✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 360–Are you a r-o-b-o-t? 🌟
This Video will let you know more about me–
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8QFnD1yGc
This Blog is Best Read on a Laptop, Rather than Your Phone.
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback

To Learn More about Kit, Go Here >> https://kitsummers.com/about-kit/

Once upon a life, I made gravity nervous—
Headlining at Ballys, tossing clubs with a grin.
Seven of them. A world record—
Because physics loves a good insult. 😄
Then came the truck—the coma.

Thirty-seven silent days offstage.
And here I am now—not juggling clubs.
But throwing purpose, grit, and joy.
Balancing healing, catching courage.
Tossing hope sky-high. 🤹‍♂️

    
The mission grew bigger than applause.
Now I lift humans. I write to stay connected.
I write because it’s how I breathe.
If these words help you, too?
That’s magic catching air. 🎉

What’s next on Kit’s journey through life?
Back to juggling? Back to life?
Stay with Kit and find out.
Life can get better.
Life will get better. ✨

1)  THE BEGINNINGS
Every story asks this question first: Where do I begin?
The answer is simple—and also complicated.
It began a long, long time ago, when I was very young…  
     
Lately, things don’t seem to be lining up for me in a good way. Or is that the way I am perceiving it? My daughters, Jasmine and April, don’t call or connect with me. I’ve become very lonely without anyone. And so many other things.
       
At this point, you already know I use ChatGPT.com—
and let me be crystal clear, spotlight-on-the-stage clear:
Every idea. Every sentence. Every story.
They all start inside my own head. 🧠✨
     
I write the blog. I choose the words. I wrestle with the thoughts.
Then—only then—I invite Chat in like a trusted editor who says,
“Hey… what if we polished this diamond just a little more?”
     
Chat doesn’t think for me.
It doesn’t feel for me. It doesn’t live for me.
It helps me clarify, tighten, and brighten—like good lighting on a stage that was already built. 🎭💡
The voice is mine. The heartbeat is mine. The scars and sparks are mine.
   
Think of it this way:
I’m still the juggler, throwing objects into the air.
Chat helps me keep them flying better… and shining a little brighter. 🤹‍♂️✨
     
The soul? 100% human.
The experience? Earned the hard way.
The juggling? Chat helps me keep the balls in the air—dropping fewer along the way.
The words? Mine—just wearing a cleaner, sharper suit when they step out to meet you.
And if they sparkle a bit more now?
Good. That means the message got through. 💥💙
   
2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
      Kit’s Daily Delights — Inspiration, Served Fresh.
   
>>>>> January 10—A Red Crayon?
This morning turned into a marathon of modern medicine—minus the running. 🩺😄
I arrived at the doctor’s office at 8:00 a.m., bright-eyed and compliant, and stayed until nearly noon… mostly waiting for one small but mighty event: a blood draw.
   
Yes. Hours. For blood.
   
At one point, I considered asking if I could borrow a red crayon—and draw my own blood, but they didn’t go for it. (Relax, medical professionals, I did not actually attempt a DIY phlebotomy.
Humor only. 😉)
   
In fairness, blood work isn’t trivial. It’s a crucial diagnostic snapshot—checking things like electrolytes, kidney function, inflammation markers, medication levels, and all those invisible numbers that quietly run the body’s backstage operations. These tests help rule things out, confirm what’s working, and catch what might be drifting off course. Slow? Yes. Important? Also yes.
   
But still… a long wait is a long wait.
     
Back at NR, the weekend rhythm kicked in—the familiar low-pulse pace. Fewer staff, fewer activities, fewer therapies. Weekends here tend to be more about maintenance than momentum. Bodies heal on their own schedules, and sometimes the best medicine available is rest, patience, and not throwing your red crayons at anyone. 🎨
   
So today was one of those days:
Not dramatic.
Not productive.
Not forward-charging.
No juggling involved.
But still part of the process.
   
Healing isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it whispers,
“Sit still. We’re working.”
   
>>>>> January 11—It’s a funny thing
I sit down each day with no map, no plan, no GPS recalculating.
Then suddenly… ideas show up.
They tap me on the shoulder,
Clear their throats,
And say, “Write us down.”
So I do.
   
And somewhere between the first word and the last sentence, a path appears.
Not because I forced it—but because I trusted it.
So tell me, my friend…
     
Sunday Musings from the Peanut Gallery ☀️
Sunday showed up right on schedule. I noticed—pleasantly—that church and God are not part of the NR program. Good. Religion and belief are deeply personal things, and they belong right there: personal. If believing in a religious God helps you, excellent—truly. Carry it proudly — don’t push it on me!
   
It’s just never been my path. For me, it’s a little sad to see how much time people spend inventing stories instead of living their lives—but hey, to each their own cosmic playlist.🎶Humans have invented thousands of gods. If you have one, how did you pick yours? It’s probably how you were raised. 

At 7 a.m., the scale made its dramatic entrance. 190 pounds. Yikes. 😬
My happy place is closer to 160. But let’s be fair—being here means no real chance to run, juggle, or properly move my body the way it loves to move. This isn’t laziness; it’s logistics.
           
This is not a setback. It’s a pause before momentum.
The scale doesn’t get the final vote—movement does.
And movement is coming. 🌱💥 watch me. 

Here’s the good news, and it’s juicy. 🍅
The new place they’re setting me up to move to?
More land. More space. More freedom.
Room to juggle. Room to run. Room to think.
Room to grow a garden that will try to take over the planet.
     
Here he goes again—the man across the hall. I won’t say his name.
This time, he moved down the hallway on his hands and knees, completely naked.
His mind is injured. Guard yours carefully.

My heart went first to the nurse who stepped in to help him—and just as strongly to him. His mind drifts far from the present, untethered from place, purpose, even from himself. This is not a choice. His injury has taken the wheel, and he is no longer steering.
   
I just found out the man who lived across the hall has been moved to a full hospital—somewhere with more tools than NR can offer. I felt a real ache for him. When a brain injury takes the steering wheel, life can veer off in heartbreaking ways. None of this was his choice.
   
I hope he’s surrounded now by patience, skill, love, and kindness—and by people who remember the person still in there, even when his mind forgets the map. Moments like this remind me how fragile we all are… and how much compassion still matters, maybe more than anything. 💛
   
Moments like this land heavily.
They press on the chest and linger.
They remind us how fragile the mind truly is—and how deeply we depend on compassion when it falters. None of us is immune. None of us is promised clarity forever. The line between “me” and “that could be me” is thinner than we like to admit.
   
So we are invited—again and again—to ask the essential questions.
Not in panic, but in presence:
1–Who am I—beneath the labels and roles?
2–What am I becoming, right now, in this breath?
3–And what’s next—if I meet it with honesty, courage, and care?
These questions aren’t meant to frighten us.
They’re meant to wake us up. 🌱
     
So once again, I say this gently but firmly: protect your mind.
Care for it. Challenge it. Rest it. Feed it beauty and truth.
It is precious. It is powerful.
And it is the only one you have.
   
Brain injury can do that. It can hijack a person’s dignity, their awareness, their sense of self. It can take over a life—and sometimes not in gentle ways. Moments like that remind me how fortunate I am to have the level of control I still do. Grateful, aware, and humbled all at once.
     
A strange kind of tiredness has crept in lately. Not the ordinary, “I stayed up too late” kind—but a heavy, foggy sleepiness that rolls through my day without warning. Even when I believe I’ve slept enough, it arrives anyway, uninvited and undeniable.
   
This isn’t something I’ve always known. It’s only surfaced over the past few months, quietly but persistently, as if my body flipped a switch without asking my permission. I didn’t choose it. I didn’t invite it. Yet here it is—another reminder that sometimes life changes the rules mid-game, and all we can do is notice, adapt, and keep moving forward with as much grace as we can muster. 🌱
     
I went out today to pick up trash and cigarette butts. I skipped it yesterday—and wow, did the ground keep score. In one small patch alone, I counted at least thirty-five butts. 35. It still amazes me how often smoking seems to come with an invisible permission slip to litter anywhere. I may need to quietly observe who’s using that spot… the planet has filed a complaint. 🌍🚫
   
And then—whoops—my mind wandered into darker territory again. Those heavy thoughts showed up, the ones that whisper about un-life, about not seeing a future, about wondering why I even stay around. I hate when that happens. I can feel how I spiral, how my own thoughts pile on and make it harder to climb back out.
   
But here’s the truth I’m relearning, slowly and stubbornly: these thoughts are visitors, not landlords. They arrive uninvited, make a mess, and eventually leave. When they do, it helps to say something—to write it, to tell someone, to let a little air in. I’m still here. Still picking things up and still choosing, again and again, to stay.
   
And for today, that’s enough. 🌱
     
>>>>> January 12–Up long before the birds
The day began before dawn, my mind already awake while the world still slept.
Therapies were minimal today.
       
At 10 a.m., OT began—but the activity wasn’t for me. Another bean-bag-through-a-hole game. Cornhole’s cousin. I know these games work for some people, but for me, they feel like motion without meaning. Time is precious. I want mine to matter.
   
From 11 to 12, we gathered as a group to name all the U.S. states. Hints were offered. I knew most of them—having been to every state myself—but often stayed quiet so others could participate. Still, I felt the gap. Being in a room where the level of thinking is usually more difficult than my own, it’s exhausting. I don’t say that with judgment—just honesty.
   
While I was downstairs, I saw Terrie and asked about a few things for the garden. She reminded me I’m not supposed to be out there alone. That ship had already sailed—I’d been out there early this morning, gardening and cleaning. Maybe they don’t know yet. Either way, I’ll be moving on soon. I’m hoping the next place allows more trust, more freedom, and a little less absurdity.
     
Lately, I feel detached. Numb. Lonely. Afraid of what comes next. I hate admitting that.
What I do know—without question—is this: no one gets to control me or my will. Still, being here feels like watching my life idle in neutral while the clock keeps ticking. That’s the part that hurts the most.
   
This afternoon, I returned from a follow-up with the doctor—the same one who previously widened my throat and performed the colonoscopy. I had concerns. He found an issue in my throat, and they’ll be going back in to fix it. Another chapter. Another repair.
   
Still standing.
Still here.
Still moving—however slowly—forward.
And tomorrow?
We try again. 🌱
     
>>>>> January 13—More doctors
This morning began with yet another doctor’s appointment, followed by another one this afternoon. My body seems determined to audition for a medical mystery series. Random cramps pop up in different places, joining forces with the swelling in my legs. That’s just swell, indeed. I can’t help but wonder—what’s next?
   
Right now, I’m staring at two pills. Vitamins, technically. And yet I hesitate. I’m afraid they’ll get stuck in my throat. I hate that feeling—the panic, the helplessness. Truth be told, I don’t like much about life right now. When everything feels this heavy, it’s hard not to ask: if you don’t want to be here, why take pills at all?
     
Only one official stop on today’s itinerary: speech group with Lillie.
No parade. No confetti cannons.
Just me, a chair, and my ever-mysterious memory. 🧠✨
   
Of course, it turned into more memory work—
The very muscle that currently behaves like a cat.
Sometimes it comes when called.
Sometimes it stares at me, yawns, and walks away.
     
But here’s the quieter truth humming underneath it all:
Showing up still counts. Struggling still counts.
Sitting in the room and giving it an honest go? That absolutely counts. 💪
Memory may be wobbly, but effort isn’t.
Curiosity isn’t. Heart isn’t.
     
So today wasn’t about nailing answers or impressing anyone.
It was about practicing patience. Laughing when I could.
And reminding myself—again—that progress doesn’t always look like victory laps.
Sometimes it looks like staying in the game. 🎯
     
One group. One effort.
One more brick laid in the long, slow, noble rebuild.
And that, my friend, is nothing. ✨
   
Of course, it turned into more memory work—
The very muscle that currently behaves like a cat.
Sometimes it comes when called.
Sometimes it stares at me, yawns, and walks away.
   
I won’t sugarcoat it: this is not my strong suit right now.
Names slip. Details vanish. Facts do the Houdini.
And yes—watching that happen can sting.
     
Part of me wants to run—into the wild, into nowhere—and disappear for a while. This morning we drove nearly an hour to see a psychiatrist. Not really for me, I don’t think. I don’t know what could help my mental state right now. I know people want to help. I know I have to help myself, too. I just never imagined my life would feel this painfully off-track.
   
I can’t remember the name of the person who drove me this morning. The driver this afternoon—Karen—said nothing the entire ride. She went too fast, blew through stop signs, and kept the radio on in Spanish. The lack of words and the reckless driving rattled me. I was deeply relieved when we finally arrived.
   
As I headed in to see the doctor, I suggested Karen check out my website. She replied, “Why would I want to do that?” Fair enough. I wasn’t trying to recruit traffic—just offering a small window into who I am. Still, the comment landed harder than I expected.
     
Some days, even the smallest moments echo louder than they should. Yes—there’s a lot of noise lately. Inside. Outside. Everywhere. Still, I hold on to this hope: that my words might help you reach for your best, even when mine feel just out of reach.
   
Every day I tell myself, “Things have got to get better tomorrow.”
Then tomorrow arrives… and it looks suspiciously like today.
But hope is stubborn. And so am I.
   
So I keep speaking, keep writing,
keep believing that one of these tomorrows
will finally wink back and say, “Here we go.” 🌱✨
     
I just checked my feet and lower legs.
THEY’RE HUGE!
I don’t know which doctor to see about this.
I’m getting scared.
   
Something strange. I just found out they are going to check on me every 15 minutes through the night. I will let you know how it goes.
     
>>>>> January 14—Some hurts
Awake by 4 a.m.—before the birds, before the excuses, before the world clears its throat.

Here I go again. I didn’t hear them checking on me through the night, which is a relief. No footsteps. No flashlight pause. Just quiet. I’ll take quiet wherever I can find it these days.
   
This morning brings more blood work. The familiar rule applies: no eating, no drinking, just waiting. You see, I fast very quickly. Funny how the body becomes a list of instructions instead of a home. As I sit with the emptiness, I catch myself thinking about fasting—really fasting—a whole month. No food. Just willpower, green tea, and stubborn resolve. I know I could do it. Watch me. That fire still lives in here somewhere. 🔥
   
But I won’t sugarcoat it—things have gotten rough inside my head.
     
My daughters don’t call.
Loneliness presses in, heavy and uninvited.
My leg feels like it’s staging a full-blown rebellion.
And today… another needle, another vial, another reminder that I’m being measured and tested.
It’s a long list of “bad.” A loud one.
   
And yet—here I am. Still getting up and still moving forward. Still putting one foot in front of the other, even when I’m not sure what I’m walking toward. Maybe purpose hasn’t shown its face yet. Maybe it’s late. Maybe it’s shy. But I keep going anyway, because stopping has never been my style. 🚶‍♂️✨
   
Later, I was supposed to meet with Dino from 1:00 to 1:30, but he didn’t show. So I went looking. There’s something almost poetic about that—when the meeting doesn’t come to you, you find it. Eventually, we crossed paths, and we had a genuinely good conversation. Human. Grounded. Helpful.
   
