Back In The Saddle Again

The past two weeks have been among the worst in my life.  Not only did I suffer from the physical injuries of my recent accident, last week I caught an awful cold that turned into bronchitis.  Fever, pounding headaches and constant body pain -- on top of which I had to worry about and conduct a trial in Queens at the end of the week.  I was miserable every day.

But that's behind me now.  Or most of it.  My injuries are 80% healed.  My cold is gone.  My trial is over.  Let's turn the page.

Good news -- I used the opportunity of the accident to not only have my bike repaired but also make some modifications which increase the power and handling of the machine.  I picked the bike up today and it looks great.  Unfortunately, my  right arm is still screwed up so I can't ride well but that strength will return in a few weeks.

My new gear arrived.  I love my shiny Vanson leather jacket.  Stylish, top-notch and cool.  It'll magically transform me into the badass biker you know.  I had to replace my ruined boots, too; the new pair feel wonderful.

Filling out the odd mix that is me, I want to create a new female outfit soon.  Something feminine and light.  But I'll have to be careful to cover up my legs 'cause they still show scrapes and bruises.  Being a badass isn't easy...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hummos and Me

Thirty years ago, I was introduced to hummos.  I ate it at Greek restaurants and Maura made it at home.  I loved hummos at first bite and have never lost my taste for the dish. 

Not only is hummos creamy and tasty, it is incredibly healthy.  Its pure plant nutrition is good for you.  Hummos is perfect for sandwiches instead of less-healthy spreads like mayonnaise (which contains eggs).

In the past three decades, hummos has transformed from an exotic foreign dish to a popular item available in any American supermarket.  Moms buy it.  If you haven't tasted it yet, it's time to try it.

The great thing about hummos is its variety of tastes.  Every Greek restaurant makes it differently.  You can buy it in stores with over a dozen fun toppings, like roasted garlic or black olives.

Natalie Portman, who's a vegetarian, says she eats her body-weight in hummos every day.  I believe that.  Hummos is popular around the world, especially in the Middle East.

What is hummos?  It's a simple combination of a few natural foods.  I'm making some this weekend, so I thought to explain its ingredients to you.

The primary ingredient is chickpeas.  In fact, "hummos" is an Arabic word meaning chickpeas.  Chickpeas are seeds that are super-high in protein.  They're perfect for vegetarians looking for non-meat protein.  Plus, they have a pleasant mild flavor.

The second ingredient is Tahini (which is pronounced,"Ta-heen-a").  Tahini is simply ground-up sesame seeds.  You buy it in jars in ethnic food-stores.  It rarely has preservatives or anything else in it.

Hummos is seasoned by the spices you add.  Essentials are garlic and lemon-juice.  Optional spices are paprika, salt, pepper and hot peppers.

Making hummos couldn't be easier.  Basically you just toss everything in a food-processor and mix it up.  You can make it chunky or smooth, depending on your preference.  Here's the recipe I'm using today, only I'm doubling the amount of garlic and lemon-juice to make it zestier.

Do you like hummos?  Have you ever tried making it?

How Tough Are You?

Life is hard.  It throws difficulties at us all the time.  The weight of those problems can crush a person.

Toughness, in my opinion, is the ability to withstand life's hardships.  It is resilience against the things that go wrong.  Toughness is having a strong will that enables you to pursue goals with tenacity.

Are you tough?  There's a test at the end of this post which you can use to measure your toughness.  Some people are strong; some are not.  Some are hardy; some are not.  See how you fare.

My mother was tough -- which surprised people because of her short height (4'11") and gender.  My mother could struck fear in anyone's heart.  I saw grown men quiver at her approach.  Her visceral strength was astounding: when my mother bit your leg, she didn't let go until you did what she wanted.  My mother single-handedly turned a group of misfits into a "family;" she controlled and dominated the entire herd.  Maura and I used to joke that my mother could have run Russia better than Stalin; she had a stronger iron grip.

