Coffee Walk

 The other day, my iphone made me one of those videos.

You know — the kind that pops up unsolicited when you open your screen to do something productive, like read an email, or look up directions, or text your mom.

Usually, I don’t like them. They feel manipulative, imposing, intrusive.

Maybe it’s because they start with the words “Over the Years” and then send me hurtling back through time — often so far that I land in the years before the accident.

Wasn’t that fun? the video taunts. “Wasn’t life easy back then?”

Yes. And yes.

But hey — I’ve worked hard to live in the present!

This particular video started playing before I could close it out.

And I knew immediately — between reading an email and texting my mom, of course— that it would make a great postcard.

It was called "Freshly Brewed," and was like a playlist of the best coffees I've had since 2019.

To watch the video, click here.

It was after the accident that I started drinking coffee...

Dancing Queen?

I’m on the makeshift stage of a bookstore — 3,000 miles from home — singing along to “Dancing Queen” with 15 of my newest friends.

Also, it’s 10 PM.

I don’t do evening activities. I can’t carry a tune. And I definitely don’t dance.

To be perfectly honest, I was planning to skip karaoke. When I saw it on the schedule, I didn’t give a single thought to going.

It was the last night of the Book Passage Travel Writers and Photographers Conference, and part of me didn’t want to miss a moment.

But another part — the physical, practical, protective part — knew my story better. By evening, my body gets the best of me. Doing too much can push me into overload. I need time to rest, unwind, and take my leg off.

And so, when the last workshop ended, I slipped out the back door of the bookstore to walk to the hotel.

Before I settled in, I needed to refill my water bottle. In the glow of the hotel courtyard, I passed by the pool and headed to the fitness center, where there was a cold water fill-up station.

That’s when I heard it. A voice from above...

The Worst Part About Travel

 The worst part about travel is stepping out the door.

Am I forgetting something? 
Will this tank-top be crucial? 
Do I have all my meds?

And what if _______ or _______ or ________ happens?? (Enter worst nightmares here.)

Exhibit A

The closer a trip gets, the more I feel like staying home...

One-Hour Traveler

 “Sat morning are we going for coffee in AC?”

…says a text from my brother Mark, at 9:45 on a Thursday night.

It’s short for “Will you meet me in Atlantic City on Saturday morning so I can drop off my car before a 65-mile bike ride on Sunday? That way I’ll be able to drive myself home afterward. Also, let’s leave early to beat the shore traffic. And yes, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

I know what he means. We do it every year.

And yet, the idea rattles me. I’m caught between anticipation for our small tradition and apprehension over giving up my morning routine.

Yes, even for one day...

Time Flies

Air travel makes time do weird things.

Like always, I arrive at the airport early — even though this is Vermont, and the airport has only 13 gates. After a quick trip to celebrate my niece’s birthday, it’s time to head home.

For an amputee like me, everything takes more time: going through security, stopping at the restroom, adjusting my prosthetic, stowing my crutches in the overhead bin, and folding my leg into the airplane seat which — despite being labeled as “extra leg room” — does not seem spacious at all.

By the time we’re ready to take-off, it’s hard to believe I’m still where I started...

Nick's Pick

“Get ready for Nick’s pick!” my dad would announce from the driver’s seat.

We were zooming down the Pennsylvania Turnpike toward our cousins’ house: Mom in the front with Dad, Andy in the carseat, and Mark and I on either side of him in the back.

Outside our windows, a blur of trees, smear of guard rail, and long, flat building raced by.

We all squinted, waiting for what came next...

iLost, iFound, i('ll) Keep Walking

In the Rijksmuseum of Amsterdam, I reach for my water bottle and realize my entire backpack is missing.

My stomach drops, and my mouth becomes immediately, completely, excrutiatingly dry. My mind races thorough the contents of the bag, all of which are now LOST...

Progress Isn't Pass/Fail

Hello from Mile Marker 14,432...

It's been a while, I know.  So how to restart??

One, two, three, GO!

That's how I get out the door these days.

You have to start somewhere.  And otherwise, I'll sit there for hours, trying to get my socket "just right."  

Lately, there is no "just right."  There's only better and worse.  (At least prosthetically-speaking...)