I am torn between acceptance and anger

I accept that I had an accident, I accept that I am disabled however what makes me angry is just how small a "box" being disabled forces me into.

I am NOT disabled enough for a handicap placard or recognition from Social Security, oh no, that would make sense. However I am disabled enough that Habitat is worried I might now be insane or, Civil Air Patrol thinks I might be a liability in practical exercises. Habitat I understand, the guys running it here in NH are petty. C.A.P. I don't understand.

When I was a teenager I was in C.A.P. though I was growing up in North Philly. I have since served in the 101st Airborne and as a combat soldier in Desert Storm. Yet, somehow my accident give the part time Boy Scout Pretend-2-Be Soldiers pause..?? Of the two of us, which one amongst us understand the physical and mental needs to be at the needs of the military?

Add to which I almost made it to West Point... just off my abilities. My disqualification had nothing to do with my abilities or integrity in any way shape or form. If I had just one iota less honor, I would have made it to Ft Monmouth, N.J. and from there university and officer school. All just based on my entrance exam and the subsequent S.A.T. Taken while in Basic Training on extended physical sleep deprived exercises. I did not just pass, I excelled....

There in lies my distress: Who gets to define my handicap for me?

People seem to think my cognition should be impaired so they do my thinking for me. Regardless of whether I want them to or not. Supposedly I should be upset about what happened to me, so I am a bundle of unexpressed anger if I can ever think hard enough to tap into it. My problem is that I am only obedient to the Lord... and my Father. Therein lies the difficulty with some of the support groups. They would like to me have a lazy eye and do a bit more drooling. Be sympathetic in appearance so that people will feel sorry for me and open their wallets to fund the support group's marketing program.

At what point are people taking advantage of my disability for their own purposes?

The inability of the medical establishment to specify exactly what I will have to deal with, to face, in the long term recovery makes me the unwanted child. Ambiguous enough to speculate, and using that speculation for financial gains, however ambiguous enough that I am to be disregarded.

In fact, just by not kowtowing to assumed authority, not my wife, got me into trouble with the Police. Did not raise my voice, made no gestures of any kind, but because I won't let someone else define my disability for me... I am a threat.

Sapience Returning... ...

Recently, I got the urge to write about "something". This "something" was a major factor in one of my favorite books, which has rested upon my cheek as I fall asleep many recent nights. It is not that the book is that hard, oh no. I used to consume books like they were going out of style. After my injury, I have trouble consuming books like I used to although I do try.

The book in question is called "Little Fuzzy". I've searched the internet and apparently people seem to miss the, in my mind, one of the most important aspects of this book. In particular, the book spends time defining (and debating) SAPIENCE.

Sapience is generally defined: Having great wisdom and discernment. (taken from freedictionary.com) Not to plagiarize in any way, this definition is used by most dictionaries. Words used change from book to book, legalese being what it, however the essential definition stays the same.

The reason this is important to me?

For a solid part of a year my sapience was suspended. In fact, it is still reforming. Let us consider that my wisdom, what I had, was completely rebooted from scratch. Stuck with the memories of a Mensan Combat War Veteran who grew up in the ghetto of Philadelphia.... but zero wisdom in all those memories. Naive like a newborn child.

That is not to say my cognition was suspended. Oh my, was it damaged, still is to be honest. As an example, I know that I am a Tall Poppy. Knowing what happens to Tall Poppies you would think that I would not be so obvious in my Tallness. But no...

Going with this example: I got to enjoy watching two Tall Poppies interact. One Poppy is trying to rehabilitate something by getting the other Poppy to get involved with the matter. I watched the uninvolved Poppy shirk and shrug, negatively about himself, while the motivated Poppy continued on. Eventually I was noticed and accepted, as a spectator (?), while this continued until I could not keep my mouth shut. I pointed out the issue for uninvolved Poppy, basically pointed to the cross we all bear while alive, while explaining the essence of motivated Poppy's intentions.

Three Tall Poppies talking forming an interesting trinity. I can't seem to avoid the trinity in my life. So daring to open my mouth, I am now on the list of potential resources for motivated Poppy to consider. Which brought me to a stress relieving epiphany.

My life has recently been plagued by the actions and intentions of people without good intentions my direction. Challenging their behaviors has created a butt load of work for me. Painful, stressful, work. And I am no closer to having things solved. However I realized that not only should I stop trying... trying to solve their problems/issues grants them more power of me than they deserve.

So instead of investing time and energy into correcting bad behaviors... I am just going to invest my time and energy into motivated Poppies agendas and goals. After all, I voted "for" him, the least I can do is make myself available for the needs of my local Mayor.

PS: This button is so you can donate to my ongoing blog. However, those that purchased my autobiography are getting them. Virtual first, of course, those that wanted printed will take some printing time.

Christmas on the way...

I recently discovered something that may help me with my recovery. That being said, it is not cheap. Being "not cheap" convincing my Commander-In-Cheif is not going to be easy, at all. My finances are in flux or I would do this outright myself.

That being said, if you click the link you will be purchasing an advanced copy of my autobiography.As an added bonus, please include your name (or however you wish to be remembered) so that I can personally sign a physical copy for you when physical copies are available.

Here is the post I made on Google+ and on Facebook:

• I am looking at Google Glass as a tool to help me with my disability. It is hard to explain where I am now insufficient without touching on the subject of alcohol or drugs. But it is the simplest way to explain: Get drunk, or high, and try doing math. Or juggling, or swinging a hammer, or thinking this paragraph out. That is the problem with my mental capability.
  
  Vertigo? No. Cognition decreased? No. (Actually my IQ is better now!) Memory? Um.... I don't remember how bad my memory is so ask another question, please.
  
  That is why Glass will do me some good. My life has turned into a working case file requiring me to walk around with a bag to hold wallet, keys, paper, lists, tools, etc., etc.. Glass would removed a lot of baggage I need but, more importantly, it would help me to remember tasks without having to dig around for my tasks list. Where I may have put it... if I can remember where I put it.

So if you want a copy now, digital, please include an email address with your name. Thank you and may you have a nice & Merry Christmas.

Again, who knew about brain injury?

This is just the most damage my brain has taken. Counting back through my life I have suffered many brain injuries. And I don't mean just a concussion here and there, though I did have one or two of those along the way.

The first one I can remember was when I was about two years old. I was in a self created car accident. There are some things that I do remember from my childhood and crashing a car is one of them. The car was parked facing downhill on a sharp decline. I was left in the car alone, against my mother's wishes, and I played with the gear shifter. Playing around, the car slipped out of parking gear and headed downhill taking me along for the ride.