Here are some questions to gauge your personal toughness.  Feel free to answer any of them or just free-associate your thoughts on the subject:

- When your brother pulls your ponytail, what do you do?  Cry for Mommy?  Try to reason with him?  Squeeze his grapes?

- When your boyfriend forgets an important occasion, do you make excuses for him?  Confront him in anger?  Reach for a kitchen knife?

- When a project at school or work turns out to be harder than expected, how do you react?  Buckle down and dig into the work?  Pull out your bong?  Shop for shoes?

- When your motorcycle hits 140 mph at the racetrack, are you excited?  Scared?  In need of new underwear?

- When someone leaves a nasty comment on your blog, do you ignore it?  Write a new post about how your feelings are hurt?  Or blast the offender on her blog with snappy insults?

- When a co-worker acts haughty or passive-aggressive, what do you do?  Complain to the boss?  Put laxative in her coffee?

- When you fall off your motorcycle and break some ribs, how long do you wait to order new riding gear?  Two hours?  Two days?  Forever?

Your turn...

My New Reality

I don't dwell on unpleasantness -- life is too full of bad things to voluntarily prolong their presence in our lives.  So I wasn't going to mention my accident or injuries any more, but... it seems the latter are going to stick around a while and, if I'm being honest in reporting about my life, I can't sweep them under the rug.  So I am going to be candid about the challenges I'm facing -- but with humor and good spirits.  I'm going to talk about my existing reality without diving into pity.

Have you ever been seriously injured?  How long did it take for you to recover?  During that time, what kept your spirits up?

It's hard, when you face searing pain on a daily -- even hourly -- basis, to be happy.  To smile.  But I'm trying.  I'm learning that the simple activities in life we perform without thought (making coffee; putting on clothes; driving a car) are actually complex physical acts.  My right arm is still useless and my left thumb has no strength, so I have half of one hand to do things.  Barely enough to open a bottle, or pour milk, or carry a briefcase.  But I struggle to do those ordinary tasks and frequently forget my limits and get punished with burning physical pain.

But getting back into normal life as quickly as possible is necessary to avoid depression.  Many injured people get depressed when they can't live normally.  The change, especially when abruptly caused by trauma, is too stark for them.  That won't happen to me because I know how to avoid it and, having a far-more serious previous accident under my belt (motorcycle crash in 2003), I know I have the deep inner will-power to push past all pain and recover my health.  I did it before; I can do it again.

There's even comedy in this.  Gina has a stick-shift (manual transmission) on the right side which I can't operate with my right arm.  So, to drive to work, I've become a contortionist.  When I need to shift gears, I twist my entire body to work the shift with half of my left hand.  It looks ridiculous but gets the job done.

I'll understand if some of you aren't interested in hearing tales of recovery.  If so, check back in a few weeks.  Otherwise, I'll try to keep my stories light and entertaining.  I don't want to stop blogging and, right now, struggling through physical injury is my reality.  My unavoidable new reality.

Minor Mishap

An event happened yesterday.  I debated whether to mention it.  I decided not to.  Then I realized I should be open with you since that's our compact.  I tell you my crazy truth; you scratch your head and think, "What a nut!"  It's an arrangement that works for both of us.

I had a minor motorcycle accident.  An old geezer in a bigass Buick cut me off without looking and, while normally I could have braked in time, there was wet sand on the road.  It isn't riding season yet and the road-surface was treacherous, but I was eager to get back on my bike after two months of insane snow, so I took greater risks than I normally do. 

To avoid hitting the elderly idiot, I had to brake harder than I knew was prudent and lost traction by doing so.  The motorcycle slide out from under me and I landed on my right side.  The fall knocked the wind out of me.  For a full minute (which felt like an hour), I tried to get up but couldn't.  Then I caught my breath and was able to stand.  The old guy took off but a young man stopped and helped me get my bike upright.  It had broken pieces and wouldn't run but we moved it off the road.  After composing myself, I called and got a tow.