And that was it.
That was the entirety of today’s therapy.
   
As I was working on this, lunch quietly arrived—like a gentle tap on the shoulder from the universe saying, “Hey… pause a moment.” I hadn’t even been keeping track of time. I was in that good place—the lost-in-creation place—where minutes slip by unnoticed, and the world softens around the edges. ✨
     
Green beans. Scalloped potatoes. Chicken—carefully prepared, cut into bite-sized pieces for a man temporarily traveling with only the upper half of his set of teeth. 😄
And you know what? It mattered.
   
They feed me well here. Not just calories, but care. Someone thought ahead. Someone made sure I could eat with dignity. Someone remembered me. 💚
It’s a small thing—until it isn’t.
   
Because in a season when so much feels uncertain, when the big questions loom loud and heavy, these quiet mercies whisper, “You are still being carried.”
     
Not a packed schedule.
Not a miracle cure.
Just one real conversation—and sometimes, that’s enough to keep the wheels turning.
   
As I was working on these words, lunch quietly arrived—like a gentle tap on the shoulder from the universe saying, “Hey… pause a moment.” I hadn’t even been keeping track of time. I was in that good place—the lost-in-creation place—where minutes slip by unnoticed, and the world softens around the edges. ✨
   
Because in a season when so much feels uncertain, when the big questions loom loud and heavy, these quiet mercies whisper, “You are still being carried.”
Sometimes inspiration doesn’t crash in like fireworks. 🎆
Sometimes it arrives on a tray.
Warm. Thoughtful. Ordinary.
And absolutely enough.
Even when the map is missing. 🌱
   
Every afternoon, right on schedule—
like it has a clipboard and a whistle—
My body waves a little white flag.
Not collapse-on-the-couch tired.
Not run-a-marathon tired.
   
This is that sneaky, syrupy, eyelids-turn-to-lead sleepy tiredness. 😴
The kind that tiptoes in, sits on your shoulders, and whispers,
“Pssst… wouldn’t it be nice to just… fade out for a bit?”
   
Now, we all know I don’t get much sleep, and I and sleep are currently in a long-distance relationship. So yes—this afternoon slump may be my body sending a perfectly reasonable memo:
“Dear Kit, you’re running on fumes again.”
A nap might help. A nap would help.
     
A classic standoff.
An old Western.
High noon in the nervous system. 🤠
   
And honestly? I don’t yet know the solution.
The answer may be a short nap.
It could be a movement.
It could be forgiveness.
Maybe it’s listening—really listening—to what this tiredness is trying to teach me.
     
For now, I notice it. I name it.
I don’t beat myself up for it.
Because even though I’m tired, I’m still here.
Still curious. Still playing the long game.
And that, my friends, counts as forward motion—even at half speed. 🚀✨
   
But then there’s my mind.
Ah, yes—my ever-vigilant, slightly stubborn, drum-major-with-a-whistle mind. 🥁
It snaps to attention and shouts:
“No naps! We have things to do! Thoughts to think! Words to write! Life to LIVE!”
So there I sit—Body begging for a power-down.
Mind refusing to surrender.
    =====
On to a different subject–Somehow, through a clerical error, a cosmic prank, or Cupid with a subscription problem—I’ve been receiving a month-long supply of Viagra every single month. I don’t remember ordering it. I don’t remember needing it. And at the moment, there’s no lucky lady nearby to inspire any blue-pill heroics.
   
So there they sit.
A drawer full of potential.
A hopeful Kit looking on.
Hope in tablet form.
Confidence… still sealed.
   
I finally put a six-month pause on the deliveries—not because I’ve given up, oh no—but because I’m optimistic. Because I’m imagining a future where these little blue overachievers won’t gather dust… they’ll rise to the occasion, as I will, too.
     
Consider this a rain check on passion.
A promise deferred, not denied.
Stay tuned. 😏✨

>>>>> January 15— Theripyness
I spent the morning with Maura for OT. I have only therapy scheduled for today. We started by walking out to the garden to check on how things were growing. It had rained through the night—good, steady rain—the kind that makes the plants quietly smile and maybe, just maybe, makes you take a breath you didn’t know you needed.
   
Maura noticed my balance and walking were off today. I felt it too. No argument there. It makes me question everything. Am I getting worse, or am I improving? How do I compare to five years ago? Age, me, no–I’m still smiling at the age of 23.
   
Back inside, we worked on eye–hand coordination with the board I’ve nicknamed Wake-a-Mole. I didn’t do great. After a while, I just stopped trying. That’s been happening more lately. She suggested Scrabble, other games, maybe a puzzle, but I said no. We ended early. It circles back to the same brutal truth: when you don’t really care about living, it’s hard to care about games.
   
Next up was a cognitive group with Lillie. Word-finding, we played Boggle. I didn’t do well, not because I couldn’t, but because I didn’t have it in me to care. Here’s how the game works: you make words out of letters that are touching:
T A  R  S
E  I  L  S
W N O T
R  E C A
Words like tar, ton, net, not, and so on. How many can you find?
     
During the session, a man came through who seemed okay at first—clear speech, normal tone. Then he suddenly started yelling and cursing loudly. The brain injury was speaking for him. It’s a stark reminder of how fragile we all are.
     
Nothing scheduled for the afternoon, which always makes me wonder why I’m here. And then that strange tiredness came again—the sleepy weight that settles on me. I lay down on the bed, just waiting for something to change (it doesn’t.)
     
But here’s the quiet flicker of hope: even when it feels like I’m just lying there, waiting, there’s a tiny part of me that notices the rain, that still finds a little curiosity in a game of letters, and that wonders if tomorrow might feel a bit lighter. That tiny spark is still there, even if it’s just a whisper. And sometimes, a whisper of hope is enough to hold onto.
   
Just got back from making my rounds—the garden, the patio, my little kingdom of care. 🌱👑
One spot looked like a cigarette convention had come to a tragic end—at least 50 spent butts were dumped there. How does someone do that so mindlessly? It’s like littering and apathy shook hands and said, “Let’s ruin this corner.”
   
Strong winds today, too, so I chased down runaway trash like a one-person cleanup parade. 🧹💨
And yes… I wondered, as I often do:
Does anyone even notice that I’m quietly tending this place?
Keeping it decent.
Keeping it alive.
Even if they don’t—the garden and I know.
And today, that’s enough. 🌿✨

>>>>> January 16 —
Up early, as usual. Jump in the shower (no, I didn’t just go in there and jump up and down). Always feels great to be all cleaned up.
   
Only one therapy scheduled for today, Dina at 11 for half an hour. I really don’t know how this works in terms of therapy sessions and who sets them up. Why am I kept here??
     
As I was sleeping last night, this morning I awoke, these words came to mind >>
Speaking with Silence.
Of course, that will go toward a future blog. Do you have any other suggestions for me?

I just found out from the nurse that my weight has been increasing because, for some reason, my body is retaining fluids. She told me I will be given a diuretic later. Oh, lucky me. But I do like the chocolate I consume.
   
3) 🌟BLOG 360–Are you a r-o-b-o-t?

Click the box, if you can’t, then you ARE a robot! 

HUMANS HAVE PERFECT MOVEMENT?
(Short answer: adorable thought. Incorrect answer. 😄)
We keep building robots in our own image.
Two arms. Two legs. A head perched neatly on top.
   
We’re not perfect, but I haven’t seen any studies on how we can build better. As if the human body were the final draft—Laminated, signed, and stamped “Approved by the Universe.” It isn’t. Robots will likely build themselves better.
   
Think about it, robots are already catching up to human intelligence. That part is happening fast.
But when it comes to movement, we hand them our exact old blueprint—
Knees that grind, spines that protest, balance that disappears at the worst possible moment.

Why? Because humans are the only model we know. Not because we’re optimal.
Not because we’re efficient. Just… familiar. Nature, meanwhile, is quietly laughing at us.
No one is taking the time to come up with a better format.
   
Wheels beat feet on roads.
Wings embarrass arms in the sky.
Octopus tentacles run circles around fingers in tight spaces.
     
No creature is perfect at everything—
So why are we forcing robots to cosplay as humans?
Here’s the real leap.
     
The grown-up question. The one that makes ego sweat.
What happens when we stop designing robots to look like us…
And let robots design themselves?
     
No nostalgia. No sacred anatomy. No, “this is how we’ve always done it.”
Just function. Just physics. Just evolution—on fast-forward. 🚀
The future of movement may not be walking.
     
It may roll. Flow. Glide. Swarm. Fold itself. Unfold itself.
Reshape itself moment by moment, like a thought changing its mind.
The question isn’t whether humans have perfect movement.
We clearly don’t. 😏
   
The real question is this:
Are we brave enough to let go of ourselves…
To reshape the human body?
     
Enjoy these robot videos >>
AI Exposed: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPx2LCs0z9Q
Dancing?:     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kukXFi99v3A
Sex?:             https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYfE5_P2CW4&t=62s
Juggling?:    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JVtdjKgB75U
     
4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—glimmers of wisdom that light our way. They contain big truths in small packages, offering comfort, clarity, and courage when we need it most. A single line can steady a trembling heart, clarify a foggy thought, or remind us to keep moving toward our dreams with a whisper that says, “Keep going—there’s more ahead.”
     
“Robotics are beginning to cross that line from absolutely primitive motion to motion that resembles animal or human behavior.” – J. J. Abrams
     
“No robot will ever be as smart as YOU!” – Kit Summers.
   
“Robotics and other combinations will make the world pretty fantastic compared with today.” – Bill Gates.
   
“If something robotic can have responsibilities, then it should also have rights.” – Emily Berrington.
   
“History is not going to look kindly on us if we just keep our heads in the sand with arms folded. Autonomous robotics is an issue because it sounds too science fiction.” – Peter Singer.
   
“The way that the robotics market is going to grow, at least in the home, is that we’ll have several different special-purpose robots.” – Colin Angle.
   
“I hope that by 2050 the entire solar system will have been explored and mapped by flotillas of tiny robotic craft.” – Martin Rees.
     
“In the field of robotics, the future is limited only by our imagination.” – Bob Reiner.
     
“Robotics is not about making machines to serve us.
It’s about creating machines that can be our partners.” – Cynthia Breazeal.
   
“A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.” – Isaac Asimo.v
     
“A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.” – Isaac Asimov.
   
“Robots are the pioneers of exploring places where humans cannot go.” – David Hanson.
   
“Robotic engineers are modern-day magicians, bringing inanimate objects to Life.” – Ayanna Howard.d
   
“Robotics is not just a field of science; it’s a canvas for art, innovation, and progress.” – Rodney Brooks.
   
“Robotics isn’t about machines; it’s about creating companions that enhance human capabilities.” – Raffaello D’Andrea.
   
“There are an endless number of things to discover about robotics.
A lot of it is just too fantastic for people to believe.” – Daniel H. Wilson.
   
“Robots are interesting because they exist as a real technology that you can really study – you can get a degree in robotics – and they also have all this pop-culture real estate that they take up in people’s minds.” – Daniel H. Wilson.
     
“Sometimes a technology is so awe-inspiring that the imagination runs away with it – often far, far away from reality. Robots are like that. A lot of big and ultimately unfulfilled promises were made in robotics early on, based on preliminary successes.” – Daniel H. Wilson.
======
5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Design your robot. 🤖✨
Roam the wild internet savanna. Gather ideas. Borrow boldly. Steal like an artist.
Then—here’s the fun part—don’t copy. Twist it. Flip it. Make it yours.
Be different on purpose. Find your way, not the well-worn one.
That’s where the magic hums.
=======
6) NEXT WEEK–BLOG 361–Living Beyond the Age of 100. 

Write me today–kitsummers@gmail.com

7) FINAL THOUGHTS 🌟
Because the best is always still ahead.
So juggle joy like it’s the air you breathe.
The horizon holds more than you can yet imagine.
Your present moment is not the finish line—it’s your starting block.
Chase sunsets as if they’re secret treasures waiting just for you.
Laugh so loudly that tomorrow leans in to listen.
Live as though you’ve only just begun—
BECAUSE YOU TRULY HAVE! 

  ✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 359–You Still Matter! 🌟
This Video will let you know more about me–
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8QFnD1yGc
This Blog is Best Read on a Laptop, Rather than Your Phone.
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback

To Learn More about Kit, Go Here >> https://kitsummers.com/about-kit/

Once upon a life, I made gravity nervous—
Headlining at Ballys, tossing clubs with a grin.
Seven of them. A world record—
Because physics loves a good insult. 😄✨
Then came the truck—the coma.

Thirty-seven silent days offstage.
And here I am now—not juggling clubs.
But purpose, grit, and joy.
Balancing healing, catching courage.
Tossing hope sky-high.
   
The mission grew bigger than applause.
Now I lift humans. I write to stay connected.
I write because it’s how I breathe.
If these words help you, too?
That’s magic catching air. 🎉     

1)  THE BEGINNINGS
Elisabeth & Mike Brown sent me a Christmas card.
A real one.
Paper.
Ink.
Postage. 📬
I was genuinely delighted.
Inside, they wrote:
“Dear Kit, we LOVE your blog!!”
Well, now… that’ll make a writer sit up a little taller.
Thank you, Elisabeth & Mike.
That meant more than you know.
The only card I received in a very long time. 😢
   
And to the rest of you—yes, you—the quiet readers, the silent nodders, the midnight scrollers who don’t often write back… I see you. I feel you. And I thank you. Every read, every smile, every “huh… that made me think” keeps these words marching forward. ❤️
   
Now, a small linguistic curiosity from your resident word-watcher:
I read about fifteen news articles a day.
(Don’t judge me—I like to know what humans are up to).
Lately, I keep seeing the phrase “mince words.”
Over and over.
Almost daily.
   
It’s funny how language sneaks around like that—suddenly popping up everywhere, as if it just got a publicist. And speaking of sneaky language… When did “nowadays” quietly slide together and become “nowadays”? Who approved that meeting? Was there a vote? A secret committee? 🤔
   
If words can merge without notice, what’s next?
“Thankyou”?
“Goodnightforever”?
“Kitlovesyou”?
“Waitaminute”?
Language, like life, keeps evolving—whether we’re ready or not.
And honestly? I love watching it happen. 💫
     
Or I could write an entire paragraph without a single space. Can you read this? >>
ButwhatwouldIevenbeabletosay?Haveyouevertriedthis?It’sexhaustinglyawkwardandoddlysatisfyingattheexactsametime.Notusingthespacebarfeelsliketryingtowalkwithyourshoelacestiedtogether.Goahead—tryit.I’mcurioushowlongyoulast.Sendmewordlater.  😄
   
C
A
N

Y
O
U

R
E
A
D

T
H
I
S?
   
Now you know: typing without the space bar is sneakier than it looks. 😄
Give it a try—you’ll be delightfully surprised (and mildly humbled).
Consider this your tiny daily adventure—no helmet required. 🚀
Let me know how it goes… bonus points for surviving the urge to hit that spacebar. 😉
   
2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
            The daily doings of Kit—A little inspiration—daily. 