My next brain injury was when I was 5 years old. My brother did not like the top bunk so that is where I slept. One evening he was talking to me, from below, and I was leaning over the side, downward facing, answering back. I don't think he liked my answer as suddenly I felt gravity yank me downward and I hit my right temple on our toy box that was beside the bed. I was blind for about half a day... this was early 1970's so who knew about brain injury?

The next injury came when I was 13 years old. We had been tasked with depositing purchases in the family vehicle that was parked a couple blocks away. Being the Philly Italian market, parking is at a premium to even find. So me, my brother, and my cousin Tommy carried things back to the vehicle and put them in. Then we trotted back to where we last saw our parents. My brother leading the way, Tommy following him, and me (as usual) bringing up the rear. At one point my brother hopped on top of a laying pallet to continue and we followed. When I hopped up on the pallet >BAM< I was struck by a metal weight. I did not realize my injury until we reached our parents. Then my Mom got very upset with my blood covered head from the long gash in my skull. Again, who knew about brain injury?

Then when I was 18 the list gets interesting; I was given a suprise blow the head from a jerk at the Keystone Job Corp, a blow that left me quite disorientated; Basic training where I excelled at Pugil Sticks; AIT where I took an accidental blow to the back of my head from a Drill; Jump School where to blows just keep a coming; then getting reactivated for war time service (enough explosions and what not there!); and finally got my slightly bent end of my q-tip out of the Army forever more. Again, who knew about brain injury?

When I returned home from Desert Storm; a local gang of teenage kids had "claimed" my backyard for their form of entertainment and did not like my returning. I, of course, evicted keg drinking and their partying in my backyard which got me targetted. One night I was attacked by a bunch of them. While defending myself one, in ambush, rushed up a struck me in the back of the head with a golf club. Much to his surprise, I turned to him and said, "Ooops", and broke his jaw with an upper cut executed so beautiful my Dad would be proud at my form. (Not at the violence!) I stayed concious long enough to have my friend get me on the road to my Mother's house, had a cigarette, and then apologized for my pending unconciousness. The first thing I remember after that point was a Doctor shining a pen light at my eyes at Temple Trauma Center. Again, who knew about brain injury?

I got a new apartment, on Oxford Ave, and settled in over a street side store. I loved that apartment however in Dec '94 the Old Bell building next door filled up with gas and ignited by surprise. I was the only person present for the occasion and I got thrown around a bit. Doctors, at the emergency room, check my internal organs for concussive damage but no one checked my brian. Again, who knew about brain injury?

I have since been damned careful about where, and how, I drive. I inspect my apartment/residence constantly. If anyone approaches me with an implement that could go upside my head - I am aware of him/her and never let that person out of my awareness. I am consistent and in constant "fear" of blows to the head though I never let my internal worries show in my actions, behaviors, or speech. Even now after I truly almost died from one.

Again, who knew about brain injury?

Something along the way of my day...

... I had so much work to do today. I had two blogs floating in my mind. One about how body language can be used to "mislead", which I do every breath I take, and how under represented/appreciated us Desert Shield/Storm Veterans are. I was contemplating these topics in my mind as I drove to Somersworth from the Goss Building. I was driving slowly, carefully, along Franklin Street (school is now out for the day), when I was passing a group of kids on my right side. As I passed, one teenager jumped up and down calling me a N-gg-r.

>errrrrr<

I went about 20 feet when my foot hit the brake, I spun the car around in a bootlegger's u-turn, and gunned it till I reached the kids. Slamming the brakes, putting the car in park, I hopped out and asked him, "What did you say?"

His face looked a bit startled and he said, "I said nothing." One of the girls in the group said, "I told you that would get a reaction!". I then asked the kid to read my license plate.

I asked him did he understand the nature of a Veteran license plate. When he said no I asked him to look at the back of my car. He said, "Same license plate".

I said read where I bought this car.

He then started getting a little worried. He said, "Damn, that is a rough town." I then told him what part of Philadelphia I grew up in, his face showed his understanding of what rough could really be but then I told him what rough really is. I asked him if he wanted to be tonight's news story.

"Kid killed in drive by shooting for shouting racial epitaphs."
 
Now, all things being considered, without meaning to do so he complimented me. Most people don't realize it when they deal with me but I am a black man with an annoying white skin condition. Some times so annoying that I want to scratch the damn itchy parts around me. Listening to such casual apathetic bigotry that I listen to on the regular up here in New England is ... mildly insulting.

However it is, for the most part, born of ignorance. Not mal intent, like some Southern States, just not knowing what is and is not okay to do. In fact, some bigotry my wife endures comes from fear of offending never realizing that offense must be intended to be offensive. Accidental offense is nothing more than an opportunity for sharing & learning.

So, today I saved some white kid in Somersworth Ghetto from his silly mouth. While I am proud of the accomplishment, the opportunity troubles me.

The kid has no marks from me. I took no notice of identifying features or marks. Of him or his companions. Only one thing in my memory bothers me. Since it is Thursday it is not likely that any of them where End 68 Hours of Hunger recipients however the generic non-descritive nature of all the back packs that where present makes me realize that I have spent more than just blood on these kids. I have spent time and sweat for the kids in this town and to have one so backhand compliment me with a racial epitaph that could be directed at my father, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, daughter, and wife.... I'm going to spend a lot of time in prayer this evening.

For guidance about the value of charity even towards the uncharitable by nature.

The Cross Is Heavy Enough... ...

... why do people so enjoy hanging off other people's crosses. One of the things that most Christians wonder about, at some point, is why was Christ followed and taunted by the populace. After all, he was not going on vacation, so why add to his torment? Many people think it was devilish inspiration, and I'm not saying it wasn't, however a recent case study shows that our brains can receive pleasure from watching an "enemy" in pain. So, just make the target of your bile everyone else's enemy (at least in their minds) and when you disrupt, or destroy, their lives people around the target (victim) will applaud.

That is the dissonant part of this equation: A victim of crime or tragedy can be the victimizer of other victims. All in the name of good efforts, yes, but it does not change the outcome. Yet another victim of tragedy is born... at the hands of a tragedy victim.

Personal context: This is where this thought, and thinking, came from. It has now been 1 yr, 1 month, and 1 day since my traumatic brain injury. Add to which it is now 2 weeks short of 1 year since I was released from the hospital. In a very necessary wheelchair, I might add. In the past year I have walk two 5k fundraising events. One for the CropWalk, which I needed to do to catch up with my promise in 2012, and one for the Krempels Center. That is where my current major issue lies, the Krempels Center.

