Its three weeks tonight since the bike crash shattered my wrist. I have been, and still am, confined mostly to the couch. The cast is still there, as are the seven (now infected) metal pins that stick out of the right arm within it. What can I do with it, the rogue arm? Absolutely nothing. The wrist is that immobilized. Without it, however, there's lots I can't do. I can't pick up a pencil. I can't cut my food. Heck, I can't even zip my fly! (Well it's true and Jenny's dang tired of that.) Doc says 3 more weeks in this cast.

Tonight's open practice is the first event in the 'Shoe that I have missed in 2 years. I had resigned myself to the fact that I just couldn't go. I'm a tough guy, but it hurts too much to jostle it around. It was easily rationalized. "With no cameras and no autographs, the crowd won't be that big," I told myself. No big deal. But as I clumsily peck away tonight with my left hand, it is a big deal, and damn I miss it.

I miss the atmosphere, the aura, and the storytellers yet to be met. Even harder is missing this time with two good hands to type. I had timed this summer to be cranking away on my writing right now and this book is bottled up inside me, burning to jump onto the pages, stories straining to be told. "Count your blessings dummy", I try to tell myself, "It could have been much worse". It sure could have. But that doesn't keep me from thinking of those of you in the Horseshoe tonight, and wishing I too were there, and I could move a little faster on this project right now.