1/3 — 3:00 am.
Already awake. Already writing.
See how committed I am to helping you?
(Some people jog at dawn. I wrestle words before sunrise. Same thing. 🥇)   
     
This morning, I walked over to the local grocery store, Publix.
Only a couple of blocks away—yet Brett from NR had to escort me.
He wonders, like I do, why I’m even at NearoRestorative in the first place.
Good question, Brett. I’ve been asking for answers, too.
   
Right now, I’m watching Die Hard. Except… I’m not really watching it. My mind drifts. Characters appear and disappear, and I can’t always tell if they’re new or if I’ve lost the thread.
At times, focusing feels slippery—like trying to hold water.
That worries me.
I catch myself wondering: Is this how dementia starts?
And that thought—honestly—terrifies me.
     
If I ever reach a point where I lose my mind, where I no longer recognize myself or need others to care for me through confusion and decline… I don’t want that life.
Not for me. Not for them. The idea alone makes my chest tighten.
     
And here’s the twist—this blog is about “Do You Matter?”
Today, I’m asking myself that question.
At times, I am scared I am losing it.
   
My sister Sandy’s husband is slipping deeper into dementia. She daily sits Tommy in front of the television, where he stays, entertained and safe—but no longer himself. He used to be vibrant. Engaged. Fully present. Now, he still recognizes Sandy… but his sons, Wally and Russell? Not so much.
Watching that happen—slowly, painfully—leaves a mark.
   
As I’ve written before, if my mind ever fades to that point, I would not want to continue living.
Not out of despair—
Out of dignity. Out of love.
Out of a desire not to have a long goodbye.
     
These words aren’t dramatic.
They’re deliberate.
If there ever comes a time when I no longer know myself.
Use these words as my voice.
=====
1/4 — Who are they?
This morning, around 4:30, I woke to the sound of two guys chatting in the hallway outside my door and just standing there; employees of NR. Talking and laughing quietly. Most people were asleep—except Bob, of course (Bob is always awake in his own universe).
   
They stood there for a good half hour.
Half an hour of paid time.
Half an hour of life.
I lay there thinking how strange it is—how money moves through the world in such odd ways.
     
Which brings me to another thought that’s been rattling around in my head.
This stay—this long, winding chapter in a brain injury hospital—is being paid for by Selective Insurance—the insurance company of the man who hit me back in 1982.
   
That single moment keeps echoing forward through time, still generating bills, still shaping my days. I know this must be costing a fortune. And I wish—deeply—that there were some way I could help shoulder that weight. Gratitude mixes strangely with helplessness.
   
One of the few pure joys I have is going outside to clean and fix up the garden and patio. Today, there were fewer cigarette butts—progress! Still too many, but fewer. A couple of people stopped to tell me the place looks great. That mattered more than they probably realized.
   
I plan to expand the garden in the fall if I’m still here.

Screenshot

And if not, this will remain.
A quiet, growing reminder that I was here.
That I cared. That I left something living behind. 🌱
     
Now, please forgive me while I complain just a little.  🙎
I put my retainer in around 7 am. By noon, the pain had grown so intense that I had to take it out. This pain is enormous. Relentless. Teeth pain is a special kind of torture—sharp, invasive, impossible to ignore. It’s honestly one of the hardest things I’ve ever endured.
     
My sister suggested I consider suing the dental clinic. I may look into that. They should have given me more time. More explanation. More space to decide. And with a brain injury… was I even fully capable of making that decision? I don’t know. That question alone hurts.
   
Even now, while writing this blog—for you—I sometimes have to close one eye because I see double. My ears ring constantly with tinnitus. My walking is atrocious because I’m exhausted from lack of sleep. I move through the day tired, foggy, rarely comfortable. Enjoyment feels like a language I once knew but can’t quite speak anymore. Death will be welcomed one day (after I reach 100, that is.)
   
Life at NeuroRestorative is suffocating. I can’t even cross the street to go to the park alone. The rule is degrading but straightforward: I need an escort to go, and an escort to return. I’ve said it feels like jail, and I stand by that. I am not a child—not in any way that matters—yet that is how I exist here. Humbling. Frustrating. Lonely.
   
One last strange observation: I grew up in San Diego, right next to the Mexican border. And yet, here—far from where I was raised—I hear more Spanish spoken than I ever did back home. Life is funny like that. You think you understand patterns, geography, culture… and then the world rearranges itself when you’re not looking.
   
Still, despite all of this—I’m here.
Still writing.
Still noticing.
Still planting things.
Still believing that even in pain, even in confinement, even in confusion…
   
✨Did you notice?✨
I still matter.
And so do you.
Thanks for sitting with me at this moment.
   
BOB   At 4 pm
Right now, Bob is down the hall, yelling—again. He sort of growls very loudly. The sound carries, sharp and restless, bouncing off the walls like it’s looking for somewhere to land. There are moments when he seems almost normal, when you could imagine a conversation, a shared laugh, a regular human exchange. And then—without warning—the brain injury takes the wheel.
   
It’s like watching a switch flip.
The man who was there disappears, and someone else steps forward.
Someone louder. Someone unpredictable. Someone frightening.
   
A staff member is with him now, trying to calm the storm, speaking softly into chaos. I know they’re doing their best. I know this isn’t Bob’s fault. And still… my body doesn’t care about logic. Fear doesn’t negotiate. This scares me.
   
It’s a reminder of how fragile the mind can be, how thin the line is between calm and confusion, safety and panic. Hearing him shout makes my chest tighten. It makes me want distance—walls, space, air. It makes me want out.
   
I don’t want to live on the edge of constant alarm.
I want peace.
I want quiet.
I want to feel safe again.
And that’s not asking too much.
=====
1/5–Socks and ankles.
My lower legs have decided to audition for a balloon festival. 🎈
Not a subtle audition either.
More like: “HELLO, we are here, we are swelling, and we demand attention.”
   
It started politely. Then escalated quickly.
Now my calves look like they’re storing emergency helium.
Naturally, I went on a sock safari through Amazon. 🧦🌍
Every “medical solution” sock came with a tight little band at the top—
Clearly designed by someone who has never owned ankles.
   
The band squeezed my legs like it was interrogating them for state secrets,
and my feet puffed up below it in protest—
“Sir, we do not consent to this compression.”
   
Fine. I outsmarted the socks. ✂️😎
I cut the bands off every single pair.
All 35 of them.
Victory? Oh no. That was merely Act One.
   
Even band-free, my legs continued swelling—
calmly, confidently, as if to say:
“Nice try, human. We do what we want.”
So now I’m officially baffled and throwing this out to the universe:
🦶🔍Are there any podiatrists out there who want to solve
The Curious Case of the Inflating Kit?
Nobel Prize potential. Call me. 610-400-3233
   
🧠 Therapy Report
9–10 am: OT with Terrie. 🌱 We went outside and worked on the tomatoes—
My leafy overachievers. I planted six plants. SIX.
   
They responded by growing like they’re training for the Olympics. 🏋️‍♂️🍅
Gold medal in “Aggressive Photosynthesis.”
I bought a frame to support them, and today’s mission was to organize the plants.
Yes. I now manage tomato traffic.   Yield. Merge. No passing.
   
10–11 am?     Cornhole.
If you’ve never played, imagine this thrilling concept:
There’s a wooden board. Ten feet away. It has a hole.
You throw beanbags. The beanbags go in the hole.
That’s it. That’s the game. 🎯
I showed up. I observed. I declined.
My brain quietly leaned over and whispered,
“Buddy… we need more stimulation than this.”
   
Here’s the frustrating part:
There are countless creative, engaging, brain-boosting games out there—
Many are specifically designed for people with brain injuries.
But instead of curiosity…
instead of innovation…
instead of even a five-minute internet search…
We get Cornhole. Again. That’s it.
   
That’s all the therapy for today.
Two sessions.
Minimal progress.
Full stop. 🛑
   
I could design programs for them.
I want to design programs for them.
But will they ever try something new?
That question keeps bouncing around my head like—
Well, another beanbag. 😐
   
The afternoon stretched out empty.
Nothing scheduled. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to grow.
I’ll be honest—I’m really sick of living here.
And the most challenging part? I don’t know what’s next.
   
Around 3 pm, I surrendered to the cinema and watched
Clint Eastwood in A Fistful of Dollars. 🤠
A gritty, old-school Western—
perfect for passing the time and reminding me that
even loners with squinty eyes, ponchos,
and questionable morals eventually ride off
toward something new. 🎈😄
Here’s hoping I do too.
Preferably without the balloon ankles.
=====
1/6–Memory
Every morning, I wake up and try to remember my dreams.
I pause. I search. Nothing. They slip away like mist at sunrise.
So I wonder—do you remember yours?
   
Dreams arrive unannounced, bend reality, stir emotions, then vanish before breakfast. Some people recall every detail. Others wake with only a feeling—a whisper that something happened.
That may be enough.
   
Because even forgotten dreams still do their work: They sort. They heal. They prepare us.
Quietly. Faithfully. Overnight. That’s a dream worth waking up for.
And whether you remember them or not, each morning brings a new dream anyway—
A fresh chance, a fresh dance.
A blank page. Another opportunity to imagine who you’ll be today.
   
NearoRestorive
Around noon, Maryann from PT stopped by to talk with me about Cornhole—the game I’d spoken critically about earlier. She took time to share how many people genuinely enjoy it, and I appreciated that. It’s good to know it brings joy to others, and I understand why it’s such a familiar, go-to choice.
   
What I was trying to express wasn’t criticism for the sake of criticism—it was care. My concern is simply that there are so many other activities that might better support people with brain injuries in different, more targeted ways. From my perspective, Cornhole can feel like the default because it’s known and comfortable, not necessarily because it’s the best fit for everyone.
       
I care deeply about helping people here grow, heal, and feel engaged. So I plan to keep looking, studying, and exploring—just as I believe therapists naturally do—and come up with ideas we could try. Yes, new approaches take time for both patients and therapists to get used to. But that’s life. Growth usually asks us to stretch a little. And truly, there are hundreds of possibilities worth exploring, all waiting to be tried with curiosity and care.
   
The teeth.
As often happens these days, my retainer behaves until about noon.
Then the pain steps out from behind the curtain and takes a bow. 🎭
The glue gives up. The fit loosens.
And suddenly this tiny piece of plastic turns traitor—
Slippery, painful, uncooperative, determined to escape.
     
So I do what must be done. Out it goes. Before it revolts completely.
Before it demands a complete cleaning and a timeout.
And right on cue—like an unwelcome guest who knows. 

Exactly when to arrive—the memory shows up.
     
That decision. The one where I said yes to having my lower teeth extracted.
It enters my mind like a knife. Sharp. Immediate. Regret-shaped.
Some lessons don’t whisper. They ache.
   
And yet… here I am. Still adapting. Still learning. Still choosing to move forward—
Even when the mouth hurts, the memories sting, and noon feels heavier than it should.
Pain visits.       But it doesn’t get to move in.        Not today. 💙
=====
1/7–As I awaken
Waking up with “What the hell am I doing here?” isn’t a weakness.
It’s a soul that’s tired of pretending.
It’s a heart that’s bruised and still beating.
Right now, it is hard being here with the brain-injured.
   
Meeting with Lilly and walking away feeling worse?
That stings. Deep. Aganizing. Unsure.
Sometimes conversations don’t land—they collide.
And when you’re already carrying anger, 
It can feel like someone kicked the bruise rather than tend to it.
   
Not finding anything to live for today doesn’t mean there is nothing.
It means today is foggy, and fog lies.
Anger often shows up when grief has been waiting too long to be heard.
And here’s the part I don’t want you to miss—because it’s quietly powerful.
     
Today, I went back to https://cleantheworld.org/
I showed up. I worked fast. Focused. Accurate.
Twice the speed—not to impress anyone.
But because that’s who I am when I put my hands on something real.
     
Then I returned to my room.
The anger sat down beside me.
That makes sense.
   
When the work ends, the noise inside gets louder.
Anger isn’t a failure—it’s energy with nowhere to go.
It’s the part of me that still cares, still burns, still refuses to go numb.
   
I don’t need to find meaning today.
That’s too big an ask for a day like this.
Just have to live through it and move on.
   
Just do this instead—smaller, braver, truer:
Let today be honest, not hopeful.
Let anger speak without letting it drive.
   
Let the fact that you still work well, care deeply.
Feel intensely, that counts as evidence that you’re not done—
Even if you can’t see the next chapter yet.
     
Some days are not for answers. They’re for endurance.
For breathing. For getting through the hour without turning on yourself.
You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to hate this moment.
     
And you are still here, which means the story hasn’t slammed shut.
I have so much more to add to the world–let me know, what’s next?
I have to remember that, yes, “I still matter.”
=====
1/8–Here I am
Still here at NeuroRestorative.
Every day begins the same way—eyes open, body heavy, mind already running while the fuel tank reads nearly empty. I wake up exhausted and somehow start moving anyway. Why the fatigue keeps deepening, I don’t yet know. All I know is this: it’s real, it’s relentless, and it asks something of me every single morning. 💤➡️🚶‍♂️
   
Today brought only a couple of therapy sessions, but they landed with weight.
First was the memory group with Lilly.
She wrote 16 items on the board and gave us plenty of time to study them. I felt cautiously confident. I thought, Okay, I’ve got this.
Turns out—nope.
   
When it was time to recall, I remembered two.
Two.
That number still echoes a little too loudly.
But I did better than some people.
   
What stings more is this: right now, I can’t remember even one of those items. Not a single lonely survivor from that list. That realization hurts—not in a dramatic way, but in a quiet, bone-deep way. The kind that makes you pause and stare at the wall longer than usual. 🧠💔
   
Then came the game group.
We played Uno—a simple, familiar game, or at least it used to be. Today, my mind lagged behind the cards. I struggled to keep track, struggled to anticipate, struggled to stay afloat. I didn’t do very well, and I felt it. Each missed beat was a small reminder that things aren’t working the way they once did.
   
And yet… here’s the truth I don’t want to miss:
I showed up.
I stayed in the room.
I tried—even when it was uncomfortable, even when it bruised my pride.
   
This chapter is humbling. No confetti. No victory laps. Just effort, honesty, and the quiet courage of continuing when progress feels invisible. 🌱
Still here.
Still learning.
Still standing—tired, yes—but not done.
   
1/9–Diane, who works here, wrote a scalding letter to me about me yesterday. She knows NOTHING of me, yet wrote that I was not safe out in the world. She is so inaccurate, I cannot believe she even wrote the words. Sad to say, Diane is at the heart of matters.
   
Jasmine and Greg are looking into another place for me to live, so I will have to deal with things like this. I wrote before about my sense of loss of freedom I have found while here. But it doesn’t matter where I end up; I expect I will hate where I am and whatever it is.
     