As I was working up to being released by the Northeast Rehab Hospital, Krempels was pointed out as being a good place for me to go. Possibly for the support and guidance in recovering from brain injury. David Krempels, a wonderful man, is the basis of the Center forming. The mission and purpose is transcendent especially given how many people there are suffering from this Invisible Illness. However if not careful a wonderful mission, transcendent purpose, can be twisted by not-so-well meaning individuals.

What Disciple started, and fought, in the Crusades? Using the Crusades as an example, and there are many more that can be used, a good wonderful mission; a transcendent idea; was used as an excuse to inflict pain on others. What qualified them as other does not matter, just that they were painted with the "other" brush and, in most cases, were killed.

When I awoke from coma I had been reduced to sheer infancy. As the months go by, my psychology (my cognition) grows up. I was essentially a pre-teen when I drove myself to the Krempels Center. My wife had been doing dances on the phone trying to arrange for transportation for me, to the Krempels Center, when I had had enough. I hit Google Maps, researched the route I had to take, and drove myself to the Krempels Center.

The staff was overjoyed to see me. Here was a brain injured person who could figure out the circuitous route to the Community First Center in Portsmouth. A brain injured person who could, quite possibly, fund his own support group knocking on their door. And, as an added bonus, I was alone without a chaperone (this part becomes dreadfully important!). I was happy to sign up, in fact I wanted to be on the next "orientation" class as soon as possible.

No, no, no! Orientation is not needed. The boundaries (rules) are simple. So simple that they are not written ANYWHERE. So hard to find staff with available time to learn what the "boundaries" are. Just be yourself and the Krempels Center will adjust (not) in support of you. So here is a 45 yr old pre-teen, one that has served in the 101st Airborne, served in Desert Storm, grew up in the ghettos of North Philadelphia, a Mensan and a Mason, being told "be yourself". So I did, who I am is a person who wants to know to things: What is our goal? How are we getting there?

So, obviously, I got fired from the Krempels Center community. Why? Because in the opinion of the staff supporting me took to much of their time at the expense of other brain injury sufferers. Not to mention I am not brain injury media image friendly for fund raising events. I don't have any really visible scars. I stand 6 feet and 3 inches tall. My arm length is 37 inches, my chest measurement is 54 inches, and I weigh a nice healthy 300 lbs. I am Caucasian, sandy blonde with green eyes, and I am not afraid to ask, or answer, questions. On the fundraising marketing front, I am a walking disaster if you don't like answering "What" and "How".

Given the Krempels Center, just last weekend, successfully raised $100k, some of which goes into the paychecks of the staff (hush-hush!), I would say firing me and having me be ostracized was monetarily good sense. But that's not what is bothering me, specifically. What the Krempels Staff did to me, how they interacted with me (Minus a chaperone) was extremely insulting and denigrating to an old war soldier. However, that can be, and was, endured.

The problem is the "stalking" that one of the Krempels members has done to my life. At one point I thought she might turn into a worthwhile friend. She disabused me of that notion. She thought that I might become one of her many lovers, I firmly disabused that notions. The only woman I can ever feel lust for is the only woman who I can equally respect and love; My Wife. It is just the way I am made and I have see no reason or rationale to be other that I am at my heart. I am not disharmonious and I dread disharmony & conflict.

Now, stalking is usually easy to cure: Just don't associate with them anymore and their obsessions latch on somewhere else after a time. However, my stalker gains pleasure from watching "others" squirm in discomfort or pain. So harassing me more and more only gives her pleasure as she watches me try to squirm out from under any influence she might have. I have been diligent about this as well even to the point of going to the police. The police can't do nothing about it though as we were not sexually or emotionally involved and no physical threats or actions were made. Essentially, she can freely and legally harass me to death. It is her 1st Amendment right, and we want to protect her rights, yes?

So this morning the full weight of my situation came down upon my shoulders. I was at Starbucks (I drop in regularly) and one of my old Baristas came in as a customer. He has not been working at that Starbucks for a while so I was curious as to how he has been doing. I have a slight personal relationship with him as I knew as now deceased Sister. She was an integral church member at my Church. So motivated and inspired that she helped End 68 Hours of Hunger in a significant manner. So much so that when our Church donated land, and built a building, for End 68 Hours of Hunger the building was named after this woman. (Irony being irony, she suffered brain injury from tumor growth and succumbed to more tumor growths)

This gentleman, younger than me, is a fine person to know. He is not just a barista, he is also a teacher. Starbucks was just a side job for side job reasons. However as I got to know him I did not know that I went to church with his sister. Did not know until I attend Christina's living wake that she planned, and held while she still had the wherewith all to do so. I then met him at the wake and found out the there were siblings. She left such an impact on my life that 4 - 5 months after my accident I was up a scaffold helping to line up roof timbers for the building with her name. In fact, on the day the building was blessed and opened for business I purchased something during a fundraising (me and fundraiser's!) Silent Auction. What I purchased I won't discuss however I value it at half a million, easy. Yes, I said half a million DOLLARS. Not pennies, dollars.

So this morning I got a slight cold shoulder from this gentleman and I realized what could, most likely, be the problem. His wife is a hired care giver for brain injured people. I would see her regularly at the Krempels Center. So me being fired as a member is bad, my stalker speaking unmentionables about me is horrorific. After all, my church has only known me for just a touch over 3 years. At Lee has only known me as a drive by customer who seems nice. However if what my stalker says about me is even remotely true: Lee could find his job as a teacher gone. Lee's wife could find her job as a care giver gone. Even if it isn't remotely true: If the Krempels Center purposefully takes umbrage over me Lee's wife could find her job... gone.

And the road to Golgotha is not an easy one.

Facing The Day That The Lord Has Made... ... (Volunteer Spirit Pt 2)

I mentioned earlier in this autobiography that the Volunteer Spirit Lives On. Today it got a serious workout and, as a bonus, my name did not get involved in any way. Just a chance to chip in, got a ton of thanks, but only one person actually knew my name. At all (thanks for the Hug Wendy!!!!).

So to start I woke up at 2:30 AM. Still can't sleep all the way through a night. My friend Andrea got my kind of hooked on a game (web page based) so I spent a few hours playing that. Then I got dressed and went to Church. Now this is where it gets a touch interesting for me.

I proceeded into Church with the program in my hand and sat down in my popular seat (very Sheldon of me, I know). Introduced myself to the surrounding parishioners and remembered something that I noticed in passing. The function hall ("fellowship hall") speakers were tied into the pulpit's microphone. Or so I assumed. The choir was about to engage in a specific hymn so I rushed out to listen to the speakers to make sure.

