Injuries of a counter terrorist

In between rainstorms and accordion gigs, Lenny and I have caught up on some movies and DVDs. We watched most of the first season of La Femme Nikita. I was not surprised to see that this series had the same creator as Fox's hit 24. Both Nikita and the hero of 24, Jack Bauer, are counter terrorists who save the world. Nikita does it each episode, but it takes Jack 24 episodes, each taking place during one hour in a single day. We also went to the theater to see The Bourne Ultimatum, the third installment in the history of Jason Bourne. All three of these stories contain mysteries, choreographed violence, and super-human heroes who are impervious to both pain and ethics.

This came to my mind twice this week when I received minor injuries. On Monday it was so cold and damp that I decided to take the fan out of the window in our bedroom. As I closed the window, my finger was too close to the edge, and it was pinched between the window and the sill. I was afraid at first that I was going to lose the fingernail, but it just formed a big blister underneath. I couldn't use a keyboard for two days. It's amazing that such a tiny injury could fairly put me out of commission.

Last night I asked Lenny if he wanted to take a walk after dinner. He got this gleam in his eye, and I could tell he had more than a leisurely walk in mind. I suspected he wanted to venture into Big Finn Hill Park, a neighborhood wonderland of trails traversing through blackberries and all species of native plants. I pulled on some jeans, and girded my feet with sturdy shoes.

"No wimping out!" Lenny warned me. I acted insulted, and told him I could keep up. We grabbed the leash and the Beagle, and set off toward the woods. When we started across Juanita Drive, I misjudged a curb, and went sprawling into the street. Fortunately, there were no cars coming. Lenny looked worried and let me sit for a minute to survey my wounds. My wrists were sore, and my knee was bloody, but I was determined to finish the walk. At least I didn't rip my favorite (expensive) jeans. I only had to stop one other time because there was a thorn in my sock. I mused about how such a tiny thing can bring a hiker to a shoe-and-sock removing screeching halt. After having been steeped like a teabag in the counter terrorist super-hero genre of entertainment, I felt ashamed of the pain of my little injuries. But they also made me realize that when Jack Bauer rises up from his intensive care deathbed in order to stop the clock on a nuclear bomb that is set to cause maximum carnage in a major U.S. city, he is merely the victim of a script. When he single-handedly defeats a room full of merciless assassins, he is the beneficiary of good choreography. There is no way that a human can suffer an assortment of shootings, stabbings, and gunshots, as well as mind control and torture, and still possess the mental acuity and steady nerves needed to snip the correct wire on the detonator.

Earlier this week I picked up a reimbursement check from my brother, Walt Murphy, at his apartment in Seattle's Greenwood neighborhood. I made a few wrong turns and found myself locked in the basement of his secure building.

What would Nikita do? I'll tell you next week.