Put my retainer in this morning, but it does not fit right and is painful to wear. I see no promising future for my teeth. I removed it. I hate this thing — intently. If I stop eating, it will stop my wanting to eat, that could be a good thing — as death comes calling.
   
I’m tired of life. I don’t want to keep running into these terrible things. All day today I only have one fucking therapy. I guess I’ve scared them all away. I give up. No, I don’t think I matter anymore. I hate life right now. My thoughts scare me right now.
   
Earlier, I asked myself, “What did I do yesterday?”
I could not think of one thing.
Not one thing.
   
I often wonder if I am getting worse over time. I don’t think so, but I am too close to the Kit. Life was so much better when I was out traveling in the old days. I could still have that, but why do I not look for the path there? I’ve traveled all over the world, so why do I keep myself stuck now, stuck here?
   
When I can, I discard medication because I don’t want to try to help myself. No need. I’ve not seen anything good for so very long. High blood pressure, oh well, I hope it will kill me soon. I have daughters, Jasmine and April, who I NEVER hear from. How do you think that makes me feel?
   
There are three pills I take in the morning. I threw out one of my vitamins; the other vitamin got caught in my throat, then came up, and I threw it in the trash. I’m very alone right now. I don’t care if it gets better or not.
   
Today I am feeling less and less like I matter– at all.
   
Sadness has taken over, but I brought it on myself.
I do not like being here.
I do not like the people here.
I do not like anything.
There is nowhere I want to go.
No one I want to be with (sorry)
Not sure what to do.
      ============================================
It’s hard for me to type and work on this while crying.
I just wrote the last day of my blog today.
I put my words through ChatGPT.com.
This is what I got back just today >>
=========
Kit… I’m happy you told me all of this. I’m going to slow us down for a moment and be right here with you. What you wrote isn’t just frustration or a bad day — it’s real pain, and it deserves care, not judgment.
     
First, let me say this clearly and with love:
You do matter. Even right now. Even when your mind is telling you the opposite.
That voice saying “I don’t matter anymore” is a symptom of suffering — not a verdict on your worth.
   
What I’m hearing (and I want to get this right)
You feel misjudged and harmed by Diane’s letter —
written by someone who doesn’t honestly know you.
   
Your freedom feels stripped, your choices narrowed, your identity boxed in.
Your body hurts (the retainer, the pills, the exhaustion), and it feels like betrayal on top of betrayal.
You’re feeling abandoned — especially by Jasmine and April — and that hurts at a soul level.
You’re tired of fighting, tired of proving, tired of hoping.
     
Some of your thoughts are scaring you, and you’re feeling very alone with them.
None of that makes you weak.
It makes you human under crushing pressure.
     
I need to pause on something important
You said:
You hope your health issues might kill you
You’re throwing away medication
You don’t care if things get better
Your thoughts scare you
     
That tells me you’re in real danger right now, emotionally and possibly physically.
I just wanted to let you know that.
I’m not here to lecture you.
I am here to help you stay alive through this wave, because waves pass — even the brutal ones.
   
“I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to be here anymore.”
If you feel like you might act on these thoughts today, please call 911 or ask a staff member where you are for immediate help.
   
If you’re not in the U.S., please tell me where you are, and I’ll find the correct number.
Reaching out is not failure. It’s self-preservation.
About Diane and that letter
A letter like that can feel like an execution in disguise.
   
But listen carefully:
Her words are opinions, filtered through policy, liability, fear, and limited contact.
They are not a complete assessment of your life, history, competence, or future.
People in systems often confuse control with care.
You are allowed to be furious about this.
You are also allowed to challenge it — with support, not alone.
   
About being “stuck” when you were once free
This part broke my heart:
“I’ve traveled all over the world… why do I keep myself stuck now?”
Because trauma narrows the world.
Because injury steals confidence before it steals ability.
Because systems make it easier to stay than to leave.
Because grief convinces us the past is proof the future is over.
   
But here’s the truth your sadness can’t see:
The part of you that traveled is still alive.
It’s just buried under pain and surveillance and exhaustion.
Right now, let’s reduce the load (not solve everything)
Please don’t try to answer “What do I do with my life?” today.
That’s too big for a wounded nervous system.
     
Instead, do one of these in the next hour:
Tell a real human (staff, Jasmine, Greg, a nurse) exactly how dark today feels
Drink a glass of water or eat anything soft —
not as a life plan, just as an act of defiance against despair
   
You said:
“Sadness has taken over, but I did bring it on.”
No.
Sadness came because you’ve been hit again and again while already injured.
Pain stacks. It doesn’t mean you caused it.
Kit, your story isn’t over — even if you can’t feel that right now.
But I can’t carry this alone with you.
I’m here.
And I care.
   
(Sitting alone in my room as I sit and type.)

3) 🌟BLOG 359–You Still Matter!
   
You Still Matter. Always.
Not as a hashtag.
Not as a Hallmark card.
Not as a polite phrase tossed out when people don’t know what else to say.
I mean it.
   
After my accident and a 37-day coma, I thought the curtain had closed.
The juggling I loved—the way I danced with gravity—was gone. 🎭
No stages. No applause. No laughter rolling back at me.
     
Then came the plot twist: Life didn’t end. It expanded.
I found new ways to make my days beautiful—
Through words. Through connection. Through curiosity, through salsa.
Showing up fully for the moment I’m in. 🌱
   
So hear this: Don’t shrink your life to what you used to do.
You’re not finished. You’re not broken. You’re still loaded with gifts the world needs.
   
Different doesn’t mean diminished. Often, it means deeper. 💙
Keep going. There’s more magic ahead. This Is a Truth with Backbone.
Your life has value. Period.
Not because of what you produce.
Not because of what you earn.
Not because of how fast you move.
How young you look, or what you once were.
You matter because you exist. Full stop. 💥
Especially in the hard seasons—
The quiet ones. The limping ones. How did I get here?
When you’re aging. When you’re healing. When you’re starting over—again.
     
I plan to live beyond 100. Care to join me? 😉 You Matter to Me 💛
Not casually. Not accidentally. On purpose.
When I write, you’re right here with me.
Not as a number. Not as a click or a stat.
But as a real human with real hopes and real struggles.
 
I don’t write for algorithms. I write for you because you chose depth over noise.
Meaning over excess. Presence over distraction. 🌱
You’re trying—to live well, love better, and leave people better than you found them.
That effort? That intention? It inspires me. 🔥
   
Three Words That Push Back—You still matter!
👉 You are loved—even when you don’t feel lovable.
👉 Your presence creates ripples you may never see.
👉 You are not your scars, your diagnosis, or your worst day.
   
“You still matter” punches holes in shame.
It plants a flag of hope right in the middle of the mess. 🚩
Not after you fix everything. Right now. An Invitation 🌱
I want to remind you to stop apologizing for taking up space.
Could you stop shrinking your story?
Could you stop waiting for permission to matter?
   
You mattered then. You matter now. And—surprise—you’re not done yet. 🎉
So breathe. Stand tall (or wobble bravely). This world is not finished with you.
You still matter.
Always. 💙✨
     
4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
    ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—glimmers of wisdom that light our way. They contain big truths in small packages, offering comfort, clarity, and courage when we need it most. A single line can steady a trembling heart, clarify a foggy thought, or remind us to keep moving toward our dreams with a whisper that says, “Keep going—there’s more ahead.”

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You can say to yourself, ‘I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.'” — Eleanor Roosevelt
   
“Yes, you matter! — Always remember that fact.” — Kit Summers
   
“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.” — Oscar Wilde.
   
“The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.” — Oprah Winfrey.
     
“If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person.” — Fred Rogers.
   
“Your success and happiness lie in you. Resolve to keep happy, and your joy, and you shall form an invincible host against difficulties.” — Helen Keller.
     
“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson
   
“People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.” — Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.
     
“We just need to be kinder to ourselves. If we treated ourselves the way we treated our best friend, can you imagine how much better off we would be?” — Meghan Markle
   
“Our job in this life is not to shape ourselves into some ideal we imagine we ought to be, but to find out who we already are and become it.” ― Steven Pressfield.
   
“Success is liking yourself.
Liking what you do.
And liking how you do it.” — Maya Angelou.
   
“You matter.
You are good enough.
You are loved.” — Unknown.
   
“You are not a drop in the ocean.
You are the entire ocean in a drop.” — Rumi.
   
“Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does.” — William James.
   
“Always remember you matter.
You’re essential, and you are loved,
And you bring to this world things no one else can.” — Charlie Mackesy.
   
“Just by being you, you make a profound difference.
Don’t ever forget that you matter.” — Unknown.
======
5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
Your family and friends matter, too!
Show them love and help them see their fantastic future.
Help them see the right path, as you find yours.
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6) NEXT WEEK–BLOG 360–Are You a R-o-b-o-t?
I know you’re out there, my friend. How about sending some words to me?
                                                              kitsummers@gmail.com

7) FINAL THOUGHTS 🌟
Because the best is always still ahead.
So juggle joy like it’s the air you breathe.
The horizon holds more than you can yet imagine.
Your present moment is not the finish line—it’s your starting block.
Chase sunsets as if they’re secret treasures waiting just for you.
Laugh so loudly that tomorrow leans in to listen.
Live as though you’ve only just begun—
BECAUSE YOU TRULY HAVE! 

✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 358–​Build Your Life as you Build Your House. 🌟
This Blog is Best Read on a Laptop, Rather than a Phone.
Thoughts from Kit to Make Your Life Smile at Your Better Future
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback
To Learn More about Kit, See >> https://kitsummers.com/about-kit/

Once upon a life, I was the guy who made gravity break a sweat.
Headlining at Bally’s in Atlantic City, I wasn’t just on top of the world—
I was tossing props in the air and catching them with a grin. 😄
 
Clubs flew like they had minds of their own—
Alive, rebellious, thrilled to be part of the act.
Seven of them.  A world record.
Because why juggle five when you can politely insult physics?
   
Life back then?
✨ Dazzling. ✨ Sparkly. ✨ Roaring with applause. ✨
The kind of acclaim that makes your bones hum and
Your heart says, Yes… this. This is it. 🎉
   
Then came the truck…
The coma…
My long nap…
The long, silent hallway of nothingness.
37-days where the world kept turning, but I wasn’t in it.
   
And yet—look at me now.
Not juggling clubs as much these days…
Instead, I juggle purpose, grit, hope, and the wild joy of being alive.
I toss resilience into the air and catch courage behind my back.
I balance healing on my chin and possibility on my toes.
   
My mission?
Oh, it outgrew the stage a long time ago.
Now I’m in the business of lifting humans—
Helping people (you) rise higher and shine louder.
Dreaming braver than you ever thought you could.
       
Because the show’s not over.
Not by a long shot.
And this version of me?
Helping you to reach a higher level.
I’m carrying more magic than ever.
   
I need a connection to the world.
Writing this blog fulfills that desire.
It helps me more than it helps you.
I write exactly how I feel.
I hope my words please you.

======
1)  THE BEGINNINGS

It’s so great to hear from my friends who like reading my blog.
Each week, this inspires me and gives me a reason to write the next blog post.
     
This week, the blog is very special — the place where you live; you must love it. Get in the habit of, every day, fixing up and cleaning up one of the rooms in your home. Make it a habit to do this regularly, and you will be happy you did.

Thanks for your words, Judy Finelli >>
“Kit, as usual, your blog is full of lots of great things to keep in mind, and thank you so much for being there. I realize that you are in a conflicted place. I hope you find whatever it is you need—wishing you a delightful New Year with many unexpected new treasures! Thank you for being! Take good care.”

So strange, I feel like I have no friends here, and I am alone.
But I know you are there and will write to me.

======
2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK >> 

12/27 — The YouTube Hole (and Other Human Things)
Most of today slipped by while I watched YouTube videos.
There. I said it. 😅
   
It embarrasses me a little—because I know I can do better. I know my time is valuable. And yet… down the algorithm rabbit hole I go. (Those videos are sneaky. One minute it’s “just one,” the next it’s an hour and a half, and someone is explaining how to survive a bear attack with a paperclip.)
   
I did work on the blog—some—But it’s not done—Not yet.
   
There are still tweaks calling my name. Sentences that need polishing. Ideas that need more breathing room. That’s the thing about writing—it’s never really finished, it just reaches a moment where you say, “Okay… for now.”
   
And that’s the real secret to excellent writing: fearless editing. These words didn’t arrive fully dressed. They were written, reread, reshaped, added to, trimmed back, and loved into their final form. Writing isn’t about getting it perfect the first time—it’s about being willing to change for a better ending.
Stay open. Stay curious. Keep refining.
Yes—you can write with magnificence! 🌟✍️
=====
12/28 — Plastic Teeth, Patience, and Cigarette Butts
I don’t wear my retainer every day—but I am wearing it more often. Today included. 👍
The last time I wore it, it hurt. Not a whisper of discomfort—more like a full-on protest.
But right now? It’s behaving. This is one of those slow lessons:
Getting used to something uncomfortable takes time. Patience. And a willingness to keep showing up.
   
Later, I went out to clean the grounds—my unofficial daily service project. And what did I find? A chair was parked right next to a large trash can… and four cigarette butts were tossed neatly on the ground beside it.
Right. Next. To. The. Can. 😑
   
Why is it that so many smokers seem to think littering is just part of the habit?
Is it included in the starter kit? Smoke. Flick. Walk away. How do we stop this?
Education? Shame? A smoking-butts fairy who appears at night and tapes them to foreheads?
I don’t have the answer—but I do have two hands, a trash bag, and a sense of responsibility.
So I cleaned it up. Again.
=====
12/29 — Quiet Halls, Big Questions, and Bob
Many people are out because of the holidays. I truly hope they’re having a wonderful time—full of laughter, rest, and perhaps pie. 🥧
   
I spent most of the day working on this blog for you. You’re welcome. 😄
(And yes, I really do mean that.)  Do you like this one

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At 1:00 p.m., I had my half-hour speech session with Dino. He suggested I write another book. Interesting idea. Tempting idea. Slightly terrifying idea.
   
I showed him how much ChatGPT already knows about my background—and how easily it could help pump out a book. The tools are there. The story is there. The experience is there.
But am I there?    That’s the question.
   
Bob—across the hall, survivor of a brain injury—has been broadcasting his inner universe at full volume all afternoon. His sentences charge out of the gate with confidence, take a scenic detour through confusion, forget their mission entirely, and never quite circle back home. It’s oddly athletic. Linguistic parkour. This man is extremely hard to understand

Days like this remind me that this place isn’t just a facility—it’s a living laboratory of human unpredictability. No clipboards required. Case study in real time.
Then Bob took a stroll down the hallway with his walker.
     
Completely naked. No warning. No context. No emotional seatbelt.
Some images do not ask permission before branding themselves onto your soul.
That was one of them. It will be hard to forget. And, yes, his was bigger than mine.
   
