Injuries Big and Small, External and Internal

    I jammed my ring finger on my left hand Monday morning, playing basketball. Many of us played on the MLK holiday. It was an unnecessary injury, but it happened. (How many injuries are necessary?). I played with the pain for a game and a half, but then I sat out the rest. I cooled off, got some ice. The middle knuckle continued to swell, thus my left hand was not functional to dribble, pass, or shoot, or even rebound, likely. I sat out. A buddy recommended that I pull it, fix it, and play on, but I knew this injury would only get worse, that I could make it a more painful problem, or that it could remain a longer term injury if I pushed it that morning. I put ice on it to reduce the swelling. 

    Yesterday, Friday, four days later, my ring finger turned a sickly yellow, the whole length of it-- reminding me of how the skin of corpses look, either in a coffin or being prepared for burial. I have seen more dead people in the caskets, but I also helped dress Jesus Amezquita over twenty years ago, up close and personal. Dead, jaundiced looking skin. The whole finger, not just the offending knuckle. My wedding ring would not fit when it was most swollen two and three days later; the same ring did not fit well on my right hand, either. The right ring hand ring finger is thicker. Probably because of use.

    I have used my left hand with the wounded finger all week. A few times I think I have re-injured or re-aggravated it a little, or made it slower to heal. I drive, I type, I open doors, mess with clothing and laundry. I pick up some things. Opening doors or handles can hurt my finger.

    This is a relatively small injury, but it has bothered me externally, but a bit on the inside as well. As I said before: this jammed finger happened for an unnecessary reason. My own teammate caused it, or at least made the ball do something unplanned that jammed my finger. He was playing a bit reckless or selfish, in my opinion. A few times this week I wanted to play against him, and maybe hurt him. Not good. I should not hold him responsible for this finger issue.

    Stinking thinking, I admitted at dinner last night. I realized this on my own later. I should not blame him, and less, seek a type of vindictive revenge. How would that help? Settling the score? Not the best reaction, plan, or impulse. He did not mean to hurt me. He plays with a little too much grit, arguably.

    Who hurts us? How are we wounded? We see and feel death and insult, injury and pain from many sources. Some offenses are worse than others. Some things last longer, both physically and emotionally. It happen spiritually too. We can be wounded, sometimes long-term, all kinds of ways. How do we heal?

    J.D. Salinger survived World War II, but it wounded him for life. He survived many harrowing, deadly moments and events that thousands did not. His life after that and his art, characters, and the analysis of him, the most reclusive best-selling author, stays with us and our psyches. Adolph and his forces hurt him, and us, and the psychological, the internal mysteries and injuries remain, bopping around our own consciousnesses. 

    Salinger had to do some awful, ghastly things. He even saw and experienced more terrible, heart-wrenching events, making it back to his home country, after seeing a lot of the worst of humanity, but somehow maintaining his heart and soul intact. We think. He lived a long life.  Long live the spooked recluse who killed and fought for his country! So we would not have to do and see all that nastiness and trauma, at least most of us would never be exposed to it. God bless those troops who live and do the hardest things. Some suffer profound and at times irreversible injuries through sacrifice so that the rest of us do not have to. Hard, but true. We are grateful for those that take it for the rest of us.

    Ok, I said what I meant to. Thanks for those dialogues, Holden Caulfield, Sergeant Salinger, the authors and researchers who have dug deep into the man and the legend, the misfit and the secret, private, artist. Haunted and hounded by history. Trying to save the kids from the big cliff by the rye fields.  That is what Holden wanted to do. Preserve innocence. Keep us pure. He wished to protect us for the lives lived, the damages witnessed, absorbed, and interpreted, and how we go on to the next wounds whether visible or lying deep within our hearts and minds. Our internal organs and brains withstand many injuries, we might say.

    Blog it. OKAY, an addendum. Next day, Sunday, after my Saturday post.

    Yesterday another person was killed in Minneapolis by government officials. This is two people in one week, dead, which is distressing to many, including people that I care about and I am close to. On many levels I am concerned for the proper execution or implementation of law enforcement and the rule of law. Due justice and peace need to be foremost in our minds in this and all times.

    We are wounded and scars remain from injustice and tragedy.

    How do we heal? How do we grow from the wounds and injuries that we sustain?

Poem from 2012: Los colores

 Poem, Los Colores

   Los colores de mi vida son muchos,

    Pero no brillan tanto sin ti.

    Los colores de mi sangre son muchos,

    Y los llevas en tu ser por tu cien y los lomos.

    Yo te llevo en mi mente coloreada,

    En mis recuerdos dulces y tiernos,

    Tu siempre luces como angel de anhelo,

    Compasion, tolerancia, hogarena de estabilidad.

    Y yo te amo, con todos tus colores.

    Y el mejor-- eres el color que vives:

    Amor.

