Karkowski night

It was an interesting weekend, much in the usual way. I saw clients on Saturday morning. They are always interesting and pleasant (no joke - if you see clients and don't find them interesting and pleasant you should find something useful to do - sell shoes!). I drove around in my new Golf, which is mostly a carbon copy of my old Rabbit, with fewer doors and a manual transmission. Anyone who hung with me had to hear about how something is wrong with 2nd gear. One should not have to double-clutch a new Volkswagen. Interesting, but as mundane as a Christmas letter, you're thinking. True.

In the evening I spent some time at a benefit for Russell Karkowski, a furniture builder and craftsman who fell off his roof and landed on his head. Russell is doing pretty well, all things considered. His personality remains, by all accounts, as does his determination to recover. He's learning to speak, to use his body, staying longer in rehab because they believe there's more progress to be made. Apparently if you're discharged quickly from rehab it's because they feel they have achieved what we in the human services used to call "maximum benefits." That's social work speak for "shit, we give up!" Russell, God bless him, has not met Max yet. Good man.

Will and I got together and sang and played a little and then went down to the Mill and sang about a half hour together. It was a loud crowd, not particularly attentive, there for Russell and each other. This is as it should be. Any experienced musician knows that sometimes the crowd is (are?) into each other and not us. We used some tricks to quiet the crowd and create space and had a good time doing duo work, which requires less precision and uniformity than working in a four or five piece group. I love Will and he loves me and I trust and hope that we'll always be able to tune in and make music together. I thought of our friend Cam, who jumped ship this year and the times we spent at the Mill singing as a trio together. In his honor, I mentioned that Cam had no butt. Of course now he's missing more than that, but it felt important to tease him in absentia.

What was most interesting though was that discussion turned several times to my own injury. Now, I'm not 100% yet, but I'm enjoying my life again and exercising the privileges of autonomy and independence. Some would say I'm also recovering my cognition, although that may remain to be seen.

In any case, what's happening to Russell absolutely dwarfs anything I experienced. I had the good fortune of avoiding coma, brain damage, and physical incapacity. We were worried about whether I'd walk, but I walk and I had all my potential gratifyingly in line as soon as I recovered from surgery. My toes wiggled and that was it. After that it has been a matter of endurance. I'll admit to employing some determination. I'll admit to despairing of ever being able to get around by myself again at some points, but those points were located over the span of a few months. Going on about my experience at Russell's party did not feel appropriate.

Faithful readers may recall that as I lay on my back in the hospital, fresh off the helicopter, recently off the side of a county road in Wisconsin, I was told I'd have to wait a day for surgery because I was "stable." They boy scouts riding in an SUV on the highway had not been so lucky and they got to go first. I found I couldn't argue with that. I was very uncomfortable but my condition was not going to deteriorate further. I was able to think and speak (sort of) and feel impatient (then guilty for it). I dozed off into my narcotic haze counting my blessing that I was not a boy scout late of an SUV.

Russell, by all accounts, is showing great attitude, love, and determination each day. His future is uncertain. A master craftsman and furniture builder, co-founder of the Artisan's Gallery, labors on in rehab to master every day tasks. His great courage dwarfs any I might have summoned. Russell and those boy scouts - upstaged again, and grateful for it.