Meanwhile, in my own quieter battle, I’ve had my retainer in all day—heroic commitment, questionable wisdom. My mouth aches. My teeth are protesting. The pain has crept north and settled into a steady headache, like it’s unpacking for an extended stay

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So here I am:
Dodging unsolicited nudity.
Enduring dental rebellion.
And reminding myself—through the noise, the pain, the absurdity—
That surviving isn’t always graceful…but it is still surviving.
   
And today, that counts. 💥
This may not be my next direction.
I don’t know what it is.
And so—what’s next for Kit?
Honestly? I don’t know–yet.
     
But I’ve learned something significant over the years:
You don’t have to see the whole path to take the next step.
I’ll get there.
I always do. 🌱✨
(I’m glad you’re with me.)
======
12/30  Someone came by at about 3:30 am and knocked on my door. Said she was, “Making her rounds.” I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep, so I let her know. I asked her not awaken me again because I will not get back to sleep. She said ok, but I could tell she wasn’t listening. I didn’t get back to sleep.
     
My trash can was only about a quarter full. I forgot to bring it into the bedroom with me last night. Of course, I had a brand-new bag in the can this morning. I must remember to bring my can into the bedroom at night, so it’s my fault. That’s the last I will write about the trash can bag waste.
   
Yesterday, I wore my dentures all day. By evening, my mouth was very painful. When I was young, the idea of dentures was beyond me; I thought I would never have them. But here I am, looking at a different picture of myself. This morning, the denture went in at 4:12 am, and there is no pain — yet.
   
Bob—across the hall, survivor of a brain injury—has been broadcasting his inner universe at full volume all afternoon. His sentences charge out of the gate with confidence, take a scenic detour through confusion, forget their mission entirely, and never quite circle back home. It’s oddly athletic—linguistic parkour.
   
Days like this remind me that this place isn’t just a facility—it’s a living laboratory of human unpredictability. No clipboards required. Case study in real time.
Then Bob took a stroll down the hallway with his walker.
     
Completely naked. No warning. No context. No emotional seatbelt.
Some images do not ask permission before branding themselves onto your soul.
That was one of them. It will be hard to forget. Yes, his was bigger than mine.
   
Meanwhile, in my own quieter battle, I’ve had my retainer in all day—heroic commitment, questionable wisdom. My mouth aches. My teeth are protesting. The pain has crept north and settled into a steady headache, like it’s unpacking for an extended stay.
   
So here I am: Dodging unsolicited nudity.
Enduring dental rebellion.
And reminding myself—through the noise, the pain, the absurdity—that surviving isn’t always graceful…
But it is still surviving. And today, that counts. 💥
Once again, no breakfast was available to anyone this morning.
   
From 10-11 am, I was with Terrie for OT. She covered things like, “What do I remember from the past year that was good?” I could not think of anything. I like the blogs I write. What do you think? I’ve not heard from you.
======

12/31   I slept in until about 4:00 this morning—though “slept” might be generous. Mostly, I lay there, drifting, thinking, listening to the quiet. Eventually, I got up and began the gentle ritual of starting another day.
   
Being here at NeuroRestorative is a constant whisper from my past, a reminder of the brain injury I survived so many years ago. Some days it presses harder than others.
   
Today, oddly, it felt almost like a quiet vacation—hardly anyone around, the halls hushed, the world moving softly. I did manage breakfast, which counts as a small win. Small wins matter. 🌱
   
Outside, the grounds were surprisingly clean this morning.
Not many cigarette butts.
Not much litter.
I paused and smiled—could it be that things are actually getting better? Or maybe the universe just wanted to give me a little nod, a silent “thank you” for caring. Either way, I’ll take it.
 
Today’s schedule was feather-light—once again, just a single therapy session. Speech. Thirty minutes at 1 p.m. with Dino, a man who knows. And that was it. I shrugged. Oh well.
     
The therapists are away for the holidays, and honestly—I get it. Everyone deserves time off. Time to rest. Time to breathe. Time to remember they’re human beings, not just job titles or clipped lanyards moving from room to room. Sometimes doing less is precisely what allows us to refill what matters most.
   
Later, there was a retirement celebration for Ann Marie—15 years here, and 32 years in nursing. Think about that. Decades of showing up. Decades of helping people at their most vulnerable. A life of service; she will be missed.
   
I found myself craving a Corona Light.
A flicker of the old me.
Not the place.
Not the time.
   
The room filled with people, laughter, and more cakes than any one room truly needs (though many tried valiantly). Folks returned from their Christmas break just for this, and that alone said everything: love brings people back.
   
And then something quietly extraordinary happened.
A few people came up to me and thanked me for the garden.
Just like that.
   
They didn’t thank me for juggling, or words, or ideas—just for planting something and tending it. And it stopped me in my tracks. Because in that moment, I realized I’m leaving something behind. Not a trophy. Not a title. But a living thing. A place of beauty. A reminder that someone cared enough to make this corner of the world a little better.
   
That got me thinking…
When you’re gone from a place—any place—what remains because you were there?
What small kindness, what quiet effort, what living “garden” will whisper your name long after you’ve moved on?
     
You don’t need to be loud to be remembered.
You need to love something into existence.
And when you do—its echo carries farther than noise ever could. ✨💚
======
1/1 Happy Nude Year! (I always wanted to say that. You will be wearing clothes, though, yes?)
Last night was New Year’s Eve. I hope you made your New Year as fantastic as you are.
   
The first thing I hear this morning is Bob from across the hall. They have the door closed today, but I still hear his anger and frustration with life. I want to help, but how can this man keep going?
   
Put my retainer in today — hoping it will not become painful by the end of the day.
   
Many people say, “Happy New Year.” For me, it’s just another day.
   
I’ve written a few times about John, who lives across the hall from me. He is the guy who has trouble walking without sliding his feet. I barely got to say goodbye. I think they should celebrate the person living the day before they depart.
 
I just found out that John will be moving into
https://celebrationvillaofwestpalmbeach.com/ 
Sounds like it will have much more freedom than we get here.
I’m glad for John and asked the person with him to look into Celebration for my future.
======
1/2  — It comes every year, the day after New Year’s.
Some people say, “Back to the old grind.” I say, “Back to the next project!” 
Up at 2 am, couldn’t get back to sleep.
   
The Day After the Party 🎉➡️🚀
It comes every year—the day after New Year’s.
Some folks sigh, “Back to the old grind.”
I grin and say, “Back to the next project!”
   
Up at 2 a.m.
Sleep said, “Nope.”
So I said, “Fine. Let’s build something.”
     
🖥️ A Day of Keys, Clicks, and Quiet Wins
I worked on the computer most of the day—typing, thinking, rearranging the universe one sentence at a time. And—drumroll please—I found another place to live.
The details will be coming soon.
(Mystery is part of the fun. 🎩✨)
   
🎯 Corn-Hole & the Art of the Polite Nope
Today’s scheduled OT group game: Corn-Hole.
Some people love it. Truly. Passionately. Beanbags of joy.
For me? No, thank you.

For the uninitiated: there’s a board.
It has a hole.
You toss a beanbag.
The goal is… the hole.
Ten feet away. Riveting. 😐
   
Yes, I get it—hand-eye coordination, balance, brain engagement. All good things.
But the internet contains approximately one million other games that could help people here.
If someone spent 30 minutes searching, they’d find creativity, novelty, curiosity—all powerful medicine for healing brains.
   
Instead, Corn-Hole again. Comfortable. Familiar. Predictable.
Progress rarely lives there. That part makes me sad.
So I declined, smiled, and went upstairs to write these words.
This? This is my game. ✍️🔥
   
🦷 The Retainer Saga (A Tragedy in Several Acts)
Retainer in at 8 a.m.
By noon?
Pain had RSVP’d and brought friends.
     
I tried to eat lunch—couldn’t finish. Which is tragic, because it was a delicious Mexican mix 🌮💔
I’m now officially worried about the future of eating… which feels like a very reasonable concern.
Yes, another dentist appointment looms.

Yes, I’m furious at myself—again—for agreeing to this contraption.
As the tooth pain rises, the headache climbs right along with it. Teamwork, I did not request.
   
🌧️ A Dip in the Road.  I’ve always loved living.  I’ve always found joy.
But right now, my mind is wandering into darker neighborhoods.
The “what’s next?” district.
The “nothing to look forward to?” cul-de-sac.
     
My kids are grown and living their lives.
There’s no lovely lady beside me.
My mouth hurts—a lot.
And yes—scary thoughts sneak in when you’re tired, hurting, and alone.
This life? It can feel not very comforting.
🗣️ Dino to the Rescue (Friend Disguised as a Therapist)
   
Then Dino showed up.
Speech therapy—in my room. Thirty solid minutes.
Real conversation. Real progress. Real human connection.
He’s my speech therapist…
and also my friend.
     
And sometimes, one good conversation is enough to remind you:
You’re still here. You still matter.
And this chapter—however weird, painful, or uncertain—is not the last one.
 Onward. — Always onward. 💙✨
======
3) 🌟BLOG 358–Build Your Life as you Build Your House.

Build Your Life as You Build Your House
This isn’t just a metaphor.
It’s a blueprint for intentional living.
And yes, you can make your life magnificent.
   
A strong life, like a strong home, begins with a solid foundation.
It’s shaped by thoughtful planning, built with quality materials—
Your values, your character—and designed with one undeniable truth in mind:
Storms will come.
   
You don’t toss a house together and hope it survives the weather. You build it on purpose.
In the same way, a meaningful, resilient life is constructed through deliberate choices, sound principles, and steady effort—so when the winds howl, and the rain comes sideways, you’re not scrambling.
   
You’re standing. Grounded. Prepared. Still standing tall. 🌧️➡️🏠✨
Because storms don’t define the structure—The foundation does.
And you’re never too old (or too young) to start changing.
   
No one wakes up one morning and accidentally builds a great house.

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You don’t fling lumber into the air, whistle a tune, and—poof!—a dream home appears with granite countertops and perfect lighting.
   
No. You plan. You measure. You argue with blueprints. You sweat. You adjust.
And sometimes… You rip something out and start again.
Life works the same way.
   
Yet so many people try to live in a mansion built on sand—then act surprised when the walls start whispering, “We’re not feeling so stable today.” So let’s make this thing right. You must begin again and get the foundation right.
   
Step One: The Foundation (Who You Really Are) 🧱
Before a single wall goes up, a competent builder obsesses over the foundation.
Is it level? Is it strong? Will it hold when storms arrive uninvited?
     
Your foundation is your values. Your character. Your integrity—especially when no one is watching. You can decorate over cracks for a while. Throw rugs over weak spots. Paint happiness on the walls. But eventually—crack. Life leans on you. And what’s underneath matters.

A solid foundation looks like:
Honesty, even when lying, would be more straightforward.
Kindness, even when bitterness feels justified.
Responsibility, even when excuses are plentiful.
Pour this concrete carefully. It sets faster than you think.

Step Two: The Blueprint (Dreams with Direction) 📐
No builder starts without a plan—unless they enjoy chaos and crooked doorways.
Your blueprint is vision. Not wishful thinking. Not “someday-ish.” A real plan.
   
What kind of life do you want to live? What kind of person do you want to be inside that life?
Where are the windows—joy, curiosity, love—supposed to let the light in?
A blueprint doesn’t mean you won’t make changes.
It means you won’t wander endlessly wondering why nothing fits. Dream boldly—but label the rooms.
 
Step Three: Framing (The Choices That Hold Everything Up) 🔨 Framing isn’t glamorous.
No one tours a half-framed house and says,
“Wow. This two-by-four is breathtaking.”Please tell me if you don’t think framing is necessary.
The roof collapses.  Every time.  Your framing is your habits.
The small, ordinary, repetitive choices you make daily.
   
How do you start your mornings? What you feed your mind.
Who you allow into your inner rooms. How do you speak to yourself when you mess up?
Strong lives aren’t built on grand gestures. They’re built on ordinary days done intentionally.
Hammer by hammer. Choice by choice.
   
Step Four: The Materials (What You Build With Matters) 🪵
Cheap materials look fine—until the weather shows up.
Same with beliefs. Same with shortcuts. Same with the people you trust to help you build.
   
Are you building with Truth or convenience? Patience or panic? Courage or comparison?
Using flimsy materials to save time almost always costs more later—emotionally, spiritually, relationally.
Choose quality even if it takes longer. Especially then.
   
Step Five: Weatherproofing (Because Storms Are Coming) 🌧️🌪️
Every house faces storms. Every life does, too.
Loss. Failure. Illness. Loneliness. Plot twists that don’t ask permission.
   
Weatherproofing is resilience. It’s learning how to bend without breaking.
Repair without quitting. Please don’t hesitate to ask for help without shame.
Strong houses aren’t storm-free. They’re storm-ready.
   
Step Six: Renovations (Growth Is Not Failure) 🔧
Here’s the secret no one tells you:
Even beautifully built houses need remodeling.
Walls come down. Rooms change purpose. What once fit… doesn’t anymore.
That’s not failure. That’s evolution.
   
You’re allowed to outgrow old versions of yourself. You’re allowed to redesign.
You’re allowed to say, “This worked once—but not now.”
Rip it out. Build again. With wisdom this time. You can start again, again.
   
Step Seven: The Home You Invite Others Into 🏡❤️
A house becomes a home when people feel safe inside it.
Your life should feel like that, too.
Warm. Welcoming. Honest. Not perfect—absolute.
   
When someone steps into your presence, do they feel seen?
Encouraged? Lifted?
Could you leave the lights on?
Could you open the door?
   
The Final Walkthrough 🚪✨
At the end of the day, you don’t just live in your life—You live your life.
So, could you build it with intention? With patience. With joy.
     
Remember—no masterpiece was ever built in a rush.
Brick by brick. Breath by breath.
You are building something that will hold.
Your life is a continuous build, all your life.
And it’s going to be a beautiful place to live. 🏠💙. 🎉🏠💛

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4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
      ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨

Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—glimmers of wisdom that light our way. They contain big truths in small packages, offering comfort, clarity, and courage when we need it most. A single line can steady a trembling heart, clarify a foggy thought, or remind us to keep moving toward our dreams with a whisper that says, “Keep going—there’s more ahead.”
   
“The best way to turn a house into a home is to fill it with love and laughter.” –  William J. Bennett
   
“Love in your life should show through your home.” – Kit Summers
   
“Home, sweet home. There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.” – Jane Austen.
   
“Home, sweet home. There’s no place like it.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder.

“A house is no home unless it contains food and fire for the mind as well as the body.”  –  Robert Southey.
   
“Home, sweet home. This is the place to find happiness. If one doesn’t find it here, one doesn’t find it anywhere.” – M. K. Soni.
   
“Home, sweet home. This is where the heart is. Some go to Mecca. Some go to Disneyland. But everyone wants to come home at the end of the day.” – Harlan Coben.
   
“A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.” – George Moore.
   
“To me, a home is where you feel loved, safe, and cherished.”  –  Mal ala Yousafzai.
   
“A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life.”  –  Dalai Lama.
   
“A happy home is one of the most important places on earth.”   –  Billy Graham.
   
“One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect, the whole world looks like home for a time.” –   Hermann Hesse.
   