    English translation from 2026.

    The colors from my life are many,

    But they do not shine so much without you.

    The colors of my blood are many,

    You wear them in your being on your temple brow and the loins.

    I hold you in my mind in all colors, 

    In my memories sweet and tender,

    You always sparkle as an angel of yearning,

    Compassion, tolerance, homemaker of stability.

    I love you, in all your colors.

    And the best thing-- you are the color that you live:

    Love.

    (Written from many thousands away, back in the 2012.)

    

    

Indiana Football Champs! Cinderella Amazing Season...

    Wow. It went perfect, getting past the mid-season struggles of Iowa, and Penn State, which were close. Oregon was tense, too. Then the close win versus Ohio State. Injuries were mostly avoided. Mendoza won the Heisman. Then the Hoosiers pounded Alabama, and Oregon, much bigger than the first game.

    The final, last night, was a formidable foe in the Miami Hurricanes. It was tense. The second half the Hurricanes kept coming, and IU stayed ahead, with some clutch plays and a blocked punt in the end zone, going up ten again. Integers of 10 most of the game for Indiana's comfort, then holding on six till the end. Jamari Sharpe picked up the game sealing throw with less than a minute to go.

    All of the Hoosiers contributed. Omar Cooper did his fine things. Elijah Sarrat was not stellar, but Charlie Becker came in huge, clutch.  Nowakowski, the big tight end, ran for a touch down and made big plays.

       The defense played well enough. Kamara on special teams added the vital second half score when IU's offense was stalling. Black showed power. Hemby finally got a few good runs. Mendoza ran his remarkable touch down run.

    We are now tied all time for Yale of 1894. Who they play? Sisters of the Poor, for sure.

    Remarkable. Clutch. Gritty. Well honed, well executed. Few mistakes.

    Cignetti brought in a dynamo, with players and coaches and plans, the mental mind set to win.

    It happened. Last night.

    16-0. Perfect for the ages.

Martin Luther King Day 2026. How are We Doing?

    The United States has gone through its ups and downs far as racial relations up till this year, 2026. Today is MLK day, where we celebrate or discuss and analyze equal rights and freedom, the struggles of our nation's history and how we have advanced, or not, to making all people equal, or allowing people to have equal opportunities.

    Hard not to mention Donald Trump in these times, in this age of racial thinking. Is he racist? Does he hate or dislike people of color? I have thought over the years that he is not anti-black, in a racist way in that respect as some accuse him, but that he is a classist, and thinks of the poor as beneath him, that he sees the world in colors of green for money and power, not the skin tone as a source of his values and judgments. I could be wrong. He has said some racist things that I know of, but I am not convinced that those racially insensitive things that he shared in Chicago about the poor folks of Chicago who were black were about strictly being African-American, or simply as they were poor. Then again, I am a white man, so ask a hundred Black people how they interpret his words.

        It is not all about this re-elected president, but also but policies in place, those that he believes in, and other laws and policies that are in place now and in the past. We have hundreds and thousands of others who instill their values and actions, whether elected or appointed, or doing their jobs in law enforcement or other capacities.

    Are we a color free society? By no means. Judgments and harsh decisions come down unfairly at times against the poor, the infirm, the underprivileged, those without legal documents or identification...

    How are people in other countries treated per their race or ethnic heritage? In the United States it has been rough. Russia versus Ukraine, now for years, has been atrocious, but this is not racial but ethnic and economic. Congo and Sudan in Africa may be even more deadlier, but these are not considered racially motivated, but again, more ethnically based.

    I believe that Black people in the U.S. are doing better than ever. There are hurdles and uphill battles, still, but the opportunities and upward mobility is there. Disadvantages remain, based on inheritance wealth, or the lack of it. I know guys that I have worked with, specifically from Maryland, who are Black, but do not have much legacy money from their parents or families. Another young man, who I recently attended a funeral with, has made close to half a million dollars from the relatively recent death of his father, who accrued some wealth from his father. He is set to build his wealth in 2026 and in a couple decades for his retirement.

    Crime and prison is worse among African-Americans than most whites, which is an obvious drain on wealth gained and preserved.

    I am leaving out the second biggest minority in the U.S., which are Latinos. While some Latin Americans are qualified as Black, most are deemed brown, and have received their share of discrimination and hard times to succeed in our modern society. However, I believe there are metrics that show that Latinos are progressing, overall. Asians and Europeans are doing well here in the homeland, as some believe that they have inside advantages. Perhaps. Not as many problems as the bigger minorities, which could be debated in many ways.

    Some have argued that economics in jobs, health care, home ownership, diet or health, have the biggest impact on the various races of the U.S.

    Perhaps this is true.

    Are we a meritocracy yet? As Doctor King and so many others have wanted and planned?

    Maybe not.

