Natalie’s Prompt #1: Scars you’ve had (physical ones and the ones inside)
Outer scars? I’ve got a bunch, and every one of them has a story to tell. Like, for instance, the cicatrix that runs the length of my left tibia. When I was thirteen, living in Taiwan, I developed a bone cyst. The army hospital in Taipei did not have the capacity to remove it, so I was sent to Okinawa for surgery. The doctor’s parting words? “Be careful, son. The bone is brittle and we had to remove a bunch of it to get rid of the cyst. It might take a couple of years for it to grow back. So no contact sports, you hear?”
Did I listen? Of course not. A year and a half later, in junior high school in Colorado Springs, I’m playing basketball. The ball skips across the floor, hits my left calf, and the tibia snaps…landing me in the hospital for a month in a full length cast.
Out of the hospital, I wore that cast for at least another three months, during which time the right leg grew an inch, while the left one, immobilized in plaster, did not. The upshot? My left leg is an inch shorter than my right, which for most of my life has meant that I walked with a limp, until I finally overcame my vanity and had a lift put on the left shoe. Another side effect, my spine has a lateral curve, especially down near the coccyx bone. I haven’t sat with a straight spine since the break and, if you look at x-rays, my back is a totally twisted mess.
There’s a barely visible scar on the inside of my left bicep that I got at around that same time. Having been born with a heart murmur, the doctors wanted to do a test on my heart to see if I was okay. So my dad drove me to Fitzsimmons Army Medical Center in Aurora, where they checked me in, put me under, ran some sort of stint up my arm which they then fed over to my heart. Not sure what the test was supposed to reveal, but I apparently passed it with flying colors, the docs congratulating me and telling me I was fine, nothing to worry about.
Also barely visible is a small indentation on the skin of my forehead, about an inch-and-a-half from my hairline…make that my “receding” hairline. When I was maybe 10 or 11, I developed a wart right at the spot where my thick black hair began. My mother took me to the doctor who burned it off with a prod-like electric device. I remember the crackling sound of the electricity and the faint tracks of sparks flying off my skull. Looking at it today, it’s an interesting marker revealing to me how far back the hairline has receded.
And finally to the major scar on my body; a long slash that runs along my spine at the point where a surgeon in Las Vegas, Nevada, cut me open to repair a compression fracture I’d sustained in a car crash on Hwy 15, just north of town. It was 1971 and I was 24. That one laid me up for a solid year, during which time I had to wear an aluminum back brace. I was left with a permanent mini-hunchback, although with little residual back pain. I could have ended up in a wheel chair, but I dodged that bullet, thanks be to God, or Allah, or whoever it is out there that is keeping an eye on us.
Prompt #2: What you carry (in a backpack), what you carry inside.
I’ve had dozens of backpacks, picked up at garage sales and thrift stores for never more than ten bucks a pop. My current pack is a small, very sturdy grey and navy-blue affair with three pockets and the label “Outdoor Products” on the front. I picked it up at Wal-Mart for just under ten bucks, but I can tell its going to last me a long time.
Inside, I carry a small blue zippered canvas bag that was designed to hold a book (it has a cloth bookmark attached to it). I’ve had it for years and it shows few signs of wear. The cool thing about it is that it serves as my multi-purpose media kit. I use it to carry my writing notebooks, and a mini-Bluetooth keyboard that I use with my phone. The external zippered pocket is where I keep my pens, pencils, a small ruler, glue sticks, and personal calling cards. I’ve probably had it for twenty years now, and I’d be lost without it.
As far as what I carry inside…I know this is going to sound arrogant, but I’m carrying very little in terms of unresolved neuroses these days. Much of what used to hang me up was left on the meditation hall floor during years of retreats and personal practice. That, plus all the journal keeping I’ve done.
Prompt #3: What you drive, and what drives you.
I drive an orange 2014 Subaru Crosstrek. It’s a popular car here in Colorado, I think largely because of the color orange, which also happens to be one of the colors of the Denver Broncos (the other being blue). The Subaru is the first spankin’ new car I ever owned.
Before the Subi, I drove a 1994 Toyota pickup that was maybe a year old when I bought it. It had only 6000 miles on it. I paid six large for it and it lasted me twenty years before I finally sold it and got the Subaru. While the Subi isn’t bad, I kind of miss the Toyota. We had a lot of adventures together, me and my truck.
As for what drives me…these days I’m driven by a strong desire to leave a legacy when I go. It pains me to think that I will depart this life and be forgotten. What I hope to leave behind as a record of my passage, are my writings. I know that my scribblings are a rather frail legacy. I’m no Dante, no Hemingway after all, and what I’ve written in the grand scheme of things is of little consequence…but still.
So I’ve set myself the goal of producing two books a year for the next ten. One book will be a collection of things I’ve written in the past but never published ‒ my dharma talks, my college essays and random articles ‒ which I can self-publish if need be. The other a book written for the market; kids books, histories, biographies, creative non-fiction, and so on. If I live another ten healthy years, that will bring the total to twenty five books (inclusive of the five I’ve already published).
Bottom line, I’m driven by my love of writing and my absolute need to be working on a project, which in the end is what gives meaning to my life.
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