You know the old saying, “tell me a story and I’ll tell you no lies.” Well, you know how that goes.

For my first major foray back into my community life, I chaired a meeting last night with a civic group. There are three factions within the group, each of whom have various reasons for being so passionate about their position. I like passion: it demonstrates that the person is seriously concerned and it is not a petty matter to them.

However, I also get highly irritated when people lie, and pretend they aren’t. They give you this look like, “believe me, I am telling the truth,” but all other mannerisms give them away — the darting eyes, fidgety hand movements, and stammering speech.

You’d figure if any profession can tell a good story and make it sound believable, it would be a lawyer. But last night, I caught a lawyer in a series — not just one but several — outright fibs. He claimed certain details as fact, when there was no proof. He cited figures that sounded implausible, and another person speaking after him proved that the lawyer could write the next edition of How To Lie With Statistics. What blew it was that he cited research from someone who I know personally. I know my colleague’s work. My colleague wouldn’t have said that. To prove it, I called my colleague right then-and-there and put him on speaker phone. The lawyer turned white as a sheet.

I wasn’t born yesterday. I can just tell when someone is trying to twist the truth to make something come out in their favor. Their problem was that they do not realize that I’ve been around the block once or twice, and know a few people. The look on that guy’s face when I called the author of the paper from which he was quoting — and the fact that I had the author’s phone number in my cell phone’s directory — was exceptionally amusing.

Look, if you are going to make a statement in public, certainly back it up with facts and figures. But also make sure that those facts are supported and can be verified independently. Otherwise, it will catch up with you and could work against you.

Lyin’ eyes and darting gestures will also always give you away.

Life is short: speak honestly (and stop flailing your hands!)

These are just some rambling remarks that add up to today’s bloggetory…

* Sunny, bright, warm days yet not being able to ride my Harley yet makes for a frustrated biker, itchin’ to get out! Livin’ with Mother Hubbard who holds me back is such a delight… (smile). He does love me.

* I am getting better each day after breaking my leg. The swelling of my right ankle continues, but is noticeably less. The ankle and foot flexes more, especially when I go swimming, and doesn’t hurt. Yea! I AM recovering!

* Swimming is helping not only with the ankle/leg recovery, but also with my weight. I have lost six pounds since the day the cast came off. These are “real” pounds, and not just “water weight” ounces. I’ll keep this exercise regimen going, and add brisk walking to it. I know I need the exercise. Walking and swimming both help me feel better. (I’ve never be the gym rat, so at least I have found some exercises that work for me and that I enjoy.)

* I mowed the lawn! Well, half of it anyway. It is amazing how something as simple as lawn-mowing can make someone happy! But it impressed upon me that I really am getting better. Soon enough, I’ll be able to tackle those hills (our side yards).

* I am sick and tired of wearing combat boots! Okay, they provide excellent support of my right leg and ankle, and because they lace up, the right boot can accommodate a little swelling and yet still close. I just don’t think that combat boots are good to wear all day (at work) and as I go about resuming my life. But … well … they ARE boots, and that’s what I wear!

* I still remember Rick, my riding buddy and community collaborator, who was killed by a cell-phone yapping SUV-driving yuppie seven years ago today. I truly regret that my state’s legislature remains spineless and will not pass a bill that restricts the use of hand-held wireless devices while operating a three-ton killing machine.

* Senior Safety Saturday is comin’ up fast! Woo-hoo! We’ve got a lot to tackle but we’re all ready for it! Can’t wait! Heck, I just might get myself out from behind the registration table and drill a hole or two to install a grab-bar, install a light or three… we’ll see.

* first of four county budget battle meetings have begun this week. Tonight will be my first “foray” back into my community role since I broke my leg. I am not testifying tonight … just observing … and gaining fodder for future conversations. But again, despite the tedious and tense nature of the content of the meeting, the fact is that I can go!

* I am enjoying the “little things” — accomplishments that were taken for granted before my leg broke. For example, I drove myself to pick up my aunt to bring her to our house for Easter dinner. I actually prepared Easter dinner myself, with no help! I went out to our forest and picked a bunch of flowers to decorate the table. I brought some more to a neighbor who is not feeling well. I was able to go fetch the newspaper from the drive. All these “little” things add up, and add much to my psyche-of-renewal.

Life is short: enjoy all of it, even the little things!

The memory card in my camera sizzled, so none of the photos that were taken with it yesterday were readable by my computer. Here is one photo that shows yesterday’s get-up. The photo was taken by the daughter of some of my friends. I’m the one in the middle. Enjoy! Happy Easter!

Yesterday morning, my partner and I got up early and went to the swimming pool, where I swam 40 lengths so I could get much-needed exercise and work out the stiffness in my injured leg and ankle.

When we got home, I prepared breakfast, then put some ice on my ankle and elevated it to rest for a while. Then a cop buddy of mine came over, and he went with me to practice driving again! We spent an hour in an empty parking lot where I turned, stopped short, reversed, and otherwise got comfortable behind the wheel again. Yippie! I can drive!