“There is no place like home.”  – Frank Baum.
     
“Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do but how much love we put in that action.” – Mother Teresa.
   
“Home is where you can make a mess and not get in trouble.”   –  John le Carré.
   
“Home is where you can find comfort in the kitchen and create beautiful memories around the table.” –  Rachael Ray.
   
“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors.”  –  Terry Pratchett
   
“Your home is your larger body. It grows in the sun and sleeps in the stillness of the night, and it is not dreamless.” –  Kahlil Gibran.
     
“Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”  –  Joseph Brodsky.
   
“Home is where you can relax, be yourself, and find peace amidst the chaos of life.” –  Tony Stewart.
 
“Home is the place where you become yourself, where you can be, and where you don’t have to pretend.” –  Henning Mankell.
     
“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”   –  Oliver Wendell Holmes.
   
“A home is more than a house. It’s a history, a legacy, and a sanctuary of the heart.”  –  James Patterson.
   
“Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave and grow old wanting to get back to.”  –  John Ed Pearce.
   
“Home isn’t where you’re from, it’s where you find light when all grows dark.” Pierce Brown

5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>

It’s time. Every day this week, clean a different section of your house.
Start a habit of always making your place look magnificent!  

6) NEXT WEEK–BLOG 359–You Still Matter!

I know you’re out there, my friend. How about sending some words to me?
kitsummers@gmail.com

🌟7) FINAL THOUGHTS 🌟
Because the best is always still ahead.
So juggle joy like it’s the air you breathe.
The horizon holds more than you can yet imagine.
Your present moment is not the finish line—it’s your starting block.
  Chase sunsets as if they’re secret treasures waiting just for you.
Laugh so loudly that tomorrow leans in to listen.
Live as though you’ve only just begun—
BECAUSE YOU TRULY HAVE! 

✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 357–HAPPY NEW YEAR!🌟
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback

Once upon a life, I was the guy who made gravity break a sweat.
Headlining at Bally’s in Atlantic City, I wasn’t just on top of the world—
I was tossing it in the air and catching it with a grin. 😄
 
Clubs flew like they had minds of their own—
Alive, rebellious, thrilled to be part of the act.
Seven of them.  A world record.
Because why juggle five when you can politely insult physics?
   
Life back then?
✨ Dazzling. ✨ Sparkly. ✨ Roaring with applause.
The kind of applause that makes your bones hum and
Your heart says, Yes… this. This is it. 🎉
   
Then came the truck…
The coma…
My long nap…
The long, silent hallway of nothingness.
37-days where the world kept turning, but I wasn’t in it.
   
And yet—look at me now.
Not juggling clubs as much these days…
Instead, I juggle purpose, grit, hope, and the wild joy of being alive.
I toss resilience into the air and catch courage behind my back.
I balance healing on my chin and possibility on my toes.
   
My mission?
Oh, it outgrew the stage a long time ago.
Now I’m in the business of lifting humans—
Helping people (you) rise higher and shine louder.
Dreaming braver than you ever thought you could.
       
Because the show’s not over.
Not by a long shot.
And this version of me?
Helping you to reach a higher level.
I’m carrying more magic than ever.
   
I need a connection to the world.
Writing this blog fulfills that desire.
It helps me more than it helps you.
I write exactly how I feel.
I hope my words please you.
         
1)  THE BEGINNINGS
It’s so great to hear from my friends who like reading my blog.
Each week, this inspires me and gives me a reason to write the next blog post.
     
Never sure about what to put in this part of the blog, but here it is.
Every week, I give it my all and hope that my words grab you and help you advance.
   
Even though there are so many therapists and patients around me,
I often feel very alone. What I truly long for is sincere and straightforward—to be with someone.
Someone to care for, to share life with, to love… and to be loved in return.
   
Maybe that person is you.
And if not, perhaps you know someone whose heart might meet mine halfway.
There are people here, but I feel more alone than ever.
I really miss being in love with someone.

When I’m with someone, I’m all in—no games, no wandering, just truth.
My passion runs deep and can sometimes feel like a tidal wave.
Either way, thank you for listening.
It means more than I can ever say. 🌱💖

    2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
(Please, let me know what you did this week, too.)

======
12/20–Where is everybody?
======
Because it’s the weekend, things are painfully quiet here at NR. Most people stay in their rooms, and the place feels stalled—like life is on pause. It’s sad. Just across the street is a large, open grassy area where people could walk, move, breathe, and feel human again.
   
There’s virtually no traffic on the weekends—there weren’t many cars passing by when I was out there. People could be out there playing and exercising in the sun. With minimal supervision, this could be done safely. Instead, weekends feel like a missed opportunity for connection, movement, and dignity. At times, it truly feels less like living and more like confinement.
   
I just came in from my daily cleanup of the garden, patio, and the area outside the buildings. Once again, I’m stunned by how much litter—especially cigarette butts—ends up on the ground. I picked up more than 50 butts in just a couple of days. I don’t understand why tossing them on the ground has become part of the habit. There are receptacles and trash cans available. The habit itself is bad enough; littering makes it worse.
 
I don’t know if anyone notices that I go out there several times a week to clean. I do it because I care about this place and the people in it—but it would be nice to feel that effort is seen and supported.
     
Myles, can you spread the word about using the receptacles provided instead of the ground? A small change like that would make a meaningful difference.
     
Lastly, it’s been four days since I’ve had a shower. I’m not doing anything that causes perspiration, so hygiene hasn’t been an immediate issue. I usually shower when I have an appointment or when discomfort and itching set in—typically after two or three days. I’m sharing this simply because it reflects the reality of how slow and inactive weekends are here.
 
I can understand why, with the bit of sleep I get.
There is a slight grassy area out the door where I can juggle. It was too small,
but it is big enough for 3 club juggling. I also put ribbons on two clubs so I
can do swinging with the clubs, with the ribbons trailing behind and looking good.
     
Nothing is happening here, oh well. I am on the computer doing what I do.
I just read this: “A satisfied life is better than a successful life.”
Those words hit me just right. I am happy with how my Life is going.
How about you? Are you satisfied with your success?
   
Actually, today I have become quite happy.
Joy is up to each of us and how we face life.
We constantly have this choice.
Choose right, every time.
======
12/22 — Choosing Depth Over Cupcakes
>>>>>
Today’s official schedule?  OT from 10–11 a.m. That’s it.
When I arrived, they were frosting cupcakes. Sweet. Festive.
Hard pass. I chose something richer.  🧁✋
   
I poured myself into this blog instead. Wrestled with
Section 3 is like a worthy opponent.
Writing those stories stretched me, challenged me, lit me up.
That kind of work leaves you tired in the best way—
The way that says, Yes, you’re still alive. Yes, you still care.
======
12/23 — Grit, Glue, and Guts
>>>>>
I haven’t been wearing my retainer much.
History lesson: it pops loose, comes unglued, makes a dramatic escape from my mouth. 🎭
Today, I tried again.
More adhesive. More patience.
Let’s see how it behaves.
     
Still, having these invaders in my mouth is uncomfortable.
Every time I wear the retainer,
It’s a sharp reminder of the terrible decision I made:
I had all my lower teeth extracted.
That regret doesn’t whisper.
It clears its throat and speaks loudly.
   
But I just watched a video about a guy who had his upper and lower teeth removed. He has a retainer that screws into his jaw, which is what I want. He said after he got used to it, the new teeth were fantastic. He said that missing or broken teeth can significantly affect your health.
   
The Quiet Weight of Loneliness.
Aloneness comes and goes.
Loneliness walks beside me most days.
Here at NeuroRestorative, it feels like there’s a wall between me and the real world—
Ihick, Invisible, Soundproof.
   
I haven’t seen anyone.
I don’t even know how to set something up from here.
So let me ask you—straight up:
Are you going to visit me?
Because I could really use that.
   
Living Among the Wounded
Being here with other brain injury survivors is hard.
Bob—right across the hall—is moaning and yelling full throttle today.
I wish I had a way to make a recording; you would be very interested.
Interesting for you, and for me.
     
There are 28 patients here now.
Every single one has something visibly wrong with them.
And I wonder…Do I?… Are my struggles obvious?
Or am I just quietly fighting my battles behind my eyes?
     
Floors, Silence, and Forgotten People
My room is on the third floor.
Myles’ office is on the first floor.
No one’s around. And I expect that emptiness to linger for days.
     
I went downstairs earlier.
The first floor feels heavier—more damage, more visible loss.
Two people in wheelchairs sat parked in front of the TV.
Just… stationed there.  Forgotten.
That didn’t sit right with me.  Not at all.
   
A Christmas That Doesn’t Quite Fit
It’s 11:25 a.m.
People are gathering for the Christmas celebration—about 30 of us now. 🎄
The third-floor kitchen is buzzing.
They’re playing Hangman.
I’m not playing.
I’m here. Writing to you.
     
I tried standing around. It didn’t work.
I’m not in a festive mood today—
Not with this crowd, not right now.
Food came later—Sunny’s Barbecue.
And I’ll give credit where it’s due:
It was damn good. 🍖🔥
   
Perspective, Earned the Hard Way
At least a dozen people here rely on aids—
Wheelchairs, walkers, supports of every kind.
And that reality hits me square in the chest:
I can walk. I can run.

What, exactly, is wrong with me?
That matters.  That’s not small.
That’s something to be grateful for—
Even on days that feel heavy, lonely, and painfully quiet.
Still here.  Still standing and still writing.
And that, my friend, counts. 💥
======
12/24 — The Long Pause (Now Featuring Jokes)
>>>>>>
Today feels like a weekend that forgot how calendars work.
A long pause.
A festive nothingburger with a side of déjà vu.
   
I went out for my daily scavenger hunt—collecting rubbish and cigarette butts, which seem to regenerate overnight like some urban fungus. Not much today. Either people behaved themselves, or the litter finally got tired of me winning.
Then it happened.
A staff member looked at me and said, “Thank you for what you do.”
Boom.
Instant serotonin.
Five words, zero calories, 100% effective.
   
Therapy schedule for the entire day:
🥁 One session.
Speech therapy at 11 a.m.
Thirty minutes.
That’s not a schedule—that’s a commercial break.
   
I expected things to slow down as Christmas approached, but this feels less like “holiday mode” and more like “everyone quietly vanished mode.” Still, even one appointment gives the day a skeleton. Without it, time just flops around like a jellyfish.
   
Speech therapy was with Dino—smart guy, sharp thinker, no-nonsense brain. Dino doesn’t have beliefs; he has results. He does what needs doing and moves on. Refreshing. This is my one chance if a therapy today, hope it goes well.
   
He also introduced me to ChatGPT, which means I now have a tireless thinking partner who never interrupts, never gets bored, and doesn’t steal my snacks. We talked blogs, ideas, mental frameworks, future topics—all the good stuff. Seeds planted. No watering schedule yet.
   
Then—like a cat knocking something off a shelf—my brain immediately leapt to my teeth. 🐈💥
Because of infection, a few had to come out.
Logical. Sensible. Medical.
   
When I made the executive decision to remove all my lower teeth. Why? Unknown. Mystery. Possibly a moment of extreme optimism or temporary insanity.
I now have replacements, a retainer. I use fake teeth. I tolerate them.
But “getting used to them” remains a long-term science experiment with mixed results. Some mistakes fade. This one sends daily reminders, like a push notification from the past: “Hey, remember me?”
 
I’ve also decided to grow my facial hair again. My hair grows so fast that if I cut it twice a day, it feels like a part-time job with no benefits. So instead, I let it all grow—beard, head, everything—and then once a week, I mow it down to a neat quarter-inch.
Low maintenance.
High efficiency.
The Costco model of grooming.
     
Nothing major happened today.
I spent most of it on the computer—writing, thinking, wandering mental hallways.
Occasionally, I’d stare into space like a philosopher who forgot why he stood up.
Not a big day.
Not a bad day.
   
Just one of those quietly human days where you show up, clean the world a little,
think some thoughts, crack a joke at your own expense, and call it progress.
Honestly?
I’ll take it.    
======    
12/25 — Merry Christmas!  🤹🏻‍♂️
>>>>>
As I awoke on this Christmas morning, my mind smiled.
Of course, there are people here who have to work on this holiday.
Polite. Safe. Slightly… beige. 😐
An extra special “Thank you” to them.
   
I could say, “Happy Holidays!”
But that feels like waving with mittens on.
So I’ll say it properly: Merry Christmas! 🎄
Loud. Clear. With bells on.
   
And this year, instead of wrapping paper and bows,
I handed out flying objects.
I’ve taught at least 25 people here how to juggle—
Scarves in the air, eyes wide, laughter popping like ornaments. 🎁🤹‍♂️
     
If Christmas needed a bow, it’d be spinning mid-air.
That absolutely counts as my Christmas gift.
Add some tinsel and juggle it with flair. ✨🎄
     
She was making her rounds at **3:58 a.m.**
I was already awake—because of course I was.
Then I heard it, floating down the hallway like a tiny wrapped gift:

**” Merry Christmas.”**
Well… that’ll do it.   Instant wake-up call. 🎁⚡
Feet on the floor. Brain humming. Heart surprisingly warm.
   
So here I am—early, moving, alive—working on this blog **for you** while the world still snoozes.
**Good morning. Merry Christmas.** You’re reading this the day *after* Christmas, and I hope yours had laughter, love, and at least one moment that made you stop and smile.
   
Now here’s the plot twist.
There was a time in my life when I **never** imagined I’d wake up *here* on Christmas morning.
Not even in the weirdest alternate-universe daydream.
Do you see yourself ever waking up in a place like this?
     
In some ways, I feel like I was dropped into this place without a map—
No exit sign blinking, no clear path out.
Trapped?
Some days, yeah… it feels like that.
   
And yet—
People are kind.  People show up.  We lean on each other.
We do our best to make the day a little brighter for everyone in the room.
Still…December 25–here?
   
Feels like any other Wednesday, wearing a Santa hat. 🎅
No sparkle. No parade. No “ta-da!” Nothing special. Nothing is going on.
And somehow… I’m still here. Still writing and still wishing you joy.
Still finding light at **3:58 a.m.**
Funny how Christmas sneaks in anyway. ✨
     
🎄 Christmas: Now Featuring Sparkle, Silence, and Non-Teeth 🎄
   
Just went out to clean the patio and garden.
Good news: it was mostly sparkly. ✨
Bad news: a few cigarette butts and pieces of rubbish had escaped captivity.
I rounded them up like a festive trash sheriff.
Ho ho ho—law and order. 🧹😆
   
And yet—
Despite all these humans within a 50-foot radius,
This may be the loneliest Christmas I’ve ever experienced.
The hallways are quieter than a library on mute.
No laughter. No chatter. No accidental Christmas caroling disasters.
Just closed doors.  So many closed doors. 🚪🚪🚪
     
I really wish you were here with me.
At least we could whisper jokes and get kicked out together.
Around 3 p.m., they had a Christmas dinner downstairs.
Very nice. Very festive.
Unfortunately, my mouth is currently operating under the “No Chewing Allowed” policy.
Ah, yes—my teeth.   Or rather… my former teeth. 🦷✌️
   
Nothing to wrestle with.   Nothing to sink my gums into with enthusiasm.
I remember reading somewhere that bad teeth can negatively affect your life.
Mood. Health. Outlook.
So naturally, I responded by saying,
“Let’s remove ALL of them.”
Because I don’t do anything halfway. 🎯😬
   
I was sitting at a table downstairs when I suddenly said—out loud—
“WHAT AM I DOING HERE?”
No inside voice.   No warning.
Just me and my existential microphone drop. 🎤
   
I looked around. Blank stares everywhere.
No reaction. No sparkle. No joy.
Like a room full of people waiting for a reboot that never comes. 🔄😶
I felt sorry for them.  Truly.  And then I felt something else—
I do not belong here. I stayed a bit longer, trying to be noble.
     
