Biking at Peeler Park

Off to Peeler Park on one of those rare, cool, late-summer afternoons. The bike continues to work well, running almost silently. The park itself is a change from the urban/suburban area surrounding it, isolated enough that we saw deer and wild turkey on the trail.

It feels good to ride again. I’m slowly getting strength back, but not yet ready for extended riding in the drops. Still having trouble looking back, too, because of problems with the fusion. Progress is slow, but noticeable.

It’s been a while.

Life got kind of hard.

I took a stress quiz a while back, one that measures the cumulative effect of various life events, and I’ve blocked out the number it came up with. It was high. Very high. For a while there was a serious upset every couple of months, primarily deaths and natural disasters. Add in less traumatic headaches from work and surprise house repairs. Literal headaches, as well — my spinal fusion didn’t take.

So for a while I stopped feeling much of anything. Not really sadness, just acceptance. Maybe something closer to resignation. I kept functioning, and most people couldn’t tell there was anything wrong, but those who know me well sensed it. I did what had to be done, but not much more. I stayed inside my own head, silently resenting having to come out.

But I’ve started hearing the birds again, and can feel the excitement of a new project that’ll involve mechanical skills and esthetics. I’m noticing the world outside, and don’t feel fragile anymore.

I have a theory that there are two kinds of people: For some, bad things are scattered evenly throughout their lives, and they’re able to recover from one before the next one hits. For others, difficulties cluster, but between the clusters are long stretches of time where life is very good. This has been the pattern in my life.

Maybe this particular bad stretch is over.

The kindess of strangers

More changes

I’ll be updating the site with the latest stable build of WordPress, so it may be down or incoherent for the next day or so. Maybe it will bring back the comments that have disappeared. They’re still in the database, but can’t find their way out.

Summer’s almost over

Back to school next week.

A few summer highlights:

Annual fishing trip with my dad.

New high scores in Hexic.

The possibility that I’m not smart enough to play Oblivion.

White chocolate M&Ms (Pirate Pearls).

Betty Crocker Warm Delights: Hot Fudge Brownie and Fudgy Chocolate Chip Cookie. Two ingredients. 30 seconds cooking time.

Digital video editing.

Philip K. Dick really was an insane genius. I jumped back into the crazy pool with Valis.

Fazoli’s Original Submarino.

A secret medieval translation project. I don’t want to find out someone else is already working on this.

Summer Begins

Commencement was a week ago today, and at last I’m catching up on sleep while the stress-induced clouds are lifting.

From the garden:


This delphinium is in memory of my mother, who we lost two years ago May 12. Sage has also been added to the herb pots on the front steps, not only because she loved the scent, but to remember the amazing, sage-y cornbread dressing she’d make every Thanksgiving.

Tornadoes and freight trains

Tornadoes don’t sound like freight trains.

They sound like a torrential rain starting up. The give-away, though, is the sudden change in air pressure.

The tornado hit the college at about 2:30 on a Friday afternoon, just as I was getting ready to go to a meeting. It took about fifteen seconds to pass over, but I didn’t get my hearing back for at least an hour. We came through it okay by cramming under a desk in the office next door to mine, and the first thing I said after crawling out was, “That wasn’t that bad.” The office was intact except for a few displaced ceiling tiles, and the emergency lights illuminated a fine dust hanging in the air that we thought was candle smoke.

The hallway had a little more damage, but as we walked to the center of the building we could see more ceiling tiles blown, live wires dangling, broken glass from the lights covering the floor, and the odd glow from the dust that was everywhere. At first I thought the building was on fire, but instead of panic just felt a sense of “Oh. That must be what it is.”

The hallways were closed off by the automatic fire doors, and though I could hear voices, it was difficult to do anything more than wander the halls, asking everyone if they were okay. Within a few minutes, we were directed into the break room and under the tables there, because someone had heard that another one was on the way. We sat in the dark, cellphones glowing as we tried to get word out to our families.

Eventually, though I don’t remember exactly how it happened, we gathered together to move to the basement of another building that hadn’t been hit. We walked out, glass and plastic popping under our feet, wires unpredictably hanging down, through what now looked like a hangar space in the middle of our building. The entrances at both ends had gone — one blown away, one blown out.

The parking lot looked as if someone had come along with a broom and swept all the cars to one end of the lot, piling them up for later disposal.

My car went missing. Found it today, though.

Though 90% of me is fine with this — I lived through a tornado, with nothing worse than losing a ratty car that’s worth more totaled than as a trade in — 10% is still in a state of panic. Can’t quite shake it, and images come back to startle me at strange times: at a movie yesterday, playing a video game, seeing a construction site where the trees have been cut down, eating dinner. . .

But I’m letting myself feel this, because it seems a reasonable reaction. It’s only been a couple of days, and between the physical shock of feeling the tornado go through, and the emotional shock of everything being turned upside-down so quickly, this is to be expected.

More pictures: Gallatin newspaper, The Tennessean (Nashville).

Garden Buddha

Sitting in a chair this afternoon

Write your own obituary at You Died.

Help put monuments to the Bill of Rights in courthouses across the country at mybillofrights.org. (The Statue of Liberty graphic made me cry.)

Religion can have a non-scary place in politics. Street Prophets always leaves me feeling hopeful.

Improbable Research.

Time passes

I don’t understand what’s happened. For the past couple of days it’s felt like Abby is still in the house. It’s not like she’s walking down the hall or standing at the window, but just here. It’s not eerie, and I don’t feel like I’m seeing things out of the corner of my eye — nothing like that. No unexplained sounds or things misplaced. It just feels like she’s not really gone.

And it feels as if we’re at rest. As if things have settled where they should be. As if she and I are both okay now.

But this isn’t exactly it, either.