Life in the 21st century may seem hectic, unordered, fast-paced, and even out of control, yet there are moments when life goes into slow motion mode.

Alright, those are few and far between but they exist.

For example, one of my uncles drove me from one grandma’s house to another grandpa’s house on a cold Christmas Day when the street’s were covered with eight inches of freshly fallen snow.

My grandparent’s lived one block apart.

How can a one block drive be slow motion?

It was. My uncle had a beautiful, black 1956 Ford coupe and he decided to spin around in the snow at every intersection. I sat in the back seat and have to admit it was fun as the car slowly did a spinning circle at each intersection.

First, the intersection near my grandma’s house and a left turn. Then another left turn to get down to my other grandpa’s house. Those slow, circular spins were an example of slow motion and an exciting delight to a 10 year old kid.

Unfortunately, one spin went out of control and ended in a slow motion head-on collision with a giant maple tree. The tree won. That beautiful Ford lost.

Life with ALS is something of a slow motion death sentence.

Yes, living is extended thanks to a ventilator which does the breathing for me, but everything else slowly deteriorates in typical ALS fashion. Arms and legs, hands and feet, and other muscles have become stiff and cramp with even a slight movement. My mobility has decreased steadily over the past 18 months; slowly, inexorably in a slow motion move toward an eventual end.

A year ago, during a visit to Mayo Clinic, I could stand and walk; slowly, of course. A few months later I could not walk and needed assistance. A few months after that I could not breathe without mechanical assistance. As 2021 moves along a few fingers stiffen and cramp and tend not to hit the keyboard key I want.

Thank you, Autocorrect.