Spring Break has greeted me with a to-do list that looks similar to the one in January I was progressing through when I broke my arm. One project in particular I have been looking forward to was a jump box or 3 as a warm up for some garage cabinets I'll hopefully tackle this summer.

The box was originally planned as an alternative to protecting my junk while sitting on the couch watching The Aquabats Supershow! with G as he jumped all over the couch and everything else in the room. Television is an interactive experience for that kid. In fact, I tried to sign him up for a gymnastics class after witnessing his prowess on furniture, and the conversation went like this while we dropped in to watch before signing up:


Me: You're totally a dude. Dudes' do gymnastics. See those rings and that rope? That over there is a pommel horse. Gymnastics is rad and will teach you to be quick like a Ninja and a totally better bike rider.

G: If I want to be a ninja, I'll go to ninja school. And riding my bike will make me a better bike rider.

I had no come back to the truth, so I caved and we left.

Anyway, today we went out to my folks and I told my dad what I wanted the 4 x 8 ft sheet of plywood to look like after I cut it up. He has a knack for planning and doing math that I lack. As it turned out, I could get 2 boxes out of one sheet of plywood. Lucky news for a buddy and his kid who likes to jump on furniture just like G.

I haven't worn black dress socks with plaid shorts simply because it's been winter. But with jeans, and Adidas, I am guilty. I don't choose to, I just do. It happens. And I don't care. I'm old.

It didn't used to be this way when I was young and svelte. I didn't eat steak dinners with martini's then though. Now days I take a somewhat guilty pride in the fact that I can just see my black stocking toes extruding from the profile of my belly when I stand tall and look down to contemplate my core strength. It's been a long time since I lived by simply eating, sleeping and riding a bike. Anymore I don't ride or sleep, except in fits.

And when I can ride a bike, it seems I break bones. Twenty-year-olds break bones while doing crazy feats against gravity on tiny, 20" bikes. Not me. I use a 26" rental bike made for grown ups, attempting less crazy feats against the same gravity. While wearing black dress socks and jeans. Two objects of varying weight may very well fall at the same rate of accelleration, but the fat, old one breaks his left elbow to match the right one he broke years ago, when he lands.

I remember being 19 or 22 or whatever, and working through some early season tendinitis. For two-weeks I iced, massaged, and fretted over my aggravated knee. Fearful of what the loss of 10-14 days of riding in mid-January would mean come June. Anymore, I think of how two weeks (or 4 in my most recent case) off work will affect a family vacation in June.

I think about my 401k, politics and their effect on Social Security, war in the middle east, job security, schools for G, health care, the mortgage, etc. etc. until even with the painkillers for my broken and bolted back together bones, I can't sleep. Then it hits me; It doesn't matter if I wear dress socks with jeans or shorts, there's way more important crap to worry about. When will I be healed enough to go for a long bike ride again?