Well, yup, the speakers were tied into the pulpit's microphone. This excited me, and relieved me, as there are times when I can't help but cry... publicly... during service. No, I am not ashamed of it at all. Tears from my eyes are critically checked and if the tears are valid, out they pour. However, the awkwardness for me is the overwhelming consideration and concern my Church goes through if they see me crying.

My Church is totally aware of how close I came to dying. Much more so than I am in fact. Their care and love is very comforting yet having to explain, again and again, that I am ok gets me to think about the fact that perhaps I am not okay. That form of thinking leads to depression and how can I tell them that their expressions of love depresses me... some times. (What an ungrateful sod I am.)

So today I got to enjoy Church service no matter how my personal mood was. I listened, oh yeah, and I interacted as if I was right there in service. I sang with the Church, I read the Church litanies right along with them, I even said "This is my prayer", just like a good parishioner at a pulpit, like my brothers and sisters did when it was that time to say that.

As a classy bonus, I used my cell phone to video tape the empty function hall however the audio caught the whole church service upon it. I used the video taking feature to capture the entire hall, the bulletin boards (designed and populated) by fellow parishioners. After I am done this chapter I will then proceed to process the cell phone video and make a DVD out of it for my minister to enjoy (and do whatever he decides with it!).

So that was my morning Church service. Simple enough yet I wound up interacting with a veteran Sailor and sharing stories. Her service was not as satisfying as mine was however, fortunately for her, much much shorter. So I was leaving the Church at 11AM when I decided to make a short detour/side trip. A friend of mine, Brandon, is doing volunteer help at the Dover Children's Museum. He thinks so highly of the experience he has recommended it to me as a means of satisfying my volunteer spirit.

Ran into two.. I'll say problems... problems. The Museum does not open till Noon and parking was tight at Henry Law Park. Today was the American Cancer Society's "Breast Cancer Walk". So here I am trying to get parking when suddenly I am surrounded by walkers being proactive. So I parked and I noticed a place I could help out. One of the traffic lanes, that pedestrians was using, was not being blocked. Traffic was heading, almost gleefully, toward walkers when I just stood in the way and motioned traffic in a safer direction.

Now this impromptu action of mine I kept up for the first leg of the journey. I though the need for me was over and I went to Henry Law Park to find out what was going on. (I know it was worthwhile but I did not know WHAT was actually going on). When I got to the park and snagged a boy scout who brought me up to date when I noticed that the first leg of the journey was almost done. Almost done means the walkers were approaching Foster's Democrat offices and were beginning to cross Washington and Central Streets. Not good peaceful streets, so I leapt into action.

Placing myself in the block the traffic position I gesture the walkers to move forward. When I could I got the approaching walkers to hesitate and stop while traffic went about it's way. I would then hit the "crosswalk" signal, when that activated, I moved the walkers on. This went on for a while.

However at some point a nice young lady, who looked like she knew things, approached and I asked if there was any way I could help. She took me up on that offer. She asked me to be a traffic guard (Imagine that!) for the returnees on the last leg of the journey. So I took control of the intersection (again) and encouraged walkers to safely cross the intersection when the "pedestrian signal" was activated. Therein the walkers wound up being introduced to my "bullhorn". The Army taught me how to sound off - and sound off I did whenever necessary.

After that last leg, I then got in queue ("Q" haha.) and grabbed a slice of pizza. While I chewed the slice I got to go into the Museum and found out that the Volunteer Coordinator does not work Sundays. I then went back outside ran into the tired Staffer. Checked in, like a good soldier will do, and found out that the "officer" no longer needed me for any purpose. I then got back into my car, 3 hours later, and drove home; having never given anyone my name.

At one point I did notice a Foster's photographer grabbing snapshots of me. I wonder how generic my description will be. Especially given the fact that I only accidentally found the event. I spent last Saturday walking 5k for the CropWalk (which I still have to complete paperwork on!!!) and had made no plans for this level of activity. Yet I found myself sufficient to the task(s).

"HELP" was the prayer on my lips the entire time. Every time I thought I was done, here is another task. This day was definitely made by the Lord. Maybe not for me, perhaps, however I kept him in my heart and faced what weather came my way. Ironically, it was a hugely enjoyable experience.

Really Big Day But ...

I see more challenges in front of me.

Today's CorpWalk was educational for me, in a very enlightening way. I did the walk, yes, but not vigorously. An elderly gentlemen from my church did the walk as well and provided me with in depth tour of Dover as we walked. He is 83 yrs old and his family used to own large portions of the now much more urban Dover. Walking with him, I did it just in case he needed a young man's assistance, he showed me where such & such building used to be or, what that building there used to be or, what that parking lot was before the building that was there caught fire. Learning so much, SO MUCH, about this wonderful little town (I'm from Philadelphia after all.) was enlightening and entertaining. Turns out while my mission changed on me, from doing a 5k walk to keeping an eye on a worthwhile elder, his mission changed on him as well. He started with doing a 5k walk but ended up taking my not quite middle age behind and taught me the value of what was around me. Interesting how the Lord blesses you, unexpectedly, while you are going about what you thought was important.

The other part of my day was; being a FNG. And not so much just a f- new guy but fresh blood with a fresh mind, perspective, and inspirational feelings. How many people know where there local VFW is. I mean if the Post is still standing. How many people understand that there is so much more to a VFW than just a place were old guys get together to have drink or four. Most VFW's are inside beautiful old buildings, usually a building that had some historical significance to the local community it is inside. Most VFW members don't ask for anything, they don't NEED you to give them anything. However, considering the level of sacrifice that they have provided how many of you would say "Thank you for your service"?

A lot of you, I know, but do you realize how offensive most thanks sound? For 5 seconds out of a random moment in time you are grateful. Yet any other time you can't be bothered. Oh I know, you truly appreciate my sacrifice to you. Oh yeah you do, however any other time you are in a car behind me annoyed that I am keeping to the speed limit. That is generally why I, and many other veterans, value your gratitude with as highly as you really value our sacrifices upon your behalf.

That is the challenge in front of me. Getting Veterans to want to be more involved with the community they bled for, the community they were willing to die for, the community around them that doesn't always act with much gratitude for their service. However the truth is, no matter how bitter the relationship is between Veterans & Civilians it is being involved in your local community that is important. Dysfunction will fester and grow without worthwhile social interaction.

But I can type and type and I'm just wasting your, and my, time unless I shoulder the burden. Unbeknownst to me, my occupation has changed from being a Motor pool Sarge ant to a Pathfinder. Knowing where this path leads, knowing the empty cu-de-sac it is, and struggling to change our course to one that is more rewarding. For those that walk the Path and the people we meet along the way.

