moment while I listen to some Khruangbin, one of my new favorite flavors.
I had a hundred titles for this blog post, and as the events unfolded they flowed almost as effortlessly as playing ping-pong in a canoe. "Tangerine Spleens and Marmalade Skies" and "Pressed Spleen and Warthog" were a couple of my favorites, besides of course the chosen title.
We don't throw a lot of food scraps out here in the country. What doesn't go to the chickens goes to a spot on the other side of the house for vultures and raccoons.
So one evening a couple months back I was going out in the dark to give the scavengers some chicken skin and bones and a fair amount of warm, yummy, liquid, greasy chicken fat.
And now I am about to give you an insight as to just how my brain works. It's not going to be pretty. Or easy. But just think, you don't have to deal with this all the time. Like I do.
As I began my journey out of the kitchen, I also began ascertaining. That's like cogitating, only sounds better here.
The garage door was already closed for the night. Why initiate power and cause wear and tear on the motor just for a quick trip scrap toss? Even though the scavenger smorgi is on that side of the house, because of the potential fifteen second wear and tear and wasting two and a half cents worth of power I opted for the utility door. Which is on the opposite side of the house from where I was heading.
Anybody got a compass?
Those estimates are for both the open and close operations. I also realize that's not a lot of anything for just a single journey, but what if I did it more than once? Like twice. Or god forbid, more.
Since my brain was all lathered up with notions of wear and tear and potential monetary loss which had the potential to be endless, like my thought process, I walked right past a very important bank of light switches.
As I approached the utility door, I turned on the outside light on that side of the house. Then as I opened the door, I momentarily gazed back at the bank of lights I left in the lathered dust so long before.
That bank contained the switch for the front of the house by the garage door, which would have been really handy. That bank also contained the switch that turns on flood lights on every side of the house, which would have been overkill.
I was, after all, going to take a leak on the journey. You know, kill two birds, get stoned. No need to fire up a spot light for that. Hell, the folks on the other side of the canyon, if they were star gazing with their telescope in my particular direction at that particular moment might get an obscured view of something I am sure they'd rather not see.
Both those switches were then a lengthy twelve feet away, or nine seconds worth of time (there and back).
"Too much time," I must have thought, figuring I've traversed the same route I was going a thousand times. Surely I must know it by now. Piece of cake. Can of corn. Crust of pie. No problemo. I ventured forth, chicken scraps in hand, an intrepid adventurer out on a major moon-less mission.
As I turned the corner heading in front of the garage door, I left the light behind. It was then I discovered it was a lot darker than I might have originally thought. But I carried on, though I did slow my gait a little bit.
I could see the outline of the rose arbor in the faint starry light, knowing I had to move towards that illusion, keeping just a couple feet to the right. That would put me on target for the brick walk, then trail, then scavenger smorgi bonanza.
I was moving slowly, feeling certain I was on track, when suddenly my forward momentum stopped, halted by some sort of barricade at my knees. It tripped me up and I was going down.
Both my hands were involved with the chicken bowl, they were as useless as a feather in a bar room brawl. I spun in slow motion towards the left as I fell, and the contents of the bowl spewed forth, up, onto my head and torso. Chicken fat, skin and bones flew everywhere.
Ever have a chicken fat shampoo?
It's not bad, you certainly don't need any conditioner after. Dogs may have a tendency to chase you tho, so if you do try it I would stay away from the dog park for a couple days.
And definitely don't go for a walk in the woods. There's a hundred different species that like poultry. You could be a target from land, air or sea.
I slowed the fall a little bit by jabbing the underside of my left rib cage on one of the pickets of the picket fence. Then I continued downward until I was completely on my ass, which knocked the wind out of me. As I lay there, staring up at the moonless starry sky, I began to chuckle.
"Thank God no one saw this. I would have lost a shit ton howdy bunch of style points."
So instead I give up the points just to sell a humorous story. Self-aggrandizement at its finest.
It took a couple minutes to take stock and regain my composure. My left thigh hurt as did my left rib cage, which was howling.
I initially thought I had bruised a rib, but as I palpated I discovered the pain was underneath and behind the rib cage. The picket just jammed up and under and in. Yeow.
I thought it might be my spleen, and ended up in the ER in Auburn two days later. We usually go to Sierra Nevada here in Grass Valley, hell, they saved my life a while back when my appendix went south. You can read all about that right here:"Angels On My Barcalounger."
But I had my shoulder surgery at Auburn Faith a couple years ago and their ER wasn't usually as packed as Grass Valley. They did a cat scan, and the spleen was fine. They figured it was diverticulitis. And the cat scan showed something amiss with my pancreas and prostate and something else I think. My entire insides were apparently going south all at once.
I have not been experiencing any kind of negative symptom from any of those things, I was mildly amused. And confused, and still in pain. At least they sent me home with a script for Vicoden.
I finally got in to see my regular doc the following week. He said it was probably (something I can't remember) which is something about tearing the cartilage on the inside of the rib cage, which I guess is like a bruised rib in reverse. A painful injury that can last from two to six weeks, he said.
He wasn't really concerned with the rib injury, but he was concerned about the cat scan findings. He asked a bunch of questions about potential symptoms, all of which were negative. We figured the radiologist was either looking at someone else's scan or drunk. Nevertheless, he scheduled a follow-up scan here in Grass Valley a couple months out.
I just completed that scenario and the results are back. I'm fine. The first radiologist was drunk. Or gave me the report of another man. I do have a copy of the scan now, so next time I see my doc he can view it and try to see how much the radiologist had been drinking.
Breathing was tough for a couple days, but it slowly got better. I was back in my usual decrepit shape after about three weeks.
What was the culprit that so effectively halted my forward progress, kinda like the front line of the Forty-Niners? What was the antagonist that prompted this ridiculous episode of my life?
Why the four foot and a half apparently very stout sticks of the recently pruned "Ketchup and Mustard" rose bush, of course! I was about a foot off where I should have been, and yes, in the future I will spend the nine seconds and two cents and turn on the freaking lights.
I hope you are all doing OK with the current situation. Life hasn't changed much for me. I just go to the grocery store less. And wear a mask. Which is fine with me. The fewer people that know who I am the better. And now I have a valid reason to wear one and don't look like I'm robbing the place everywhere I go.
Here's one of the thousand piece things I've been up to:
Whatever side of the fence you are on, and there are a couple fence sides, I wish you well. Keep in mind the economy has been in trouble for quite a while now, Covid has just been a catalyst to really help it go south.
Here's a link to an article by an economist I've been following for years:
Roubini
Even though it looks like we are semi returning to normalcy, the stock market has no reason to be where it is. It's a dead cat bounce folks. Don't be fooled.
Get some gold and silver if you can. Physical metals and stocks. At least 20% of your assets.
And keep buying an extra can or two of food every time you go to the store. And TP. And plant some extra tomatoes.
Hug your loved ones, keep them close. And buckle up. It's gonna be some kind of ride.