When I returned, I grilled lunch for my partner and me, then once again, put my ankle up and iced it. My partner and I were plotting out the rest of the day when the phone rang. The caller was a daughter of one of my senior pals, Hal. I had computed and filed Hal’s tax return, so I thought perhaps his daughter was calling about that.

Instead, it was something I didn’t want to hear. Hal had a heart attack and was in the hospital. I decided to go see Hal. I drove carefully, but fortunately traffic wasn’t bad and the hospital is not that far away. I found Hal’s room. His daughter greeted me and said that Hal was sleeping. She told me that the doctor said that his heart attack was bad, and that they weren’t sure he would recover.

I went over and held his hand. I sat with Hal for several hours. Nurses would come in to check from time to time. The doctor showed up and said that there wasn’t much that could be done right now but let him rest. His condition was grave, and the doc said that he wasn’t sure that Hal would have much of a quality of life because he may have had brain damage when his heart had stopped beating.

His daughter, who lives out-of-town, told me that over the years that her father had talked a lot about me, and frequently referred to me as “his young pal.” Hal was a very interesting man to learn from. We had many long, pleasant, insightful conversations.

I remember one of those conversations was about death and dying. Hal didn’t want to have a prolonged, painful death. He had signed a Living Will. His daughter was vaguely aware of it, but did not know where his papers were. Because I had done Hal’s taxes, I knew where to find them. His daughter and I talked, and she agreed that she should go back to the house to get the papers so that the doctors would have authorization to take care of Hal the way that Hal wanted.

When his daughter returned, Hal’s condition had not changed. He was still unconscious. The Advance Medical Directives (that is what a “Living Will” is formally called) clearly explained that Hal did not want any life-prolonging measures to be taken. It specifically indicated that a feeding tube or ventilator was not to be used. His daughter understood, and brought the papers to the doctor’s attention.

The doctor discussed it with the hospital’s legal people, and they agreed that everything was in order. The ventilator was removed. Hal continued to breathe for a little while, but then he stopped… he died.

I know this is very sad, yet I also know what this situation is like. I lived with it personally when I took care of my uncle through the winter of his life until his death. I was there when my uncle died.

There was no wailing and screaming, though Hal’s daughter and I cried and held each other. But this is what Hal wanted. His death was rather quick and the anguish was minimized. Hal’s daughter thanked me for being her Dad’s friend and for helping him all these years, as well as for remembering Hal’s final wishes and enabling her to help her Dad fulfill them and die as he wished.

I was pretty much mentally wasted and exhausted by the time I got home. I just curled up with my partner and had a good cry. My partner held me close, and said what I often say,

Life is short: show those you love that you love them.

January 24 my life changed significantly when I fell and broke my leg. For eight weeks after it happened, I was stuck in a chair and was pretty much immobile. I “escaped” a few times, but for the most part, I didn’t go anywhere or do anything, and could not walk.

On March 19, the cast was removed from my leg. I thought, “oh wow! Freedom!” But my leg had “other plans.” It literally didn’t want to move. I had forgotten how to walk! I was amazed and shocked. Taking one step felt incredibly hard. And it hurt!

The next day, I began to do some exercises, and the day after that, I went swimming. Both of these activities helped me regain some flexibility in my ankle, which for eight weeks had been frozen in a 90-degree position.

I decided to make goals for each of the next several weeks, because I realized that my recovery would not be so dramatic that I would be wearing high-heeled cowboy boots and line dancing the day I got my cast off.

Week 1: (this past week) — learn to walk with a cane and navigate using Metro to return to work and back. My partner drove each day to the Metro garage. After dinner: leg up, elevated and on ice. Weekend: re-learn how to drive my four-wheeled vehicle again. Go visit my lovely aunt.

Week 2: (this week) — get to my first official physical therapy appointment and see if they can help. Drive myself to the Metro parking garage and get to work, and return safely each day. After dinner: leg up, elevated and on ice.

Week 3: (next week) — continue with physical therapy as recommended, continue to get myself to work and back, and attend one meeting in the evening after work. Still driving (only) in my four-wheeled vehicle. The Harley will just have to wait. I will TRY to wear a different pair of boots if the ankle swelling is reduced and other boots will fit.

Week 4: physical therapy, work full-time, and two evening meetings. Still using a four-wheeled vehicle. At the end of the week, return to my orthopedic doctor for an evaluation, plus a hoped-for clearance to return to riding my Harley. On the Saturday of this week, conduct my annual “Senior Safety Saturday” which is already well organized. I will not be able to run around doing repairs and installations as I had done in years past. I will sit at the registration table for the day, ensure assignments are understood, and resolve problems.

Week 5: all of the above (work, evening meetings) plus re-learning how to ride my Harley. But only on the weekend. I don’t quite think I will be ready yet to ride it to the Metro and back every day.

Week 6: lead a ride [the censors won’t let me say when or where], plus all of the above.

Weeks onward: ALL OF THE ABOVE!

Life is short: plan for the future — one step at a time.

Today is a friend’s birthday. I call him “AZ” on this blog and on BOL. I call him a caring and thoughtful soul. Lots of others do, too. I call him handsome, intelligent, funny, and fun — as do many others as well.