After all, is not the point of life? Enjoy it while you have it and, while you have it, share the goodness of it with as many spectators you can.

A Really Challenging Day... ...

Here I am up at 2AM this Sunday morning. Unlike many other Sundays I am not going to be heading in to Church this morning. My VFW Post (4485) is holding it's monthly "business" meeting at 10AM. This conflicts with Church service however no veteran arbitrates his sworn duty when issues arise. So I will be heading, like every morning, to the VFW. Then after the meeting I will be gathering my CropWalk materials, those that I can remember where they are, and then heading into Dover, N.H. and parking near St. Thomas Episcopal's Church.

While down there I will visit the local Cigar Shoppe and switching from Smoking to Vaping. Nicotine is important for the effect it has on my brain, giving me greater control over my cognition, however the normal delivery system is far to smelly (for my wife) and not really good in the area of taste. That I hope will be changed for the better.

Then I will register myself for the CropWalk and take a 5k walk honoring the walk of many women who support their family and households by walking for water that they, and their families, need to make it through a day. While I walk I will carry with me the flag of the U.S. Army (with pride) and the U.S. American flag (with not as much pride). I will do this with three (3) people in mind:

1 - My Father.
A Vietnam veteran who married my mother when I was only 4 years old. He raised me with the greatest levels on integrity, honor, and character any man needs to be sufficiently worthwhile in this life.

2 - My Wife.

Her involvement in Veteran affairs is a hat trick. One that she did not fully appreciate until recently. By the design on three (3) important men in her life. Her father (a WWII Veteran), her older brother (a Vietnam Veteran), and her husband (a Desert Storm Veteran) all of whom she deeply loves and respects. I am the only one who has shared deep war stories with her but only because I could not keep my mouth shut during my recovery period. And there are still some aspects of war experience that just can never be properly conveyed. Experience is ... ... just that; Experience.

3 - My Daughter.

When I die, it does not matter what is said about me after I am gone. In the Lord's hands I will be and that is where I will rest (as much as I ever can). However, my daughter will be able to look at my life and realize that I did not just exist, I LIVED!! The example that I must always maintain is not to show her how to simply exist; I will so her how to LIVE! That is all a parent can do, and that is my duty as her father. Love her, and by example, love her.

Now, that is the "what" of my motivation. I could swamp this entry with many more "whys" surrounding my thinking but that just opens the door to debate (which there is none), discussion (to busy walking), and argument. Discord is to be avoided where ever and whenever possible. The loudest shouter of "No" rarely gets heard and what respect s/he gets is not worth while. Yet the silent stater of what is right gets heard by those who are interested and willing to listen.

How this day is going to turn out? Heck, even Congress does not know how this day is going to turn out for them (no matter what anyone them say). All I can promise, and swear to, is that this not-so old Veteran is facing the day's challenges with an open face; ready for the efforts needed; and by doing so I will have succeeded before I take the first step on that 5k march.

Anything else matter?

PS: It is now 3AM and I am heading to bed. Good night and may the Lord bless you.

Is My Life, My Very Existence, Against The Law?!?

What happened to me is easy, yet hard, to explain. I was coming downhill at about 30 mph or so when something happened. My bike, from what eyewitness reports we have, came to a sudden stop.
>STOP<

I then went flying over the handlebars, tearing up my right hand which I keep under the handlebar to avoid pressing it (and having a front brake lock up), and then landed on my face.
>BAMMMMM<

The asphalt did not appreciate my method of flirtation. Her rejection of me was not exactly gentle. If not for a simple bike helmet, and good stretching prior to riding, I would not be here - at all. I would not wish this experience on anyone, ever, yet people readily do this to themselves all day long. No bike needed, just a lighter and a pipe.

Now, let's be clear: I am not against what silliness people will inflict upon themselves. Yet how many weed smokers know what they are really doing to themselves. I should be honored by the imitation of myself by their (stupidity) actions. They are willingly injure their brains for fun(???) for some reason I can not fathom. And you wonder why our society is lacking?

Not just mine, mind you, the internal lack of ambition and spirit is in many lands. Watch the news, read the paper, people go on and on about trouble but no one really talks about the real problem. The media makes billions on it, encourages it, but won't address it. Politicians live thier lives like lampreys, feasting on your shallow minded tendancies. They grow fat while you waste away... till you really don't matter - to anyone.

My case worker has been struggling as I fall through the medical establishment's crack. I don't have enough money, or media fame, to warrant any real attention. For example, in June my case worker set up my first (ever since leaving the hospital) nueroligist appointment. It was scheduled for August 30th. After two months waiting to pay my co-pay, I met a very engaging mind for the morning. She decided to refer me to a Nuerologist Psychiatrist as I have some growning PTSD issues that need to be addressed.

My case worker waited two weeks then called her office to find out what is going on. Ooops, the N-psychiatrist got the referral but forgot to call to set up an appointment. Now it has been a couple of weeks more, no phone calls, no appointments; from either doctor. It is like I don't, or should not, exist.

Now things are looking up, after a fashion, as the VA is getting involved. As a veteran, of a foriegn war, it seems someone does care about me. Not Congress though, the current claimers of the Republican agenda seem to think it better I die. Perhaps that will make me happy. Sadly suicide, which I did think about, is against God's law. Think I can get a Tea Party member to schedule my execution? I won't struggle or resist, I'll just lay what is left of this poor Veteran's brain on the desk. Then they can stamp NO on it continuing to live.

Consider this: Marijuana is illegal to use in most of this country (and rightly so). The reason is the debilitating effect it has on the human brain. It can ruin memory, short term and long. It ruins balance making you unstable in ways you can't predict, at times you never know when. Dealing in it, dealing in human weakness, is wrong. It leads to death and ruin but many people feed on it like leeches on the skin. (I've had to dealt with such things as a Soldier, it is not nice - For the leech.)

With such physical and mental condition being illegal is my life illegal?

PS: Here is my case worker's website. He is not taking anymore clients as my case consumes his limited time and capabilities. (link)

What Does Aphasia Mean & Do... ...

What does it mean? Well do any of you know? Doing research on Aphasia via Google or Wikipedia brings you to one simple conclusion among hundreds of links: There is no simple definition of what Aphasia is.

Aphasia is a communication disorder. Something goes wrong from thought to expression. What goes wrong? No one really knows but there are allot of guesses. There are many studies, many MRI's, and many speech tests. Heck there are many YouTube's demonstrating aphasia but usually in the extremes. (Like most YouTube's do, unfortunately.)

So what does it do to me?

