“It could have been worse,” I said to my wife, Margaret, as I pulled her up off the side of a rocky trail in the Catalina Mountain foothills near Tucson.
“You could have landed on a cactus,” I added.
“My face landed on a darn rock,” she answered while spitting out what looked like dirt. And I don’t think she said darn.
She had tripped over something (maybe her own feet) and did a head-firster into the side of the slope. Fortunately, she had gotten her arm out to break her fall. Unfortunately for her arm, she had banged it pretty hard.
Her arm immediately took on the look of an eggplant with a swollen area that resembled a miniature mesa or butte — whichever one might look more painful.
She didn’t faint. I didn’t, either, although my knees suddenly felt pretty weak after watching her arm grow. We had two more miles of hiking to go. I didn’t know if I was going to piggyback her or she was going to have to piggyback me.
“Let’s go,” she said, “I’m OK.” I didn’t give her a status report on me.
We got back. She has slowly but surely healed.
Eleven days later, her arm is a nice yellow in color. I am no longer gun-shy — or yellow — when it comes to looking at it.
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For the last 20 or so years, I’ve been a country music fan. I think a good part of the reason is that I can actually understand the lyrics.
I know that there are a lot of pickup trucks and hangovers and old dogs but I don’t mind that — or the twang. And there really is some thoughtful lyrics if you listen close enough.
One of those recent songs is “Human” by Cody Johnson. In the refrain, it goes:
“Well, I guess all I’m sayin’ is forgive me
If I don’t know what I’m doing
I’m still learnin’ to be human.”
Sums up a lot of things for me.
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And a few questions:
— I guess it’s nice to be acknowledged by a friendly face when walking into a store, but aren’t there times when another check-out person would be preferable over a greeter?
— Seriously, are there more orange barrels than automobiles on the highways these days?
— And speaking of orange, aren’t the orange jellybeans the best ever? (I’m only allowed them during Easter.)
— I know I’m an impatient shopper, but does anyone else get frustrated when someone leaves his or her grocery cart in the middle of the aisle while slowly scanning a shelf?
— Is there a way to arrange 11 cookies to make them look like a dozen when you were specifically told to keep your mitts away from them?
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I’ll leave you with a picture of my favorite mural of all time. As you can see below, it has a cowboy acting as if his bike is a bronco and a beautiful señorita with flowing hair catching up to him. I’m the dork in the foreground.
The mural , which is GIGANTIC, is one of 50 or more works of art around the downtown area of Tucson — our home in the winter for a couple of months.
It is called “Epic Rides” by artist Joe Pagac and is 30-feet tall and 130-feet long (Behind the señorita on bikes are a javelina, tortoise and “jackalope” that wouldn’t fit in my photo.)
“Epic Rides” replaced “Chew Mail Pouch” as my favorite roadside art. I’m wondering if my wife would let me hire Pagac to paint a similar mural on the side of our house — me the cowboy, her the señorita but with her in the lead, of course.
Contact Bill at [email protected]