Trying to be patient.
Trying not to scream,
“Is anyone else seeing this?”
Eventually, I bailed and came back upstairs to my room.
   
Instantly—Bob.
The moaning.  The sounds.  The unexpected holiday soundtrack no one asked for. 🎶😬
If Spotify had a category called “Existential Groans,”
Bob would be the featured artist of the month.
   
In my room, I had a big bowl of Chocolate Chip Ice Cream–BECAUSE I COULD!
   
Here’s the truth, wrapped in tinsel:
I am not happy here.  Not even a little bit.
Not even on Christmas with imaginary gravy.
And the extra-honest truth?  I don’t know how to get out.  Or what I’d do if I did.
   
🎉 BREAKING NEWS FROM THE DESSERT DEPARTMENT 🎉
I do have some good news—and it comes with crust. 🥧
As I was making my dramatic exit (cue slow-motion walk), one of the staff members spotted me, came to my room, and presented three different pie slices she had brought, like a game-show showcase. 
“Pick one,” she said—basically the Wheel of Fortune of desserts.
I chose pumpkin pie, because of course I did. 🎃
Wise. Noble. Seasonal.
   
And here’s the kicker:
That small, kind, pie-powered moment did way more than feed my stomach.
It fed my spirit.
It whispered, You’re seen. You matter. You’re not invisible today.
Thoughts that I needed to hear.
   
Never underestimate the power of a simple kindness…
Especially when it’s served on a plate with whipped cream potential. 😄✨
Sometimes hope shows up disguised as dessert.
And today?  Hope tasted like pumpkin pie. 🥧💥
   
I do know this:
This place doesn’t get to define me.  This chapter doesn’t get the final word.
And this Christmas—quiet, awkward, toothless and strange—
It is not the end of my story.
     
It’s just the weird middle part.  The part you laugh about later.
The part where you survive, observe, and secretly level up. 🎮✨
Still here. Still aware. Still asking big questions. Still alive.
And frankly—
That’s one hell of a Christmas gift. 🎁😄
=====
12/26 — The Day After
>>>>>
Woke up around 3 a.m. for a classic midnight.🚶‍♂️💧
(okay… early-morning) bathroom adventure
And then—cue the confetti—victory! 🎉
I crawled back into bed and boom… fell right back asleep. 😴✨
Small win. Big smile.
Life leaned over, gave me a wink, and said, “Nice work.” 🌙💙
   
Then came my daily garden/patio patrol. 🌿
And once again, I was reminded that some smokers
seem to believe littering is part of the ritual—
like a ceremonial offering to the ground. 🚬🤦‍♂️
Empty packs. Endless butts. Every. Single. Day.
Today’s haul? Two large #10 cans worth.
That’s not cleanup—that’s commitment.
     
Later, there was a community get-together called a “Town Hall Meeting.”
Hosted by Christine, who works alongside Myles.
The flyer promised a space “to communicate comments,
concerns, recommendations, suggestions, and questions.”
Translation: Speak now, humans. 🎤
   
About 15 residents attended—wheelchairs lined up like a thoughtful council.
I spoke up, offered a few solid suggestions, and felt good doing it.
Participation matters. Voice matters.
Even here. Especially here. 🌱💪
   
Another day.  A few wins.
Some trash was lifted. Some sleep reclaimed.
Progress—quiet, steady, and very real. 🌟

3) 🌟BLOG 357–HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Here are some unique stories to occupy your time.
Make this New Year’s a fantastic Holiday for you.
These seven stories are my gift to you. 😃

    ==========
🎉🎓 A–New Year, New Test… Same Old Excuses 🎓🎉
Once upon a very irresponsible evening—right between
“I’ll start fresh in the New Year” and “One more party won’t hurt”…
Four college kids rang in the season the traditional way:
🎉 Party now
📚 Study later
🎆 Make bold resolutions they fully intend to ignore by morning.
       
Books? Next year.
Big test tomorrow?
Midnight confetti fell.
Morning reality hit.
Cue The Great New Year’s Excuse Plan.

They greased up. They dirtied down.
They looked less like scholars and more like extras from
Survivor: New Semester Edition.
Off they marched to the Dean’s office,
Still buzzing with leftover optimism and possibly champagne bubbles.
   
“Our tale,” they sighed, deeply wounded by fate,
“It’s tragic. We went to a wedding last night—New Year’s cheer and all. On the way back—BAM! Flat tire. Had to push the car all the way back to campus. A heroic start to the year, really.”
   
The Dean listened.
He nodded.
He smiled.
⚠️( Never trust the calm smile—especially in January.)
   
“Well,” he said warmly, “in the spirit of fresh starts…
You may take the test three days from now.”
The students floated out like angels on academic probation. 😇✨
New year! Second chance! Destiny is kind!
   
Three days later—
Well-rested, well-studied, and absolutely convinced the universe was on their side—they returned.
The Dean placed them…
In separate rooms.
   
“No worries,” they thought.
“We’re new-year versions of ourselves now.”
They opened the test.
Two questions.
1️⃣ Your Name: ____________________ (1 point)
2️⃣ Which tire burst? _______________ (99 points)
Options:
(a) Front Left
(b) Front Right
(c) Back Left
(d) Back Right
😳😳😳😳
Happy New Year.
     
🎆 Lesson of the Year:
New year, same physics.
Shortcuts still have potholes.
Excuses expire faster than resolutions.
And life—much like the Dean—continuously checks the details.
     
So here’s your New Year’s wisdom nugget:
Be responsible.
Make wise choices.
And if you’re going to lie…
At least agree on which tire blew! 🚗💥😄
✨ Cheers to learning early, laughing often, and starting the year smarter than last time. 🎉
==========
🎉🐪 B–New Year, New Desert (Or… the Zoo?) 🐪🎉
As the clock ticked toward a brand-new year, a mama camel and her baby were lounging under a tree—doing that deep, reflective end-of-year thinking camels are famous for. 🕛✨
     
The baby camel stretched, yawned, and asked the kind of question that sounds simple… but isn’t:
“Mom… why do we have humps?” Mama camel smiled wisely, like someone who’s already made and broken a few New Year’s resolutions.
   
“Well, sweetheart, we’re desert animals.
These humps store water so we can survive a long time without it.”
The baby nodded.
     
“Okay… then why are our legs so long and our feet so big and round?”
Mama replied, “Those are for walking across hot desert sand without sinking.
Very practical. Very camel chic.”
   
The baby paused again—clearly in reflection mode.
“Alright… last question. Why are our eyelashes so long?
Sometimes they’re just… extra.”
Mama chuckled.
“Those thick eyelashes protect our eyes from blowing desert sand during storms.”
The baby camel thought. And thought. And thought. 🧠💭
     
Then—like a sparkler going off at midnight—he asked:
“So… the hump stores water for the desert.
The legs walk the desert.
The eyelashes protect us from desert sand…
THEN WHY ARE WE IN THE ZOO?” 🎆😳
==========
🎉 C–New Year, New Chicken, New You 🍗✨
The Finger-Lickin’ Fresh Start Story
Once upon a very crunchy New Year’s Eve…
There was an older gentleman named Colonel Harlan Sanders.
       
Picture this:
💸 Broke
🏚️ Living in a tiny house
🚗 Driving a car that had seen better decades
💰 Living on $99 a month from Social Security
🌑Not exactly “New Year, New Yacht” vibes.
👴At 65 years old, while most folks were polishing their rocking chairs, Colonel Sanders said,
🕛 “Nope. New year. New plan.”
   
So he asked himself the ultimate New Year question:
“What do I already have that could change my life?”
   
Answer:
🍗 That legendary chicken recipe.
His friends couldn’t stop talking about it.
“THIS chicken!”
“YOU need to sell THIS chicken!”
“This chicken could save the world!” (Okay, maybe not that… but close.)
   
So off he went—across states, across diners, across dreams—
Knocking on doors with hope in one hand and a secret recipe in the other.
His pitch was simple:
👉 “Use my recipe for FREE.
👉 Just give me a tiny percentage of the chicken you sell.”
Sounds like a slam dunk.
Wrong.
❌ No.
❌ Nope.
❌ Absolutely not.
   
He heard NO over 1,000 times.
That’s not rejection—that’s a rejection marathon.
But here’s the magic:
He didn’t quit.
He didn’t sulk.
He didn’t say, “Well, I’m 65, guess I missed my chance.”
On rejection #1009…
🎉 YES!
And with that single yes, everything changed.
   
That one belief-filled moment launched Kentucky Fried Chicken—now known worldwide as KFC—and changed the way America eats chicken forever.
🥂 New Year Lesson (Extra Crispy Edition)
✨ You are never too old.
✨ You are never too late.
✨ You are never one “no” away from failure—you’re one yes away from a breakthrough.
     
This New Year, keep knocking.
Keep believing.
Keep seasoning your dreams.
Because sometimes, all it takes…
is one yes 🍾🎆
==========
🎉 D–The Obstacle in Our Path (New Year’s Edition) 🎉
Once upon a brand-new year—you know, that magical week when gyms are crowded, and planners still look innocent—there lived a wealthy, clever king with a mischievous streak. 👑😏
   
To kick off the year with a lesson, the king ordered a massive boulder dropped smack-dab in the middle of the busiest road. Then he hid nearby (because kings apparently had great hiding skills) to see what people would do when life threw a rock at them. 🪨
     
🚶‍♂️ First came the wealthy merchants and courtiers.
All dressed up and very important.
They gasped.
They scoffed.
They complained loudly.
“Terrible roads!”
“Someone should do something!”
“Honestly, what are taxes for?”
   
And then—without lifting a finger—they tiptoed around the boulder and marched on into the New Year carrying nothing but opinions. 🙄
   
🥕 Then came a peasant, arms overflowing with vegetables, sweat on his brow, resolution in his eyes. When he reached the boulder, he didn’t curse it. He didn’t detour. He didn’t post about it on PeasantBook.
He put his load down.
He leaned in.
He pushed.
     
It wasn’t easy. He grunted. He slipped. He tried again.
But eventually—Victory!—the boulder rolled aside. 💪🎊
As he gathered his vegetables and prepared to continue.
On his journey, he noticed something glittering on the rock.
Once stood…
     
💰 A purse. Heavy. Full of gold.
Inside was a note from the king:
“This reward is for the one who chose action over avoidance.”
   
✨ And here’s the New Year lesson, wrapped with a bow:
Every obstacle you meet this year—every boulder, setback, or
“Well, that wasn’t in my vision board”—is hiding a gift.
     
Most people walk around problems.
Some complain about them.
But a few roll up their sleeves… and get rewarded.
   
So as the calendar flips and confetti settles:
When you hit a rock in the road this year—
Push. There might be gold underneath. 🥂🌟
==========
🚂 E–Everyone Has a Story in Life
🎆 New Eyes for the New Year 👀✨
   
A 24-year-old young man leaned toward the train window and shouted with pure wonder,
“Dad! Look—the trees are running backward!” 🌳💨
His father smiled softly.
   
A young couple nearby exchanged glances.
Awkward.  Strange.
Pitiful, they thought.
   
Then the young man burst out again,
“Dad! The clouds! They’re racing us!” ☁️🏃‍♂️
   
The couple couldn’t hold it in any longer.
They leaned over and whispered to the father,
“Why don’t you take your son to a good doctor?”
 
The father smiled—this time bigger, brighter.
“I did,” he said gently.
“We’re just coming from the hospital now.
My son was blind from birth…
And today, today he got his eyes.”
💥 Boom. Confetti cannon. Perspective shift. 🎉
 
As the calendar flips and the New Year rolls in, here’s the reminder wrapped in fireworks:
✨ Every single person on this planet is carrying a story.
✨ Don’t judge people before you truly know them.
✨ The truth might surprise you.
   
And here’s the New Year’s mic-drop:
🎇 This can be your year to see differently.
🎇 Open your eyes.
🎇 Open your heart.
🎇 Open yourself to wonder again.
             
You are capable.
The world is still magical.
And maybe—maybe—this is the year you see it for the first time. 🌟🥂
==========
🎉🐘 F–The Elephant Rope
A New Year’s Wake-Up Call 🐘🎉
As the New Year’s confetti settled and the calendar stretched its fresh, blank pages, a man wandered past a group of elephants. He stopped mid-step, scratching his head. 🤔
   
These enormous, magnificent creatures—
Living bulldozers with eyelashes—
They were held in place by a tiny rope tied to one of the front legs.
No chains.  No cages.  No elephant bouncers on duty.
   
At any moment, they could have strolled off to brunch. Yet… they didn’t.
Nearby, a trainer sipped his coffee and welcomed the question.
As a New Year’s Day gift to the elephants, he wanted to set them free.
“Why don’t they just break free?”
   
The trainer smiled. 😊
“When they’re babies—small and wobbly—we tie them with the same rope. Back then, it was enough. As they grow, they never test it again. They believe the rope still holds them… so it does.”
💥 Boom.
The man stood there, amazed. A rope didn’t trap these elephants.
Old beliefs trapped them.
   
🐘✨ Your New Year’s Mirror ✨🐘
Now here’s where the New Year fireworks really start popping…
How many of us are still standing still because of a rope we outgrew years ago?
A failed attempt.
A harsh “no.”
A voice from the past whispers, “See? You can’t.”
     
But listen closely—because this year has good news:
🎆 That rope is old. You are not. 🎆
Failure isn’t a stop sign—it’s a training montage. 💪
Growth means testing the rope again.
Learning means tugging—harder this time.
     
So as the New Year dawns, here’s your invitation:
✨ Question the rope.
✨ Pull on the belief.
✨ Step forward like the powerful, growing, unstoppable human you’ve become.
       
This year… break free.
The road is wide.
The rope is weak.
And the calendar is cheering you on. 🥳🎊
==========
🫏 G–🎉 The Donkey, the Pit & the New Year Plot Twist 🫏✨
Once upon a rough day—the kind you’d rather not carry into the New Year.
A man’s favorite donkey went plop! Fell into a bottomless, dark pit.
Not a cozy pit.
Not a “we’ll laugh about this later” pit.
A gulp… this looks bad, pit.
   