Well to understand that context must be provided, for your understanding of why it sucks so much. I used to be very fluent and dynamic in speaking. At one point of my life I was a lay minister. I could absorb the worries and concerns of a Fellow Christian and provide support via language. Support and peace, that is what most of us need at various times while on our walk through life. Heck, not just Christian's either. The value of a soul is not just determined solely by the religion that soul practices. It is determined by the ethos that soul creates and supports around itself. There in is the value.

I used to be able to talk for hours, dynamically without the need of per pared materials or diving into any book for back up. I could type about 150 words per minute. 120 or so without looking at the keyboard at all. As an interesting prank I would play on my wife was to hold a vibrant conversation with her, staring right at her, while click clacking away on the keyboard. The sight of her husband holding two trains of thoughts, at completely different mediums and venues, used to spook her as only a "Dennis the Menace" prankster husband could do.

That ability is no more.

When I talk, now, I do it slowly. Part of the slowness is the mental processing of what I want to say to confirm that these are the words I need to use to properly communicate. Now when I type I make an embarrassing amount of mistakes. (Whoever invented Backspace is one of my heroes!)

A fine example of how it effects me? When I want to make a sudden statement, not a loud exclamation but just a sudden statement within the context of my current dialogue. I have developed a consistency of habit, in essence a rut, that I run my mental wheels through again and again and again. I.E. When someone says something I strongly agree with I say "Exactly". I don't mean "exactly" however, I just mean I agree. However this small bit of aphasic communication can be misleading. Sometimes very misleading indeed.

Take tonight for example: I was in a conversation with two extremely good and gentle friends via Skype. We were just in a call chit chatting away, no video, and I would repeatedly say "exactly" to many statements. Of course I don't realize my misleading communication. So I would get asked, "What exactly?" After many times of being asked to explain my exactly's I finally let irritation show by just shutting Skype down.

The additional miscommunication of this event is, I wasn't remotely irritated at them, not at all. I was irritated with myself. I used to pride myself on never getting into personal ruts no matter the convenience of them. The number one skill I possessed, before my accident, was critical thinking. Focused primarily upon myself which is where critical thinking is most effective. That skill, or trait, is to ... gone.

Before my accident I was thinking about returning to ministry. Even considering becoming ordained however that path to self fulfillment has gotten much much longer. I used to spend my time in volunteer efforts. Not for the "favor" I was doing for others, oh no, but for the favor I was doing for my own soul. Other people were just the lucky beneficiaries of my soul searching and cleansing.

An example: during the planning of my recovery my wife purchased a year's worth of incontinence sleeping chucks. A big old box of them however I wound up only needing one. And the embarrassment of needing that one drove my mind to not needing another one, at all. However a big box was sitting in my house taking up space and we did not want to just waste them. Not by just throwing them away. So I took my inquiries to my local VFW, who in turn directed me to a nearby American Legion. Who in turn suggested a nursing home which made me remember an assisted living facility nearby that I saw regularly but have never visited. Sadly too as many of my Masonic brethren live there and could just use my visiting presence and not just some supplies. (Mind you supplies are good too!)

So for the very first time, today, I entered the Wentworth Home. Made the director's day with my donation but really made staff smile at my cheery perspective. Especially when they learned of why I had the need of such equipment. But this is getting away from the point. (My saliency was destroyed as well.)

The point is I do not, can not, properly control my communication. Not horribly so, no, just enough that some times I can be misleading on intent or purpose. I dread the looks on some kind people faces when I enter their sight. The kind forbearance I see there, the gentle spirits that find my presence something to be burdened with (even just a little)... I see it. (Don't play three hands of poker with me - I may not win much, depending on the draw, but neither will you win anything but by the draw.)

In conclusion, I am currently depressed. Depressed by the resounding fact of my inability to sometimes functionally communicate, depressed by the apologies and explanations justly owed to others, and depressed because I don't know how far or how long this condition will last. When my Aphasia was obvious life was much nicer. Now it is not so strong but that makes it a subtle crime against thought. Thought, or thinking, is my good friend or so it used to be. I am learning to sometimes hate my brain because of how sneakily it betrays me.

The Invisible Victim In Plain Sight... ...

Or should I say "Wounded Man Walking"?

Given my situation I almost wish my facial fracture left scars. My eyeglasses which hit the asphalt while attached to my face had Poly-Carbonate lens. They did not break however you can see how the asphalt responded to my flirtation with it. For that I still have my eyes. In fact, from the swelling of my brain my eye's have changed in a significant manner. However, if I wear a jacket or long sleeve shirt I look just like any 6'3" 275lb apple pie American man on 30-something. (I'm 45 though!)

This is part of the trouble I face every day. Social situations are my bane yet I can't avoid social gatherings. Even here in New Hampshire, which is not a really heavily populated region, I find myself surrounded by people who just don't get it... me. I am now the perfect enlisted man. I don't want to know "why" of any situation. Why is confusing, debatable, and tends to lead to arguments. Give me "what" and I will hit that target. Just don't share with me your why's.

Why's require more of my memory than I have access to, more than I have sufficient control over. Why asks me to share opinion or I am in agreement with your why's. The truth is maybe my opinion is negative on your situation or cognitive train of thought. Then what? Then I have a debate on my hands, a debate that I did not want (at all) and I may lose a friend. So, to fit in with "society" I have to nod my head and keep silent. A trait that I have never developed even before my accident.

My injury destroyed my saliency. It is hard to explain what being a Mensan with perfect peripheral vision means. Just being a Mensan means my brain is zipping along absorbing everything around me, making connections, unearthing possibilities, and identifying flaws... in EVERYTHING. What society has ever liked such a person?

Now, to be honest, I wasn't a smooth fit in society before my accident. Drop me into any social gathering and I always made an impact. When people are faced with an honest man of good integrity with honor always in his heart and a willingness to engage in a healthy level of self sacrifice, the impact is a given. I had learned to work with society even with my "traits", be a contributing member rarely surrounded by controversy (or oddness). Sadly that is no more.

I wonder if letting me live is the Lord's way of highlighting this "Invisible Disease"... and invisible it is without a doubt.

Surviving significant brain injury is something old and new. Old in there are tales and stories of people suffering such massive injury and leading lives, interesting ones - limited ones, yes. New in that medical technology has reached a point where someone like myself, who may have died, continues onward. New in the fact that not just the lucky few continue onward but a growing number of survivors, functional survivors, is a growing percentage of our population. However, our society has little or no experience in treating each other well... let alone the Invisible Wounded like myself.

Now, just because I say "society" does not mean I have been routinely scorned by every person or organization that I have interacted with. In fact, the willingness to help is so readily available I am overwhelmed with joy at how helpful people are. Sometimes it can be a bit smothering, people assuming my limits and interfering with me, yet all in all it gives this Invisible Wounded hope for the future.