    There is a lot to go. But somewhere inside of me, I think that Martin Luther King and his dream is going ahead. 

    Happy day, and how blessed are so many of us that are paid to have this holiday paid for, with time to be with family and friends. And maybe even serve and do other things for others. As the Reverend might preach and commend us to do.

    Onward and upward.

    Live the dream.

Most of Us Come Back. Alive and Active - The Missions that We Undertake

    Some make fun of missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Matt Parker and Tre Stone, enjoy your millions made for your mocking comedies and catchy, profane musical about guys in the faith who in their case went to a mythical yet stereotypical and rather insulting or racist African nation. We are serious about spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ, which is not funny, whimsical, or racist. Most of us are not full time missionaries, but we strongly support those that are set apart to work around all corners of the world.

    Missions for the Church were a thing before that farcical attempt at levity, during that, and since. The musical still goes from city to city (in 2025), but I think since the George Floyd summer of 2020, more people realize that racism is alive and well (stinky well) in so many ways, and even humor cannot take the glimmer from the virtue and goodness of the missionaries of the Church. Not as many people will be cool with the racist musical about the elders of the church doing a good-hearted mission. It will be a side note in history.

    But this post is not about those that are against Latter-Day Saint missionaries. Rather, I wish to discuss the survivability and the endurability of those that go on full time missions for the Church, the one so many call Mormon, but within the faith itself wishes to promote and sustain the name of Jesus Christ.

    Some outside the religion based in Salt Lake City respect that naming convention, The Church of Jesus Christ of LDS, the longer and official one, but do not evince the faith and follow the purpose for which it is promoted, and for which it enforces such nomenclature. It is of Jesus Christ, say us believers, not Mormon, a nickname, no matter how great a prophet he was and the book that he edited. Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Not some ancient follower of Him (Mormon), he who commanded armies of Nephites, and who redacted golden plates. Mormon was a great man. He shared about Jesus. And the latter of course, is the one to emphasize.

    Missionaries of the Church (of the Lord, we say), go on full time status and regularly go to distant places to share and uphold the faith of the Latter-day Saints. Mormons, as most call me or us at work.

    One is normally the other. Names and labeling. Okay, we establish that. LDS missionaries. Mormon evangelizers. Elders and sisters. Full time, set apart, young and old badge-wearing, adult representatives of the Church. Of Jesus Christ. Of Latter-Day Saints.

    I was one, my wife was one, my mother and step-father became them for service in Cambodia and Indonesia. Many of us go and do. My daughter has been one, my son and his girl friend are now, in this perhaps momentous month of January 2026. May they go, learn, love, and thrive!

    Since the 1830s we have gone and served, preached and taught, testified and bore witness to Jesus the Savior, Joseph Smith, the Book of Mormon, the Priesthood of God restored, and all the other points of the faith. Principles, morals, tithing, temples, vicarious ordinances, music, gatherings, family togetherness, and on. Things churchy, Mormon, Christian.

    I do not mean to meander, or bluster on about the things that we all know and have heard before. I wanted to talk about the ones that go out, that most of us return, and not the same numbers but most of us full time missionaries  stay active upon returning and going "part-time" as regular members. Some fall away. Some quit during the missions and never go back. I know a few stories of this. We are hundreds and thousands of stories and case studies. Some go anti-church, while others more quietly leave the religion and its tenets and practices.

    Some are cut short while being full-time representatives and elders and sisters for the church.

    Some die in the mission field. Occasionally murder takes a missionary life. It happened to a young elder in Virginia Beach this century. Or Chesapeake, the Hampton Roads area. A random thing, but devastating to him and his family. People get attacked and killed while serving. Not often. It occurred in Peru in the 1990s when I served full-time. A knife attack by a random crazed guy? It took the life of some missionaries in Bolivia in the late 1980s.

    Traffic accidents and deaths happen. A bad one in Iowa in the 1990s, to James' mission, he of Southern California, a friend and family member of those I know. Sicknesses and illnesses take the lives of some. Some mysterious. Some, like soldiers or others on more secular missions, die of strange and unexplained heart defects or stomach poisons, never to be fully discovered. 

    But as stated from the start, most us return alive. Not all fully healthy. A man in his forties in Utah has a type of mental illness perhaps derived from some bizarre bacteria or microbes from Spain, of all places.

    Most of us come home alive, breathing, and primarily healthy. Some changed, some forever, others not. And we move on with our lives. Some work and achieve tremendous success. Others not. Some returned missionaries might devolve into mental illness, or physical disrepair.

    We keep moving. An illness took a fellow returned missionary with brain cancer last month, December 2024. However, he went out as a champion. I attended his funeral yesterday. An honorably returned missionary, now to his eternal creator. He left behind two young boys, future emissaries of Jesus, like him, who went to Little Rock, Arkansas. His boys may be in hi mold.