AZ is a humble man, and doesn’t like a lot of attention. So these few lines will serve sufficiently to say that I am observing this annual milestone for my buddy, I wish him well, and wish that I could be in Arizona so I could bake him a cake and give him a hug. This “e-hug” will have to do, though I sent him a small gift and a card. I know he knows how highly I think of him, so I promised him, “basta.” (This is enough–no gushing.)

In other news…

Today is FRIDAY! Woo-hoo! It’s been a heck of a long week, being my first week back at work after having my cast cut off and being cleared to go back to work. My partner has eased me into it by driving us to the Metro and home each day, which was much appreciated.

I smile a lot when I think of “Friday,” because my buddy Clay gets so very excited about Fridays. He does a “Friday Happy Dance” that I hear about and when I do, it makes me happy, too. Thanks, Clay, for always brightening my Fridays (and the rest of the week, too!)

My friend Kevin, the wise and introspective one, posted a comment on a blog post that caused me to think a great deal about the difference between religion and faith. It was in a comment to this post. What he said that hit close to my heart is that “faith is inspired by mercy” and it is faith that drives people to alleviate suffering and to help others. Yeah, he’s absolutely right once again … he hit my nail on the head. Thanks, Kevin, for your inspiring thoughts and reflections.

My twin brother, J, called yesterday and was grilling me about my recovery. He wants me to get better, but doesn’t want me to overdo it. He has been reading some things I had posted in other forums and was concerned. I assured him that with mother-hubbard St. Partner on my case, there’s no way I can “overdo it.” I am so blessed; my partner is still doing a lot of things for me that I just don’t have the energy or ability to do at this stage of my recovery, with nary a whimper, either. So rest assured, J, I am not killing myself or prolonging my recovery when I use words like, “pushing through the pain.”

I’ll close with another reflection from my friend Kevin, who said that upon reading my blog posts over time, that the sentiment in the Frank Capra movie from which I’ve quoted a lot, It’s a Wonderful Life, applies to me in real life. I have a wonderful net of family and friends with whom I am closely bonded. They actually enjoyed caring for me when I was laid up with my broken leg. My man loves me deeply, as I love him. Our home is nice, our community supportive, and our state accepting (and our State Senate finally had the cajones to pass a bill about using cell phones while driving that I had been supporting for over eight years!) All-in-all, yeah, it’s a wonderful life and I’m happy to be in it. Especially, I’m happy to be closely intertwined with all who compose my life.

Life is short: love it! Happy birthday, AZ! (Ha, you thought I said enough was enough, didn’t ‘ya!)

I was catching up on cop blogs the other day, and read a post by Officer Smith that hit close-to-home. What he was talking about is knowing that his uncle needed help, and the members of his church, who live right in the community, were wishing him well via postings to his wife on Facebook, but not really helping. That is, not providing the help that was needed. Praying for someone but not lifting a finger to go visit, run an errand, pick something up … whatever … to really help … isn’t very Christian. It’s lazy.

When I was laid up with my broken leg, I couldn’t get out and help people as I ordinarily do. That drove me crazy, because in ordinary circumstances, I was always the one out there helping others. I would get up off my butt and go do something if I knew that someone was seriously ill or injured and needed help.

I observed that in my own situation. I had lots of Facebook well-wishers, many of whom live out-of-town so I accept that social networking is a convenient way to offer support. But there were about ten of my neighbors — all who live within a mile or two of me — who frequently commented on Facebook offering platitudes, but never once asked me if I needed anything.

I have to clarify a bit — there were three Facebook friends who live nearby who did pick up the phone and call me, or email me, and offered to help. And I took them up on it! These were my friends who took me on the clandestine outings that I had mentioned in earlier posts. Or they just came at lunchtime and helped prepare lunch, or retrieve packages from my doorstep, or … whatever … they helped. Big or little, they stepped up and not only offered support, but gave it.

In summarizing this mild rant, I am saying that if you live near someone who you know has a severe injury or illness, don’t pretend to offer support by posting a comment on Facebook thinking you are being nice and you’re done with it. Get up off your friggin’ butt and go help! Make the person who was hurt or ill swallow his or her pride and accept help. (That was hard for me to do, but I realized that my request for help actually made my friends feel better, too.)

Get going … go help.

Life is short. That’s why.

Here I am, in my office, back at work. I kept up with the email and the voice mail, so I really have little to catch up on. That is, until other people start to filter in (which they have, all with a cheery, “welcome back,” but an unstated, “I don’t really want to know your problems” so I am just saying that it’s good to be back and that’s it.)

My beloved St. Partner escorted me to the office today. He walked with me from the Metro, stayed right by my side through the rail system until we exited at the station in the city nearest my office. Then I began that slow, steady, but painful walk to the building where my office is located.

My Wesco combat boots provided sufficient support and comfort during my trek, though I must say that once I got settled into my office, I took off the boot from my injured ankle and put an ice pack on the ankle and leg. It hurts! But this too shall pass.

I am on the road to recovery… one step at a time.

Life is short: keep truckin’!