Sunday, July 18, 2010

Six Decades of Self-abuse

No, I don't mean that kind of self-abuse.  I mean: the balding pate (Buddha made some perfect - the others he put hair on), the wrinkled (rugged, according to my wife) hide, the horizontal abdominal surgical scar (appendicitis at age eleven, tucked up behind my liver reportedly), the shin scar (an errant machete blow, self-inflicted yet while chopping weeds out here), the perennially plugged left ear (an infection neglected during university exam week), the vertical abdominal surgical scar (bowel obstruction surgery, too many peanuts at one sitting with concomitantly inadequate beer consumption they say), the bifocals almost trifocals (too much reading at an early age, Playboy articles only that is - honest), the amputated finger tip (crushed by a big rock, slippery due to dew is what caused that to do), the shattered left thumb joint (thank you, Big Mountain), the gimpy right knee (of occupational postural origin, now conveniently triggered by too many hours in a shopping mall), the capped front tooth (pop bottle chipped the original), the paunch (keeps me grounded, ie. fat and happy with my feet on the ground), the lower back injury (thank you, Castle Mountain, never ski alone), the various upper extremity scars (mostly incurred barbed wire fencing), and as for the mental damage - well, you can assess that, my friend!