The Plentiful Vintage

So, mom is out of the hospital and in a rehab facility to regain some strength. Things seem to be going well. I admit that Neil Armstrong (a man of approximately the same age as my mother, and someone whose medical history had been meticulously tracked for fifty some odd years) dying from complications of similar surgery put me on edge about this, but mom seems to have come through it like a trouper.

---
It has been chilly and mostly rainy for the last couple of weeks. I turned on the furnace last night, in anticipation of a cold night, and, sure enough, it got down below freezing. It's been such an odd year temperature-wise. Temperatures were very moderate through the third week in June, then Mother Nature turned on the steamer. Even when then temperatures were reasonable, it was ridiculously humid. Then come September, the dial got switched back lovely. Now we seem to be getting a normal October, albeit a tad wetter than usual. Climate change is very strange.

---
The weather has made my riding schedule sporadic. Yesterday was nice in the morning, so I mowed the lawn. We got a brief shower around noon, but then the sun came back out, so I was able to get in a ride before too early sunset. The ride was a slow one. I felt pretty good, but I think the lawn workout, coupled with volleyball Thursday night, left my legs a little slower than usual. It was also pretty windy. I seem to be getting used to pounding the muscles take in volleyball. I had an uncomfortable night of sleep as they stiffened up, but once morning rolled around I was fine.

---
Speaking of volleyball, there is this whole time machine effect going on. My friends who play that I have seen over the years all look normal to me. But among the other people playing who were playing eight years ago, people who I don't hang out with and haven't seen or even thought about in all that time, it amazing how much most of them appear to have aged. Very weird, especially some of the guys who are much younger than I am who are now sporting very silver hair.

...and then you don't go camping.

I tried to put the best face on it after the accident, but it was wishful thinking. The bruise on my hip is healing well enough, but the right side of my chest still gives me grief every time I move my arm or take a deep breath or cough. It's mostly soreness, not shooting pain, but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. I started hauling stuff up from the basement to load the truck, and had no endurance. Even driving around to do a few errands earlier was uncomfortable. The truck does not give the smoothest ride. I imagined a nine hour ride by myself up to Canada, and decided no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't do it.

I was to share a site with Shane and Michelle, but the permit was in my name, so I went online and changed the reservation to their names so they can check in without me. Unfortunately, they're already staying elsewhere on the way, and I didn't have their cell number, so I had to find someone who had it. Took awhile. It's late now, so I will let them know in the morning. I did let others know I wouldn't be there.

I am feeling terribly sorry for myself right now. And totally decrepit. The last time fell off the bike I was hurt worse, and three days later was able to travel to Massachusetts for a week of training. That was only eight years ago. Now I feel like an old man. I was really looking forward to this trip, and I still have no idea what happened with the bike that caused me to lose control. It's as if some supernatural entity decide to reach down and stick out its foot as I rode past just to fuck with me.

And I can't even ride my bike to work off the aggravation. Feh!

Terrific piece by Joe Poznanski today on great athletes retiring, voluntarily or otherwise.

Does it really matter? Maybe we make too much of endings. I suppose it’s because we are conditioned to wanting our movies and television shows and novels and songs to end in a satisfying way. We want the giant “GOODBYE” spelled out in rocks as the helicopter pulls away, like the final episode of M*A*S*H.* We want Suzanne Pleshette to be under the covers at the end of Newhart. We want Bruce Willis to be … um … and we want Keyzer Soze to be … and we want Snape to be … well, wait, you might not have finished those.

"I think you overestimate our dear Viennese, my friend," Salieri said to Mozart in the movie. "Do you know you didn’t even give them a good bang at the end of songs so they knew when to clap?"

But sports are not like the movies or television or books or songs. The best stuff in sports generally happens in the middle, after an athlete has learned the game but before skills have faded and frayed.

Poz may be the best baseball writer on the planet right now.

Big Finish