My local Starbucks, my Staples, Berwick Artist Association, Friends of Somersworth, my Church, my Lodge, my VFW... I almost feel like I am giving an Oscar speech here. So many rewarding moment and people that even working fine my memory would not get them all. The bad guys? Those I remember because they are much fewer in number. Social Security, South Eastern New Hampshire Habitat For Humanity, Seacoast Orthopedics.

The government that I went to war for has decided that it would cost money to determine my level of disability and since I am making no financial demands upon the system, why bother?

SENH H4H has individuals in its leadership that did not like me when I volunteered through them that citing my brain injury as reason for Mental Stability concerns (that none of my Doctor's have!) is a cheap cop-out covering up ego driven selfish pettiness.

Seacoast Orthopedics is a real mystery. Before my accident, I was treated for shoulder issues. After my accident, they did not want to hear from me, at all. No reason given, of any kind. Just take your records and suffer pain and discomfort elsewhere. These guys were so bold as to tell my primary care to take a walk. No reason given, not even a lame excuse. Just g.t.f.o. you are fired as a returning patient.

I can only imagine, with some growing sense of horror, what my life would be in my hometown of Philadelphia. I would be extremely impaired from the necessary level of repression that I would have to put on myself. In Philadelphia, my brain injury and PTSD (military) would make me a walking target. That I have dealt with however in the past when I have had to deal with it no one died. I would not be able to reasonably assure that would be the case now. It is quite possible that I would identify an attacker as excessive and unreasonable. A danger to not just myself but to a family member, to an uninvolved innocent, and mentally decide that "he" must be dealt with. And, scarily enough, I have great skill in physical confrontation and a technique that leaves people wide open to my actions. Or, as most of those who have been on the receiving end have said, "No warning whatsoever. No yelling, no exclamation, no obvious signs of what was coming. Just >bam< and then being on the floor covering up from the stomping that commenced."

That is what makes my Invisibility so dangerous. I already know how to be invisible already and how to use it for my own purposes and designs. It is just now that I am now a walking talking Invisible Victim in plain sight... that just makes me a Target for anyone with an off day or moment.

... My cup overflows.

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows."
Psalm 23:5

On September 23rd 2012 the Lord saved my life. He did it in front of eyewitnesses not my enemies. Though I will confess that I am greatly offended by some of the commentary about my apparent bicycling skill. It was apparent that I was not a "good" bicyclist since my bike was not a new spiffy tehnowonder cycle. So since I choose to use the bike my friend gave me, through another friend, I obviously sucked as a cyclist. (shoulder shrugs)

So the Lord saved my life as an example to others. My head was anointed all right, to the point that some parts of the calcium were broken. The doctors had to drill holes in it to see what was going on. (Yes, they did not just put sensors in - they put in cameras!) Yet, all in all, here I am.

I am on no medication regimen, I am competent with matters in front of my face, I've even had a court appeareance seeking a restraining order against a nefarious individual. The judge chuckled and enjoyed my dialogue. I may be brain injured but I live and I thrive.

... My cup overflows.

12 Hours Left... ...

I'm struggling today a bit more than usual. By "date", tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my TBI accident. However by "time" it is less than 12 hours till the 1 year mark of that event. Or, as a VFW brother said, "The mark of my unluckiest lucky moment of your life".

The struggle is understanding the enormity of the moment I lived through. I remember the moments leading up to the accident. I was heading downhill in an awesomely panoramic moment, loving this beautiful earth and words of angelic joy filling my throat, and then... I started waking up again. Part of me struggles with the lack of "the next moment". I feel like I should remember it, that there was something that I'm just letting slip from my memory. The only benefit is that I don't have PTSD from the accident, itself, however I do feel a bit of stress over not remembering it. I should or what is the point of this well trained Combat Veteran mind if I can't remember my environment or actions.

The real PTSD that I am having to deal with is not my own, at all. It is the burden that my wife shouldered. What she endured for her husband is the stuff of legend. I do not feel worth such legendary endurance however regardless of how I feel about myself I was, and am, the recipient of it. I strive to honor that effort, that gift, with each waking moment that the Lord graces me with.

One major part of my philosophy is: That it is better to give than receive, yes, but if you receive badly how do you make the giver feel?

The Lord gave me the gift of life. I am going to live, as much as I can, to make him pleased to have given me that gift. Now, I have my wife's gift of love to honor and cherish just as much as my own life. And I will no matter what it takes, I will honor her gift to me and cherish her love for me... forever Moore.

One Night In Jita

Two more days and I hit the 1 year anniversary of my accident. It is hard to explain how Traumatic Brain Injury has "unlocked" me. I used to be so very creative, very much a Tall Poppy, however I learned how to make myself readily acceptable by the messed up standards Society places upon the "not normal".

Today I am trying to arrange a gathering of my virtual friends who live near me. We met and spent much time in an MMO called Eve Online. Not a nice place mind you. A place where people live for deceitful accomplishments. I have a strong history in that environment and and almost as strong reputation. I never cut a bad deal. I never ever cheat anyone. No matter what incentives in play, no matter my opinion of that person, nefarious thoughts do not live here, ever. So much a reputation in these matters EON magazine interviewed me for publication.

All I am trying to do is to get an impromptu Corp Op, in meat space, to have a meal at the TeaTotaller. A time where a couple of military veterans, we all are, can sit down and enjoy each others company. But that got me thinking back on something that is a wonderful display of my creative tongue-in-cheek wit. An example of who I used to be, before TBI, and who I still am, after TBI. Sadly, since I don't have access to my old social skills... I stand out like a squeaky wheel.

More dramatically, as I used to tell people, not a squeaky wheel but a nail that stands up. Wheels cry for oil, yes they do, however oil is an ever disappearing commodity. Nails that stand up, however, are cured with a hammer. Hammering nails seems to be a popular past time in this Media driven shallow wit Society. Alas, I see a lot of hammers being raised since my brain injury... and not a drop of oil anywhere. Shucks, I keep expending my own personal oil on people/organizations and they just keep hammering away thinking that I am somehow made of oil for the taking.

Four (4) Days To Go... ...

That's right, in 4 days I "celebrate" my one year anniversary of my accident. I have trouble remembering much of the past year. I remember my vague thoughts as I was coming out of a comatose state. I remember relearning to walk. I remember my first day back at home. I remember my wife's struggles for me without any partner.