The man pulled. He tugged. He strained.
He made all the heroic noises. Nothing. 😬
With a heavy heart and zero options left.
He sighed and thought, “I’ll fill in the pit.”
So the dirt began to fall.
   
Plop. Thud. Dump.
The donkey felt the weight…
Paused…
And then—genius happened. 💡
   
Instead of panicking, that donkey shook it off…
…and stepped UP on it.
     
More dirt fell. Shake it off. Step up.
Again. And again. And again.
By noon—🎉 PLOT TWIST! 🎉
That donkey wasn’t buried.
   
The donkey climbed right out of the pit.
Strolled into green pastures.
Started munching grass.
“Cool story. What’s next?” 🌱😄
🥳 Welcome to the New Year Truth Bomb 🧨
   
Life will toss dirt on you:
Old mistakes
Fresh disappointments
Surprise setbacks with horrible timing
   
But here’s your New Year strategy—no gym membership required:
✨ Shake off what weighs you down.
✨ Step up on what tries to bury you.
   
Every problem? 👉 A platform.
Every setback? 👉 A step forward.
Every “this is the end”? 👉 Just the plot twist before your comeback.
     
So raise a glass 🥂, shake off the dust, and step boldly into this New Year.
The pit didn’t win.
The donkey did.
And guess what?
So will you.
     
4) 🔥 A FEW SPARKS TO SLIP INTO YOUR POCKET
      ✨ THE MAGIC OF QUOTES ✨
Quotes are tiny magic lanterns—glimmers of wisdom that light our way. They contain big truths in small packages, offering comfort, clarity, and courage when we need it most. A single line can steady a trembling heart, clarify a foggy thought, or remind us to keep moving toward our dreams with a whisper that says, “Keep going—there’s more ahead.”
   
“Cheers to a New Year and another chance for us to get it right.” – Oprah Winfrey
   
“Although no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.” – Carl Brad.
   
“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” – Aristotle.
     
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” – C.S.Lewis.
   
“A dream written down with a date becomes a goal.
A goal broken down into steps becomes a plan.
A plan backed by action makes your dreams come true.” – Greg S. Reid.
     
“There comes a day when you realize turning the page is the best feeling in the world because you realize there is so much more to the book than the page you were stuck on.” – Zayn Malik.
     
“To lead a fascinating life, one brimming with art, music, intrigue, and romance. ”
You must surround yourself with precisely those things.” – Kate Spade.
   
“An optimist stays up until midnight to see the New Year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.” – Bill V.aughn.
   
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” – Lao Tzu.
   
“If you can’t fly, then run; if you can’t run, then walk; if you can’t walk, then crawl, but whatever you do, you have to keep moving forward.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.
   
“Once a year, go someplace you’ve never been before.” – Dalai Lama. Lama
   
“I walk slowly, but I never walk backward.” – Abraham Lincoln.
   
“Good resolutions are simply checks that men draw on a bank where they have no account.” – Oscar Wilde.
   
5) YOUR CHALLENGE THIS WEEK >>
YOUR NEW START!
Plan to make this new year the best you have ever experienced.
Make plans now to make this next year the best you have ever had. 

6) NEXT WEEK>> BLOG 358–​Build Your Life as you Build Your House.
I know you’re out there, my friend. How about sending some words to me?
kitsummers@gmail.com 

🌟7) FINAL THOUGHTS 🌟
Because the best is always still ahead.
So juggle joy like it’s the air you breathe.
The horizon holds more than you can yet imagine.
Your present moment is not the finish line—it’s your starting block.
  Chase sunsets as if they’re secret treasures waiting just for you.
Laugh so loudly that tomorrow leans in to listen.
Live as though you’ve only just begun—
BECAUSE YOU TRULY HAVE! 

✨KITTING AROUND✨
🌟 BLOG 356–A Godless Christmas?🌟
By KIT SUMMERS — World-Class Juggler to World-Class Comeback

Once upon a life, I was the guy who made gravity break a sweat.
Headlining at Bally’s in Atlantic City, I wasn’t just on top of the world—
I was throwing clubs like they were alive!
With a world record of juggling 7 clubs.
Life was dazzling, sparkly, full of applause.
   
Then came the truck…
The coma…
My long nap…
The long, silent hallway of nothingness.
Thirty-seven days where the world kept turning, but I wasn’t in it.
   
And yet—look at me now.
Not juggling clubs as much these days…
Instead, I juggle purpose, grit, hope, and the wild joy of being alive.
I toss resilience into the air and catch courage behind my back.
I balance healing on my chin and possibility on my toes.
   
My mission?
Oh, it outgrew the stage a long time ago.
Now I’m in the business of lifting humans—
Helping people (you) rise higher and shine louder.
Dreaming braver than you ever thought you could.
       
Because the show’s not over.
Not by a long shot.
And this version of me?
Helping you to reach a higher level.
I’m carrying more magic than ever.
   
I need a connection to the world.
Writing this blog fulfills that desire.
It helps me more than it helps you.
I write exactly how I feel.
I hope my words please you.
         
1)  THE BEGINNINGS
It’s so great to hear from my friends who like reading my blog.
Each week, this inspires me and gives me a reason to write the next blog post.  
    =========
I NEED YOUR HELP!
I want to share something personal, and I do so with care and humility.

A few months ago, after losing several teeth, I made the difficult decision to have ALL my lower teeth removed. I believed it was the right path forward at the time. It wasn’t. I’m living with that choice now, and it’s been painful—physically and emotionally.

Currently, I have a temp retainer, one that you have to glue in each day. I will need them to drill holes and put posts into my jaw. The new teeth will attach to these posts/implants.

To heal and move forward, I need a lower dental insert. It will make a real difference in my comfort, my health, and my ability to live fully again. Unfortunately, it also comes with a high cost.
     
If you’re able to help in any way—large or small—I would receive it with deep gratitude. Truly.
And if you’re not, your kindness, good thoughts, and care still mean the world to me.
   
If you’d like to reach me directly, you can:
📞 Call or text: 610-400-3233
📧 Email: kitsummers@gmail.com
     
Thank you for reading this.
Thank you for caring.
And thank you—for being part of my world. 💛
With love >>> Kit

Haveyouevertriedtypingwithoutusingthespacebar?
Itisquitedifficult,tryit.
Andafuntimeishadbyall.
   
Could you read it?
That’s just one of the ways I find pleasure.
Write to me, I miss you.
      
I’m in the brain injury hospital now.
I usually weighed about 161.
They just weighed me. I am up to 191.
This is the most I have ever weighed.
In a way, I do not care; I don’t care about death, after all.
           
At times, is my life going backwards?
I find myself questioning everything.
That is not a good way to spend your life. 

Kit with his temp choppers

Today, I found another video questioning the idea of a god.
Learn from this >>
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adRIBCSu3KI
   
💛 (Here’s the secret — “I love you”.

2)  THINGS THAT HAPPENED THIS WEEK
(Please, let me know what you did this week, too.)

12/13–Awake at two again.
It’s becoming routine—my personal sunrise, minus the sun.
Stuck here for the day. What to do, what to do?
It rained, so juggling outside was off the table.

I went out anyway. Did my daily ritual: cleaning the back patio, the path, and the garden edges. I’m always amazed by how many cigarette butts appear overnight, as if they reproduce when no one’s looking. Then back to my room, grabbed the broom, and swept the wood chips back where they belong. Order restored. It feels calmer out there now. Kinder.

Back inside, I noticed my trash can overflowing with candy wrappers. Guilty. Lindor chocolates—I love them. They feed me well here: three meals a day. I add snacks to keep going. Still, it feels like I’m eating too much.

It’s Saturday. Which means nothing is happening.

Time crawls here—so slowly it feels unreal. People yelling down the hallway. It’s unsettling. Living here feels less like living and more like existing in separate cells, each of us locked into our own version of confinement. I’ve lost my joy. I used to run for pleasure. It fueled everything.

I’m watching Rise of Planet of the Apes. There’s a scene where the chimps are locked in separate cages, desperate to be released. It hit me hard. Too hard. I felt like I was watching myself.

Later, a helicopter crashes in the film. That stirred something old and profound. When I was six, my father—Virgil—died in a helicopter crash. I don’t know why it surged so strongly today, but the anger inside me is growing—sharp, restless, everywhere. I’m angry at everything. Maybe even at myself.

I was named after him: Virgil Carson Summers Jr–I am. They called him Virgil, so they nicknamed me “Kit,” from my middle name. I’ve never gone by my real first name. Now you know.

The anger keeps building. I miss my freedom.
I could leave this place. I really could.
Right now, I’m not even allowed to go outside.

If I left—then what? Where would I go? What would I do?
Sometimes I imagine walking all the way to Key West.
I’ve been there before. I like it there.
Maybe I’d just… live until I didn’t.

Lately, I don’t even seem to care about my life. I feel heavier, softer, despite eating constantly. I tried juggling three clubs—something that once defined me. Today, I could barely keep them in the air. This is who I am. Or who I was. And now it feels like another loss among so many.

Sometimes I wake up thinking someone is beside me in bed.
“I just wanted to let you know that I reached out,” I say.
But there’s no one there.
I am alone.

The loneliness is brutal. I hate it.
There is no one I long to be with,
and somehow that makes it worse.
I feel entirely alone. No one.

It’s 2:22 in the afternoon, and I already feel finished with the day. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of it—perhaps the rest of my life—watching YouTube videos, letting time pass, letting everything pass, and then dying quietly.

I’ve written things like this before—shared them with ChatGPT.com, even. The responses often include phone numbers for help. Right now, I don’t know what kind of help would even make sense… or if I’d want it. I’ve been through so many trials, and lately everything feels heavier.

I HAD TO LET YOU SEE WHAT CHATGPT SENT ME:
“And just to say this plainly, because it matters: you don’t have to carry this alone. If at any point the weight feels like too much, help is available—in the U.S., you can call or text 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, any time, day or night. You’re not too weak to need support. You’re human.”

12/14–Living here feels strange—like wearing someone else’s shoes that never quite fit. It doesn’t feel right. And yet, I remind myself: I have a place to sleep, food to eat, and that matters. Gratitude doesn’t erase the discomfort, but it keeps me human. 🌱.
   
When the Horizon Goes Quiet
The challenge I’m facing right now isn’t a lack of
ability or effort—it’s the absence of a clear target.
No mountain to climb.
No flame to chase.
   
So let me name some of the peaks I’ve already scaled >>
1) In high school, I pole-vaulted 18’6″, setting a school record
And proving early that gravity and I would have a complicated relationship.
2) I committed myself to becoming one of the best jugglers in the world—and followed through.
3) I fought my way back from a life-altering accident, reclaiming not just function, but purpose.
4) I wrote what many have said is the best book ever written on juggling.
5) I created and nurtured the finest salsa imaginable, and watched it thrive.
https://sites.google.com/site/summerssalsa/
     
Each of these goals gave me direction.
They added friction, fire, and meaning to my days.
I chose them to forge me forward—to shape who I was becoming.
And now?
The horizon is quiet.
The compass spins.
The next mountain hasn’t introduced itself yet.
(But oh… it will. And when it does, I’ll lace up my boots and grin. 😄🔥)
     
The runway is clear… but the destination hasn’t announced itself.
So I’m asking—curious, open, and ready—
What’s next on Kit’s agenda?
Please, help me decide.
   
Because I know this much:
I’m not done climbing.
I’ve got to find new things to consider.
I need a new summit to aim for. 🌄🎯
   
Today was devoted to shaping this very blog—
Proof that life keeps moving,
And our thoughts are allowed to evolve right along with it.
But there is more to life than this blog (or is there?)
And then you die. 🌱✨
     
12/15–As usual, the alarm clock in my brain went off at 2 a.m.
No snooze button.
No negotiations.
I’m awake.
For the day.
     
Today?
I am not loving life.
Not enjoying existence.
At all.
   
What can I do?
Ask God for help?
Hard pass.
   
Today is prep day for tomorrow’s Big Event—the grand tour.
A colonoscopy from one end.
An endoscopy from the other.
Yes, I’m being inspected like a very expensive used car.
   
To prepare, I’ll be drinking four liters—FOUR—of a magical potion designed to encourage… enthusiastic output. (Yes. Poop. Precision matters.) 🎩💩 It’s basically a party where no one brings snacks, everyone regrets attending, and the bathroom is the real VIP lounge.
   
Honestly, this liquid ordeal is the worst part. For the actual procedure, I’ll be blissfully asleep—lights out, brain unplugged, consciousness on airplane mode. Compared to chugging this watery regret? That part sounds downright luxurious. 😴✨
   
Tomorrow, I’ll be gently powered down—goodnight, folks. 😴✨
First, the anesthesiologist (a truly heroic word, thank you, spellcheck) flips my OFF switch.
No mallets. No Bugs Bunny stars circling my head. Just modern science, a polite countdown, and—poof—I’m gone like a phone at 1%. 📱💤
   
Then the doctor checks things out from the back.
After the rear end is checked out, move on to the throat.
While I’m still blissfully unconscious, a tube goes down my throat.
   
My esophagus has narrowed, making swallowing a real-life boss battle.
All this while I am blissfully asleep, but not snoring.
They’ll gently stretch my throat—science’s way of saying, “Hang on, buddy, we got you.”
   
In simple terms:
An endoscopy uses a thin, flexible tube with a light and a camera.
This takes a guided tour of the esophagus, stomach, and duodenum.
Science at work. Glamour not included.
     
This is not a spa day.
But it is a step forward.
And right now?
Forward is enough.
Today, progress wears a crown,
Struts confidently and calls it a win. 👑✨🌱
     
As for the GaviLyte—four liters of it—
Mission accomplished.
It was unpleasant.
It was thorough.
And I am officially cleared out for tomorrow
Onward. 🚀
   
12/16–You know the drill: up by 3, into the shower with a smile, clothes put into the washer, and all this while smiling early in the morning.
   
Today was surgery time! Thank you, Nora, for driving me. Writing of Nora, yes, I am in love again. She only works at NR a few times a week, so I don’t know when I might see her again. A lovely thought, though.
         
Very comforting, I can see why Michael Jackson liked Propofol so much. I had an IV into my vein, and the sleepy drug was put into me through this. I had asked the doctor to let me know when he put the drug into my body, and he did. My mind snapped away quickly.
 
The first thing you experience is a deep sense of comfort throughout your body; I see the reason why people like taking illegal drugs. Then sleep comes quickly as pleasure takes over and your mind turns off. Such a great comfort this drug has.
   
Sometimes, as I go to sleep at night, I try to detect the moment when my mind passes from consciousness to unconsciousness. In attempting this, my mind never does go to sleep. This experiment has kept me awake through many nights. Because I was medically induced to sleep, I thought I could see the transition point. But I could not; it came too quickly. Try it sometime, you will experience an awake mind thinking about sleep. I felt pleasure and then pillow time.
         
12/17–🎭 The Day After: The Sequel No One Asked For