    Most of us returned missionaries will grow old, and grey, and perhaps senile. Like my friend Ron M., who is now deep into his 80s. His wife passed this last year or so. Ron served in Brazil.

    Most of us will have deep and meaningful experiences in our church missions without getting too ill. Some, like my nephew Robert, will get sick multiple times while in Sierra Leone. Or like Greta Johnson, who fought malaria throughout her senior mission in Ghana. I had a sickness for a month, about eight months in, and lost a month of service time. It was hard; there was some time of pain and loneliness. But I made it. Decades later I had a similar sickness; it was diagnosed as Epstein Barr. Or maybe cytomegalovirus. Either way, like mononucleosis. Not great, but we still stayed current on our investigators and we taught and baptized. I recovered.

    Some do not. Some are electrocuted, and die, like in Guatemala (I was shocked in Chile but only stunned a bit) or shot like that poor elder in Jamaica in the last few years. Some come home early, like two different cases I know from Hawai'i. 

    Most of us finish out our 18 months or 24 months with honor. Some do not. Some confess about getting too close to a girl in some remote part of South America, like where you get relegated to after three months of Santa Juana, with me. I cannot recall the name of the town now. Remote. Away from stuff. Perhaps the confession gave our mission president a heart attack. But he survived. Lived till my oldest was eight or nine, a good, long, life. Jud Allsop. Great man. Great guy. Man of faith.

    He served his mission in Mexico, where he met his wife. Decades before. She was a dear companion and helpful to him and us while down in Chile. She and him and their maid helped me recover one week while coming back from the hospital when I was ill in Concepcion, Chile.

    More and more missionaries and ex-missionaries and returned missionaries all the time join the ranks.

    Most of us come back. Whole, or at least partially intact.

    To go on more battles or missions, or to fight windmills or slay dragons. Some of these are imaginary foes, while other struggles are real. We survive and continue to live, move, and continue.

    And we come back alive, to breathe to tell tales of the heartaches and emotional swells, the triumphs and the lows, the beauties and the challenges of being a full time missionary.

    May we all come back alive. And thrive.

    

 Indiana Men: In Basketball, You Suck. You are Kind of Pitiful

    Well, I can be that way, too. Same, same, maybe.

    But I am not worth millions of millions of dollars, with a huge alumni base rooting for all my minutes and games week to week, month to month. 

    Lamar Wilkerson. Too inconsistent. Peyton Conorway. He played decently against Iowa for a while in Bloomington today, this  afternoon, but not enough, and nothing after IU cut it to four in the second half when I turned on the game. Indiana did little right after that point. They have crumpled against the last few teams: Michigan State... a whole lot of nothing late, 19-0 run against them. Who else? Wisconsin? No, Ohio State? Whoever, they were up by six and then all bad. Illinois? They had Nebraska down by 16, and crumpled.

    Crumple, crumple, IU men in b-ball.

    So sad. DeVries is the new coach. His son and the big men were supposed to be good, better.

    Tucker. Reed. Trisley, Alexis. 

    Connor Enright flashed perhaps two good games in a row, but not good enough lately. 

    Ugh. We need better. 

    We need an enema. Nah, that is Jack Nicholson playing the Joker.

    We need a general, again. Great recruiting. Tactician work.

    Do we have it? Not convinced.

    Better luck next year? Or, they may rebound this season.

    Slight chance. Slightest of chances.

 Indiana Men's Basketball: Relegated to the Dung Heap of College Championship History?

    Maybe. Maybe these Hoosiers never get the talent and the moxy that they need. Perhaps we have left them behind in the 1980s. Perhaps we will never return to any of those glory days.

    Year after year of futility. Now decades. The current coach and the program writ large are okay. Brand new. But they lack grit and talent, plus cohesion.

    DeVries and Devries. The coach might be big-time enough. The son is too slow, in my opinion. I wish he shot a little bit better. And would move better. Same with all the new Hoosier guys.

    They made a second half run at Michigan State tonight in East Lansing, as I write this, but then they folded and were crushed. A bit like the last game in Bloomington to undefeated Nebraska. Yes, top ranked Cornhusker nation. They are being picked by some as a number one seed.

    Nebraska. 

    Meanwhile, Indiana lingers as a bottom of the basketball cellar dweller, after being briefly ranked when winning a few games in the pre-conference months. Marquette looked like a great victory, but now they are little regarded as anything special.

    And now IU.

    Nothing special. No championship prospects again. 

    1990s. One Final Four. Duke stood in the way.

    2000s. One great run to the Final Game. Maryland had its way.

    2010s. Crean had one great team that choked in the Sweet Sixteen.

    2020s. Over halfway through and Indiana is not good enough.

    I am too old for this.

    Go, IU. Fight, fight, fight...

    For relevance.