Sunday, April 19, 2009

Random Instances, Part Deux

Another day, and another post I will make about some random (a.k.a. strange) facts concerning me.

I’m wondering if I’m doing myself in by posting these things. It’s like I’m asking someone to tag me with a meme. Oh, well.

Let’s see. Strangeness . . . strangeness . . . way too many things I could list here.

1: I have never had a broken bone in my entire life.

I’ve come close. I nearly fractured my skull as a kid by a simple slip-n-fall on the cement steps leading into the house. And it’s not like I haven’t tried. I was an avid downhill skier for about nine years. In fact, there was one occasion where I should have been in a body cast.

Or was it two occasions I should have been in a cast?

Well, this instance happened in my later days. I had graduated myself from the easy slopes and had moved toward the harder diamond trails. For those people who don’t know anything about skiing, the slopes are distinguished by symbols on the signs at the beginning of the trails. Easy - bunny slopes - are marked with a green circle(or is it a triangle, wow, it’s been a long time since I last skied). Moderate slopes have a blue square. Difficult slopes are black diamonds. Very difficult - with moguls (bumps) are double diamonds.

I had taken several runs down a familiar diamond trail and decided to try out a mogul-laced slope. It was HARD. Yet I persevered and made it down with both skis still strapped on. So I was making my way back to the lodge, feeling good with myself at the effort. I flew down one slope, took a ride up the ski lift, and then enjoyed my next trip down making my way around the mountain. With one more trail to go, I sped along late in the day with many skiers out and the conditions of the slopes steadily becoming more choppy and uneven. And slick.

I cruised myself down a bunny trail, knowing a sharp bend neared and having taken this curve so often that I could do it with my eyes closed. I swiveled my hips and leaned into the bend wanting to do a slingshot around while keeping my speed . . . and I hit a patch of ice at WARP 9.

I slid across the trail toward the embankment. Then my sliding body went over it as I disappeared down into the trees and rocks.

Lucky. That’s all I have to say. I was lucky. Because I had my skis horizontal when going down, they banged into two trees sitting close to each other stopping my fall only a few feet down the hill.

Real lucky.

Not so much on a different occasion when, again, I was on an easy slope. I skied in close to a light post where there was a deep dip in the ground. I went into it and then went airborne at my fast speed.


That’s a skiing term when a person has a nasty fall and they lose all their equipment in the process. I had a nasty fall. I slammed, chest first, into the ground.

I gasped with my breath completely knocked out while I tried to keep conscious. After ten minutes, and with several wonderful skiers stopping by to ask if I needed any help, I managed to drag myself off the ground. I should have gotten a few bruised ribs, or at least a broken nose. All I got was a pair of broken goggles. I snapped them completely in half. That’s how hard my face hit the ground.

2: A jolly stranger allowed me to handle his sausage.

I was ten-years-old when I made it, using the old-fashioned crank machines where you put the meat into the opening and place the casing over the hole. Then you fill it and twist, fill it and twist. I did this at a, ahem, at a . . . wow, there isn’t any easy way I can say it without having people go, “Eww.”

I made the sausage in the backroom of a slaughterhouse.

I was raised on a farm. So we had loaded the truck with (I think it was with cows on that occasion) and took them to this place. The guy there asked if I wanted to help make sausage for another customer. I said, “Yes.”

I sat on the stool next to him, holding the casing and listening to his many stories about all the guys who once worked there and had their various appendages sawed off by the gigantic blades used to cut up the large sides of frozen beef. Then he would pull out his sleeve until it covered over his hand to illustrate the missing body part.

Hmm, actually, I won’t say this guy was jolly when telling a kid these stories. He was more of a crackpot. Yet he showed me how to make sausage, and taught me NEVER TO PLACE MY HAND NEAR A TABLE SAW.

A good lesson, indeed.


  1. Eew! I just had two Quorn sausages for my tea!

  2. So how many fingers was he missing? Tablesaw fingers are easily recognized. They aren't there.

  3. Trust me, you aren't missing anything when it comes to broken bones. I've managed to break five bones in my body, and their is no pain like a broken bone.

    Except of course, when they are removing the screws from a once broken bone. No anesthetic, and all that.

  4. Yard Sale. I love that term. I can just picture you on the hill, somewhat like when Charlie Brown used to get all his clothes knocked off after someone hit one of his pitches.

    You were lucky, indeed. Sounds like both instances should have resulted in much worse than they did.

    As for the sausage... well, you know me. Anything I say would only be gratuitous.

  5. Jinksy: Sorry, I should have put up a disclaimer. BTW, what is a quorn sausage?

    Oren: He had all his fingers, although he did have a few bandages on his arms. I never asked him about those. I still have memories of those silver chute tables where they slide the huge frozen beef around toward those giant saw blades. *shiver*

    Buckskins: Screws in bone? Ouch! I never said I wanted broken limbs, just that for some reason karma keeps skipping over me to have a turn.

    Suldog: I always have a "Bizarro" cartoon image of the skier face down with both legs up in the air and his body disappeared into the snow. Weird how we see things in cartoon fashion. I guess it's to lighten the serious circumstances.

    Yeah, you and sausage. I knew your mind the moment I wrote down the line, A jolly stranger allowed me to handle his sausage.

  6. "Don't put your hand near the table saw." I've ALWAYS said that. Great ski story, fun reading!

  7. Chris: Always good advice, no matter how many times you say it.

    Yeah, I got a couple of ski stories - some weird, some funny, some naughty, and some on the hush-hush, like the frozen man on the ski lift chair.

  8. Great story. I can commiserate with you on the ski mishaps having taken many a tumble myself on the slopes here in Northeast, PA.

    BTW, we were in your neck of the woods (Greensburg) last week. We picked up freight that we had to bring out to Oklahoma City. What a beautiful part of the State ! :o)


  9. Ruth: You have the Poconos up where you live, don't you? One day I hope to hop back on the skis and take a slide down those mountains.

    You were close to me when hauling that freight. Just a straight shot down Rt. 119 then a right turn on 22 and down the hill. Personally, I don't visit Greensburg much anymore. Just pass through now and again.

  10. Ouch.Ice patches are a killer, and potholes in the snow are pretty bad to. But how fast were you going that you actually got air time? Oh, and I just swore off sausages for the rest of my life; you never know what happens to those various appendages people are always losing...

  11. I am happy to hear that you survived all the skiing in one piece.;) I know how badly one can fall while skiing actually.;)
    And I love learning all these facts about you, please keep them coming.;))

  12. Skyeblu: I have no idea, which goes to tell you how fast I must have been going.

    Didn't mean to turn you off on sausages.

    Protege: I'll keep the facts coming so long as people keep reading. :)


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