There's nothing broken in me and no permanent damage.  I'm in lots of pain though.  I feel like a wrestled a bear and lost.  My right arm, which I landed on, isn't really working but I know it's okay 'cause I can move my fingers and clench my fist.  A few days rest will bring it back to normal.  For now, it just hangs limp and hurts when I move it in any direction.  I sustained some abrasions on my knee and hip, but nothing serious; my gear absorbed the road-rash.  My heavy riding-boot lost a big chunk off the right toe; better that than my foot.  If you're going to ride a motorcycle, buy the best gear available.  I just ordered a new jacket to replace my ruined one; it costs $700 but is cheaper than medical treatment.

So... I'm fine.  I'm deploying that dogged attitude that's gotten me through life so far.  The first thing I did when I got home was go online and, with only my left hand working, I ordered a new jacket and pair of boots.  Nothing will stop me from being the crazy person I am.

I am reluctant to tell you about this incident because I don't want to turn you off to motorcycling.  It's a wonderful activity and usually safe.  I ride tens of thousands of miles every year and have had only a handful of mishaps.  While one can blame the old guy for "causing" the accident, I accept responsibility for riding on an unsafe road (wet; sandy; downward decline).  I probably should have waited for the street-sweepers to clear the surface next week.  I was just too eager and disregarded the risk.  Sometimes that works out; sometimes it doesn't.  Yesterday was the bad statistical blip.

I'm not going to glamorize this post by showing you any pictures.  My gear is in tatters but displaying it would sent the wrong message.  In the future, I want you to support my passion for motorcycling; I don't want to scare you about its risks.  Everything has risk -- but not everything provides the intensity of joy that I derive from riding motorcycles.

I hope your weekend was better than mine.  What'd you do?

AllyCat

My marvelous mate Megan Mae made a magical illustration of my last outfit.  She captures both the look and spirit of the creation.

Thanks, Megan!!

(You, too, can get your own illustration from Megan.  Go here.)

The Sins Of Our Fathers

I like to learn.  I watch many documentaries.  Good ones teach us valuable lessons with the added emotional impact that film can carry.  I just saw a film I want to talk to you about.

How should we deal with the lives of our parents and ancestors?  The film I saw examines this issue from the perspective of children and grandchildren of men who committed horrible atrocities.  While the relatives interviewed were not complicit (and, in many cases, were not even alive) during the crimes committed by their ancestors, they carry on their family's name which connects them publicly to historical horrors.

At what point might acts by our ancestors forfeit the natural (and culturally-encouraged) love we have for family?  Should we even confront the morality of our ancestors' choices and lives?

Modern society washes away what happened last week, let alone in the last generation.  So the current inclination is to simply forget about the past.  But when the past was very bad, forgetting it is wrong.  We owe victims of injustice remembrance of their suffering.  And we owe ourselves a clear picture of how our family got to be what it is.  That includes honest understanding of our family's history.  Grappling with the past, including ugly parts, is a path to such knowledge.

To what extent do you wrestle with the acts of your parents or grandparents?  To what extent are you even aware of those facts?  Many whose family histories are contaminated by immorality are shielded from information by closely-guarded secrets and long-held denial.  My family falls into that group. 

My father grew up in an extremely troubled place (Germany during the Nazi regime).  For my whole life, my father has refused to talk about his childhood and what his family did back then.  I learned to stop asking him about it because he erected a brickwall against any inquiry.  Giving him the benefit of the doubt, he does this to avoid painful memories.  It might, however, also be motivated to conceal unpleasant facts.  I don't think I'll ever know because there are no other relatives or independent sources to tell me about our family's history during that period.

Thus, I have to view my father solely on the life I've had with him, not on anything earlier.  I wish I could get that information, though; it might answer some questions and complete the picture of our family.

How about you?  And what are your thoughts on this?