Short term rentals have become a source of income for some property owners in the Santa Monica Mountains and a source of aggravation for others,…
Pack the snow. Build up the ramp. Race down the hill. Catch the ramp. Fly. Flip. Come back to earth. Snap.
After the accident, JMo rarely says no to an adventure. He’s up for anything, willing to go anywhere; hit the arenas where fans scream; fly around the country and remind the airlines that he, too, deserves a ride; road trips with the chair tucked away in the trunk while the landscape rolls from cornfield to city where the ballparks are; hang out with the colorful humans on South Beach… characters who have adopted him as one of their own because they see in him a love of life, despite and almost certainly because of the chair that signals that he, too, has been through some shit.
After the accident, JMo went back to school because he’s no quitter.
After the accident, JMo started a business and even though he didn’t make a million dollars, he demonstrated that he’s got that thing that only a few of us have; the drive, the gusto, the energy, the chutzpah to put himself out there and give the thing a chance to grow. And, he did it to help others, to make life less rocky, to smooth out their ride through life.
After the accident, JMo got hitched and when he hit that dance floor he was spinning around with his girl—wheels of his chair doing all that his jaw said—like he was Fred and she was Ginger. And his Ginger loves him, too… in and out of the chair, she doesn’t mind.
After the accident, JMo became a father and everyone says his little girl looks just like him and with JMo at six feet and five inches tall—something the chair hides—and looking oh so much like him, there’s talk of basketball and volleyball and the other things big strong women do these days.
After the accident, he’ll admit it wasn’t much of an accident when, afterwards, looking back, the whole thing had been planned out. JMo knows now, accepts now, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was from Colorado for god’s sake… 18 years-old and fearless, a few feet of snow in Kansas, board-ready, show the prairie boys how it’s done in the mountains even though no mountains were at hand…
Pack the snow. Build up the ramp. Race down the hill. Catch the ramp. Fly. Flip. Come back to earth. Snap.
Who snowboards in Kansas?
And now we drive to Denver on Wednesdays. TBC
