. . . . . .E p h e m e r a m a

Have you ever broken a bone? If not, what's the worst injury you've sustained?

No broken bones which, come to think of it, at my age, is kind of amazing. (Now watch me trip going out the door and break every bone in my body.)

That's not to say I've never hurt my dumb self. In a former career, I was in a car wreck or two and was involved in a few physical altercations in the line of duty that resulted in trips to doctors' offices or the ER but never had to actually go into the hospital for any of that.

Off-hand, the only thing that comes to mind was when I was in my early 40s, I did a half-gainer down a flight of stairs and ended up with what I was sure was a broken ankle. It seemed like I fell for 30 minutes and by the time I landed at the bottom, I felt like I probably looked like Beetle Bailey after Sarge gets through with him.

It was my left ankle and my car was an automatic, so I drove myself to the ER (it was the middle of the night). After exams and x-rays, they told me I'd sprained it really badly. When I expressed relief, they told me it would have been better if I had broken it, that it would have healed more quickly. (Well, gee, next time I'm crashing down a flight of stairs, I'll try to keep that in mind!) So I was in an air splint and on crutches for about 6 weeks.

I've spent other time on crutches and in casts, but those were planned knee surgeries, so I'm not counting them as "injuries". Not to say I don't ever hurt myself -- in fact, I bounced off an uneven place in the sidewalk this past weekend and now have a well-skinned knee that looks like it belongs on a 9-year-old. In terms of serious injury, though, I've been very very lucky.

I like fireworks shows, but I don't care much for huge thronging crowds so I tend not to go to whatever the "big" July 4th show is wherever I'm living. BUT!! Every 4th, I remember one particular fireworks show that'll be hard to beat...:

I think it was 1994 - something like that. I was living about a 5-minute walk from the ocean, in fact from the longest pier off the island, so the annual July 4th fireworks were always set off from the end of it, about 100 yards out from the shore. On the spur of the moment, I decided to go, figuring that if I wasn't liking the crowd, I could just walk home.

Got to the beach early enough to stake out a good spot, right at the edge of the water (having checked to make sure high tide wasn't due during the show!). Because I was so close, and because of the direction of the wind that night, most of the fireworks seemed to be going off right over my head.

This was before the advent of fireworks synchronized to music, so it was about 15 minutes of fireworks with traditional music being played on huge speakers. I spent that time with my head thrown back, with a huge goofy grin plasterd across my face, watching the show directly overhead, 360 degrees.

I can't remember what they call them, but you know those huge fireworks that blossom like chrysanthemums and then rain down in all directions? Those were the BEST. It was like I was right in the middle of them, completely surrounded by them, instead of watching them. It was extremely cool.

And then, when it was over, and the crowd began the shuffle back to their cars and the long waits in line to get out onto the road... I walked home. ~8)

For the record, in addition to being grateful every day for what so many people are doing to ensure my continuing freedom, I'm an absolute sucker for the celebratory aspects of July 4th, especially the traditional songs. I can't get through "You're a Grand Old Flag" or "God Bless America" without choking up. I will stay up till 1AM tonight to watch "Pops Goes the 4th" from Boston, because my city's fireworks show has attained some status of its own and now pre-empts the live broadcast from the Boston Esplanade. I love my home town, but nothing beats the Pops on Independence Day.

I'll watch the whole show in anticipation of "Stars and Stripes Forever", the moment that huge flag unfurls overhead at the crescendo of "Stars and Stripes Forever", and when it does, I'll tear up and I'll smile and I'll wonder for the millionth time how I got so lucky to be born an American and whether I'm doing enough to deserve it.

What would make you question a friendship?
Submitted by stueykins.

Breaking things. The important things - breaking trust, breaking a promise, breaking a confidence.

Actually, those wouldn't make me question a friendship, they'd pretty much fracture it.

Show us what you wish you were doing right now.

Either of these would be just fine. Lovely, in fact.

If I have to choose, I choose the one on the left. The ocean temperature is almost like bathwater, and there's a very light but steady breeze that's just enough to keep me from being too warm in the sun. I'm in the ocean, buoyed by it, supported by it, embraced and comforted by it.

All I can hear is my own slow breathing and the sound of the water as it breaks in tiny waves around me. The sun occasionally goes behind a white cloud but not for long. I feel my hair gently moving this way and that in the water. The constant gentle rhythm of the tides lulls me into a relaxation I can only experience in the ocean. I'm reminded that my problems are real but not the biggest things on earth and that (to quote Desiderata), "no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should." It's the ultimate perspective refresher.

The ocean doesn't care what I look like or what I have or haven't done with my life. To the ocean, I'm just another part of things and it makes room for me and lets me in. I've actually napped while floating in the ocean. Perfect peace.

Even though it's been over 1200 miles away for almost 10 years, this remains the place I go in my mind when I need to be somewhere else physically but can't get away. After all those years with it, I can, and will always be able to, hear it, see it, smell it, feel it, and even taste it. It's always there for me.

At work, we have a major change coming. Because of the rotten economy, three entire divisions have been wiped off the map effective July 1. I was lucky - my division isn't one of them. In fact, my division is acquiring the functionality of one of the vanishing ones, along with about half of that staff (the other half of that staff, scattering to the winds).

The boss named me and two others as the transition team to bring in those folks, all their work, all their assets, etc., and to fill in whatever blanks we realize are there. One of the other team members is handling the financial side, and one of them is in charge of finding or creating space for them to work.

