I know it's been awhile. I'm embarrassed. I've also been bogged down and busy, and the inertia of non-communication set in. Let's not dwell on the past.
A quick update: I've transferred to a new University: The University of South Australia, where I'm continuing on towards a Masters in Marketing focused on Wine. I've started playing basketball for the school team, my aim being to improve dramatically between now and the end of the season. I'm at a new job, a new winery, new people, nice wines. Future career planning has begun in earnest, I've published a couple little pieces, and I'm open to all suggestions. Life moves fast.
Last night my basketball team won its first game of the season against my former university... very satisfying victory, personally as well as for the team. My South African buddy was kind enough to come along as the support section, and he's become pleasantly intrigued by the nuances of the sport. He didn't realize there was so much strategy! Next time an NBA game is aired here, we'll have to get some popcorn and analyze.
When my game was over, I sat in on the first few minutes of the men's game... also being played against my newfound rival school. In short order, one of our guys went for an aggressive rebound and accidentally came down with his elbow on the face of an opponent, breaking his nose. Blood everywhere.
When I was about 14, an identical accident befell me in a high school game, so I felt for the guy. He didn't have a car and his teammates were obviously busy with the game, so I volunteered to take him to the hospital and sort him out. Turns out the guy is an American from New York, so we had something to chat about on the way to the Royal Adelaide Hospital where I turned him over to the good care of an emergency room nurse.
Feeling chuffed with my "good turn," I was making my way out of the hospital into the drizzly cold night when I passed a young man who, from a distance, looked as if he was bundled uncomfortably in a white sweater. As I got closer, I saw both his arms were in full casts and his face was deeply lacerated, stitches around his eyes. "Hey if you can catch that old man I just talked to," he said, "tell him North Terrace is the other way. I thought he wanted the North Wing and I sent him in the wrong direction."
I very nearly blurted out, "What happened to you?" but was able simply to agree and jog off down the sidewalk to catch the old man. From behind I noticed he was carrying an IV back attached to him by a tube and he was still wearing hospital slippers and a gown beneath a ratty red robe. Again, the night was chilly and wet; the man was entirely disoriented. When he turned toward me, I saw the whole right half of his face was red and stretched as if he had been terribly burned. I stammered out the directions, trying to look at him directly without staring at his bulging, unnatural eye. He mumbled thanks and shuffled around to change course.
It was hard to feel pleased at all with myself for this good deed. Well to be reminded of how lucky--and fragile--we are.
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