A Found Farewell

 No, the "u" in that title isn't a typo! Even before the TBI, I tended to forget useful things, like people's names, instead filling that memory space with minutia, like, for example, in which thrift store I found a particular article of clothing. I'll argue that from an evolutionary standpoint, remembering where something useful was found is more of a survival advantage than knowing Bob's name.

Today as I started the ride up to meet Matt (Hey, give me credit. I remember some names!) for a run in the snow, I realized I could see the palm of my left hand. The thin spot in my mittens had finally graduated to a hole. I've owned those gloves for about two decades, have patched multiple tears in them, and still remember finding them in a thrift store in Burlington, VT, near I-89, on the east side. I hadn't yet completely adopted bright, hi-viz colors as compensation for the brain injury making me not any smarter, but I was still pretty excited they were neon yellow!

Nope, 

not digital camera color coruption, 

they haven't been neon for a LONG time.

They had been my first pair of mittens in a long time, as I opted for the dexterity of gloves, not factoring in that cold hands don't function especially well. Oh, wow, what brave new world, that such hands warm as these? I was sold, and sold again, and over the years I assembled a collection of many pairs of mittens, but there was still something special about my first. Look above, and you'll see some of my stitching, and yes, I could pull the hole's circumference together to close it, but it may well and truly be time to bit farewell to a pair of old friends. Don't worry, I have plenty of back-up to keep me from too warm a heart!