Me? For the past couple of weeks, I've been arranging for product demos to help management decide what software we want to acquire to support the new function, getting quotes, confirming licenses, getting all their shared folders and files migrated over to our server, getting specs for new computers for them, getting the wiring started for the new computers and also new phones, and, and, and.

Add to that, all their records, materials, files, plans, manuals, and so on, most of which we discovered were just thrown into a room with no organization -- a room they had, euphemistically as it turned out, been calling their "library". Thank goodness for banker boxes, barcodes, Sharpie markers, and the two temps who've whipped all that into shape. One of the other transition team members has begun the process of getting that stuff actually moved to our building.

I've also found myself refereeing such life-and-death disagreements as who gets to use which boxes for long-term storage as opposed to which boxes are for who to use to move their offices. Good grief.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided I was tired of saying in transition meetings, "I don't remember (whatever) exactly, but I know I have an email about that. I'll forward it to you." So I decided it was time for me to rock the transition old-skool style. I started printing out every single email I've sent or received about anything having to do with the transition.

In two weeks, there has been so much email, just in and out of my one address at work, to fill a 3" binder. Three inches. OMG.

I've never felt the need to do that on any project I've ever been involved with. I don't know what's made this one so different, but hopefully it'll be a long time before I have to use that much [distaste]paper[/distaste] just to be productive in meetings.

Let me preface this with a disclaimer: I don't watch reality competition shows. I don't enjoy watching people having their dreams trashed in public while others laugh at them. I don't enjoy watching people humiliating themselves.

That said, I had seen the promos of tonight's first show of "America's Got Talent" and I really wanted to see the guy in the beret that they'd shown singing about 5 seconds of opera. It just got my attention, and I don't even LIKE opera. Just not my cup of tea. Different strokes, etc.

This guy, though. Neal Boyd. An insurance salesman with a voice that just knocked the wind out of me. I don't even know what the piece was that he sang, although I recognized it. I'll concede that he chose well and that the orchestral arrangement was excellent, but his voice was just a force of nature, a God-given gift.

For the first time in my life, I understood how opera can make people cry with emotion. And I don't have a clue about the words or even the story!

It made me want to call a couple of people I know who hang on every episode of "American Idol" and ooh and ahh over how well those people sing, and tell them, "THIS is singing talent. He hits the notes each time. He HOLDS the notes. He doesn't have to bay like a hunting hound or yodel up and down the scale looking for the note, because the man has PIPES." (But I didn't.)

He's a young man, but how has his talent gone unnoticed this long??

If you haven't heard it, take two minutes and watch this video of it. Granted, the video quality's not great, but LISTEN.

Last night when I got ready to go to bed, I was standing by the end table in the living room, putting the cap on a bottle of diet Pepsi, or at least trying to. In twisting it on, one-handed, (you can guess what's coming), I tipped the bottle over. It landed so that it was point down between the table and the arm of the sofa.

No big deal, I thought - the sofa's scotchguarded and there, I wiped up the little bit that was on the table, and there's nothing between the table and the sofa except... OMIGOD, THE LAPTOP!!

A quick glance at the now-uprighted bottle showed that very little had actually spilled -- I had surprisingly fast reflexes when it started going over, just not fast enough -- but, when I cringed and pulled the laptop out, in its Belkin shell sleeve, sure enough -- wet. Both sides. Oh god.

Maybe it's all on the sleeve. Unzipped it and nope, the laptop itself was beaded with droplets of doom. Maybe it's just on the outside. Yeah. The inside's probably dry as... oh CRAP.

How the hell did what couldn't have been more than 2 ounces of diet Pepsi cover so much territory???

I gingerly wiped off the screen and even more gingerly wiped the keypad, lingering over keys with visible moisture between them. I held my breath and turned it on, and it seemed to come up fine.

So far this morning I haven't built up the nerve to try to use it (doing this post from the desktop and remembering why I really really need to replace this 7-year-old monitor that has truly given its all), but am resolute in my determination to give it a try later today. Wish me -- and it -- luck.

I went a little nuts tonight and ordered myself a pizza. This is no big deal to most people, but I haven't let myself order a pizza in a couple of years. I'm supposed to be keeping my carbs down and, no matter how you slice it (har har) pizza is full of carbs. I've been doing pretty well that way lately, though, and this evening I decided to throw caution to the winds and called in a pizza MY way.

What I ordered was:

• thin crust
• pepperoni
• light on the tomato sauce (too much oregano does a number on my stomach)
  
• double cheese
• black olives
• mushrooms
• green peppers
• (some of you brace yourselves) double anchovies

What arrived at the door was:

• thin crust
• double cheese
• green peppers (maybe 3 slices had one each)
• one or two anchovies on the whole pie

The delivery guy agreed that what was in the box didn't match what was on the receipt. He took it back and returned in only about half an hour with what looked more like it. I paid him, tipping handsomely (not his fault and he'd had to make two trips), and dove in enthusiastically.

It was absolutely positively... eh. I mean, it was the right order this time, but it wasn't as hot as it should have been and there weren't as many of each ingredient as I thought there should have been (except the anchovies which they were probably glad to get rid of)... hell, I don't know. Maybe I built it up to more than any pizza could live up to. Or maybe it's just the shop that delivers to my neighborhood.

Next time I order a pizza, I'll try calling in for a carry-out at a different shop. That should be... let's see... June 2010.