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Just ran into a neighbor whose 15-year-old broke his humerus yesterday, skiing. And tomorrow is the annual school ski day. Where everybody goes skiing.
She said that, already, the kid (Ian) has heard so many broken-humerus stories that he doesn’t feel all that bad.
(I told his mom my broken-humerus story: After I’d been in rehab 5 weeks, my therapist tested my reactions by throwing a tennis ball at me from 20 feet. All different directions: up, down, across my body, etc. And he said, “If you miss even one, you’re not cleared to go skiing.”
(And when we were done, and I passed, I asked him if anybody ever misses one. And he smiled and said, “Nope.”)
Anyway, to put things in perspective, I mentioned to Ian’s mom that we could be living in the inner city, and be worried about our kids getting shot.
So look at it that way:
THANK GOD WE LIVE IN A PLACE WHERE OUR BIGGEST DANGER IS OURSELVES!
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After what seemed like months of little 3-4 inch snowfalls, we’ve finally started getting some real snow. About 3 feet over the weekend.
The National Weather Service, or somebody, reported that our snowpack is inching back up to normal for the year. Which means that we’ll have water this summer.
THANK GOD MY SNOW BLOWER’S WORKING!
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You might not recognize this guy, but it’s the young Sergei Rachmaninoff. Russian composer and pianist extraordinaire.
The story goes that after the total failure of his first symphony, he ran off to Switzerland and underwent psychotherapy for 10 years. At the end of which his doctor asked, “Have you ever considered writing music that you’d like to hear?”
And thus was born (shortly thereafter) the beloved 2nd piano concerto.
Moral of the story: While I might be struggling trying to find an audience for my books, at least I know what I want to write.
And, looking back on my younger days, when I thought about how neat it would be to write music instead of prose, I’m all too aware of the miasma enveloping contemporary “serious” music. There’s no direction, no audience, and no real hope for a “breakthrough.” (You might say the same thing about the world of theoretical physics.)
So all I can say is:
THANK GOD I’M NOT A COMPOSER!
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I’m not that much of a “car enthusiast.” My family owns three, but we use them to just get from place to place, not to have fun.
But I was up early this morning, and so I turned on the TV and caught not one, but three different news reports on Toyota’s accelerator-pedal/recall dilemma. Including one about a man who died simply pulling into a parking lot (when the car zoomed out of control and hit a wall).
It’s times like these when all you can say is:
THANK GOD I DON’T OWN A TOYOTA!
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Once again, the ESPN Winter X Games are upon us.
The weather’s milder this year than it has been in the past, which is a blessing, I guess. (We could always use more snow.)
I heard a radio interview with a competitor a few years ago, the day before he was going to attempt the first-ever complete back flip (360 degrees, vertical) on a snowmobile.
He said that the intriguing thing was that you really couldn’t practice it. You just had to go out and do it. Yikes!
He managed to pull it off, the next day.
But he also said that he’d spent 7 of the last 12 months in the hospital, with various injuries.
Which made me think:
THANK GOD I DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS FOR A LIVING!
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Don’t you hate it when you ask somebody to get their bicycle out of your yard, take it back home to their own house, in the fall…
… and it’s still there mid-winter?
It’d be even worse if you had to shovel around it.
Fortunately, we haven’t had a banner snow year (thus far), so the abandoned bike hasn’t rusted too much.
And to think: Lance Armstrong lives right across the street. At least he can’t see this from his house. He’d probably come marching across the street and chew me out. (I’m safe for the moment, cuz he’s in Australia right now.)
But my day of reckoning is coming. And so, for now, all I think is:
THANK GOD HE’S NEVER ASKED ME TO JOIN HIM FOR A RIDE!
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Every year for Wintersköl, we have a torchlight descent on Little Nell, followed by a great fireworks display overhead. It’s the one night of the winter when you don’t bring your dog to town. Dogs absolutely hate fireworks.
The rest of us get a big “kick” out of them, but our canine companions hide under beds and desks and whimper.
So, if I could sit down and reason with our family pooch, and after I’d run through all the reasons I could think of, my solace of last resort would be:
THANK GOD YOU DON’T LIVE IN MONTE CARLO!
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The Baltimore Ravens beat the New England Patriots yesterday at Gillette Stadium, 33-14.
Once upon a time, I called the Gillette Company in Boston to ask them: when was foamy shave cream invented? (I don’t remember why I wanted to know.) And they had no answer to that.
Anyway, that made me reflect on all the shave-cream ads I saw on TV as a kid. The model always put the shave cream on about a 1/2 inch thick– at least.
Leading to the obvious question: What good would that do? Anything above the direct surface of the skin would be complete waste.
But the point of the commercials was to train us men to use 1/2 a can of the stuff, every time we lathered up.
THEREBY SELLING MORE PRODUCT.
Just another example of our society reinforcing the need for over-consumption.
Pick your own example.
Which leads me to the obvious thought:
THANK GOD I USE AN ELECTRIC RAZOR THESE DAYS!
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Just ran into a neighbor whose 15-year-old broke his humerus yesterday, skiing. And tomorrow is the annual school ski day. Where everybody goes skiing.