I remember figuring out where the Krempels Center is located. I remember the first time I went there. I drove myself there without getting lost and introduced myself. I remember the few Masonic gatherings I was able to attend. I remember meeting the august gentleman who is New Hampshire's Grandmaster Mason. I remember how humbling it was to be in his presence and not be overwhelmed at the same time.

Sadly, there is one thing that I do remember. I can't forget how embarrassing I was as a person. On a society level I was a blot upon the sun. Embarrasing myself, that does not linger as fair as shame or guilt is concerned. However embarrassing another, that lingers onward.

Much of my efforts these days is trying to correct any awkward feelings I caused to exist. However, this is not easy. I've already learned one harsh lesson while trying to say sorry. Sometimes sorry is not what people want to hear. Figuring out what they want is so nebulous that touch something here irratates another spot. And with the "net' being so powerful, it is easy for offended people to find much to deepen, and stregthen, thier annoyance.

Add to which, I've been using this forum to speak my mind as thoughts come to me. This fuels the problem. For example, there was (locally) a rash of spiteful vandalism a few months ago. While it has died down, no more acts have taken place, the local Police Department is leering my way. My inability to sleep the night through leave me awake at off hours. Sometimes I'll go out in my backyard and stare at the night sky. I take my cane and flashlight with me as there is a local coyote population. If a coyote wants to say hi to me I just want to say hi back in a language he/she understands.

However the P.D. is now looking at me for the vandal acts. Apparently I want to start a neighborhood watch and to get it started I committed these acts of vandalism. So instead of learning more about Traumatic Brain Injury & how to assist with it, the local police officers are learning more about George Zimmerman and the craziness of ill motivated people.

This was just one example, I have many people and organizations that have struck at me (peripherally) just because I am different than the norm. Before my accident, I was still different I just knew how to "hide" it so that people did not notice. My memory being so dicey has made my old skill of "seeming normal" is gone leaving only the mind of a Mensan of high integrity with Combat experience & training. Can one imagine why the police are looking sideways at me?

However, issues aside, this is painful and draining. Here I am always trying to remember my limitations (I do forget them) and try to "normalize" myself to acceptable society standards. I'm just having trouble finding my box. I would happily shrink myself into an acceptable box but I can't find it. Makes me wish for my pine box but that is depression speaking. I know that if I wanted my pine box, I would not have to look far for a person willing to consign my VFW old butt into it.

Autobiography ... ... or not.

I find myself in a position of writing about myself. However this is usually considered an Autobiography, hopefully from someone worth reading about. Now, I do know that parts of my life is useful to know. Why go through it if you can read about it. However some things you have to go through on your own no matter how skillfully I can relay the experience. No matter how many words I throw at a topic you won't know it until after the fact.

"Experience is a back breaker, especially when you don't have it!"

That allows me to segue into a topic, my finances compel me to seek alternatives to my current life situation. Now, I could use my "cv" to try to get ahead, sure. Having the D.O.D. and Electronic Arts on it makes mine exceedingly attractive, especially in the IT field. The skills I could bring to bear are usually beyond the needs, and desires, of most East Coast corporations. Also, I could just become a cyber panhandler. Standing around on the Internet, waving a dirty "please help poor little old me" blanket, just humming for money till my money worries are gone. Yeah I could do that or I could create content that is worthwhile.

The idea of spending my time productively, now that is attractive. Both to you and to me. I've lightly hit google trying to find a newzine venue and I'd be working way too much for a middle man's success. Not my own or yours, just busting my chops to make him successfull though he expends very little effort. Not my kind of sense to be honest. I understand that to use the financial system there will always be leeches attached at various non-removable spots yet I can do what I can to avoid as many of the binds as I can.

This brings me to the next problem, publishing. As this blog shows I don't need a publisher to speak. However I don't know of any publisher that won't want an author to become a media driven ego maniac. Of course that would mean that you'd have to repeatedly buy the ever oncoming versions of my autobiography as well. Through traditional methods I would only share with a few of you and only share every so often with an ever shrinking sample. Unnacceptable in the extreme.

So I am going to try something that will handle financials, as you the reader would like. I am using PayPal to accept donations. Donations that will be used, potentially non-profit like, however instead of just a blanket request for money I am attached a donatable amount per article. Now, let's be clear: You can read as much as you like freely. If you are so inclined, you (at your choice) may applaud or agree with the aspect of our society that everyone seems to respect. Some articles mean much more to me than others. Some articles are about topics I really don't much care about. However, this method will still allow you to freely consume what I have to say to whatever measure you care to do.

In the end, this methodology (I think) gives equal respect to both the author AND the reader.


Go ahead, press this button.

(You don't have to accept - but press it. You know you want to!)

6 Days 2 Go... ...

I started going long on my Facebook posting and I realized that it was not a "post", it was a story. So I shall begin...


Had a very interesting morning. First, I did not sleep until 4AM and slept till 7AM. Nice bright and fully refreshed. I then started my day by doing my morning light "Police Call" at the Somersworth VFW Post. While I was out there the VFW "watcher" asked me if I could half-staff the flags. So I did and then I noticed that the flag at the Somersworth City Hall was at full staff. So I waited in the VFW until City Hall opened and then went to the City Clerk's office.

She looked up and asked me how could she help me. I responded, "I think I can help you." She took a deep breath and said, "What, again?" See on Sept 11th I met her for the first time when I pointed out that the flag was at full staff. So she reached for a phone and that is when I found out that the City doesn't have someone in a position for such matters. So I piped up, "You won't be upset if I go do it, will you?" She was shocked at the idea and then she smiled, "Sure!" So on the 6th day till my 1 year TBI anniversary I got to lower the Somersworth flag to half-staff.

As an added bonus, I have set an appointment with the clerk that I will be there to raise it to full-staff on this coming Monday. That is one week after the Washington D.C. tragedy and it complies with President Obama's good & just presidential order. In added measure, that will be the day of my 1 year mark after my accident.

On Sept 23, 2012 I woke up early in the morning, kissed my wife farewell as she slept, and then drove down to Boston for the 2012 Hub On Wheels event. That morning something happened. Most people express that day was bad. I don't. That was the luckiest day of my life. It was not a good day, no siree bob, however given the choices "Life" was the one that the Lord made available to me. It was a very blessed day.

So in commemeration of that event, I will also be the hand(s) that raise the Somersworth flag to full staff.

A friend recently asked me about my reasons and designs on the things that I do. I told him I do nothing for plain face value. Everything I do is for two or more reasons, always. However whenever I find something with three unprovoked, by me, reasons I do it and I do it right. That is when I know that the Lord has my poor soul within his designs. Three, trinity, Father; Son; and the Holy Ghost.

How can I avoid that?