#AtoZChallenge: #C is for Cursive, Cats, and Chinese restaurants (Go Ask Daddy about ’em)

Before we get to the Cs for Go Ask Daddy and the #AtoZChallenge, let’s start with … Can They Do It?

As in, can the high school team I coach rebound from a 1-9 start to the season to … make the state playoffs? It’s possible. And after our second win in 11 games, while the rest of the state might not notice … it feels entirely possible.

This is part of the game I love most – the sheer hope.

The way you can get your dander up just by winning a game. I’ve never wanted a team to score as much as I did for Queen’s Grant today. Down 2-0 in the second half … you could just feel it coming. It started with a score that bounced ugly around the goal.

#AtoZChallenge: B is for Baggett (as in Laura, the actress, and #GirlsRock interview)

It snowed on Tuesday in Charlotte. So …

I like the commercials.

Love them, in fact. Not the screamy ones. Not those that scream a phone number 3,296 in 30 seconds. And not those that play the worst music ever imaginable to grab my attention.

I like funny, relatable commercials.

Sometimes, it’s for Jiff Peanut Butter. Sometimes, it’s a new drug with 3,296 side effects. Sometimes, it’s a hilarious commercial about appliances dying, with a grim reaper and adorable actor hitting her knees and begging for mercy.

#AtoZChallenge: A is for Almost (and also At Last)

I wish this stormtrooper had stepped back so I could have this recipe to deal with today.

A was supposed to be for Arrival.

Arrival, because I’d finally made it somewhere. Arrival, because you know, things are different for me now. Arrival, because of the Couch to 5K I’m doing, the streak of consecutive days of meditation, and doing much better at work.

A is, instead, for almost.

Almost, as in, I haven’t run for a week. (I almost typed ‘haven’t been able to run, but my shoes are in the car. I had an opportunity yesterday, and other days this week.) Almost, as in I almost missed yesterday for meditation.

🇺🇸 Go Ask Daddy about native communications, stars and stripes, and soccer stars

Just a ‘trooper canning Js. On a bridge. In Gatlinburg.

The questions are anonymous.

I mean, you can narrow it down to three girls who look a little like me. But as far as which kid specifically asked a specific question? There’s protection for the innocent. As you’ll see comes into play for No. 3 today.

The questions come in droves in everyday life.

For the unfamiliar: I try to track every question my girls ever ask me. Sometimes they’re easy (How come you can’t push a receiver in football?) and sometimes they ain’t (What does a Skye Terrier look like?) There’s about 250 at the moment on the list.

#GirlsRock: An Interview with Master Careers Director Laurie James

We used to send Madison pictures of every owl we came across. Who am I kidding? We still do.

Writing is like an onion.

Strike that. Writing is like a river. No, doesn’t feel right. Writing is like … well, something you have to peel back sometimes. And it’s also something that flows, sometimes beyond its banks, but can never really be stopped.

So maybe writing is like an onion river.

In any case, today’s #GirlsRock guest knows a very specific art of writing: The resume. That sneaky thing we prance about when we’re unhappy at work or … out of a job. It’s the key to everything, yet we often treat it as an afterthought.

Mindful Monday | My first baseball mitt

CGP

We’re excavating our garage like it’s King Tut’s tomb.

Not finding golden statues or mummified cats, if that’s what you’re thinking. Yet. I found my first baseball mitt, though. Even as I revere the beginning of baseball season, I felt a wave of emotion as I put on my glove.

Most of it was awful.

This cheap chunk of leather – real leather? I’m not sure – represents my introduction to a game I love today. It harkens a loyalty to a team and a reliance on hope. For what better an example of hope? A sport that lasts all summer and breaks nearly every heart.

#GirlsRock: An interview with recruiter Liz Khodak

Kind of reminds me of a Madonna video.

A writer finds himself, you know, between chapters sometimes.

When that happens, he finds the usual roundup of possibilities: Contract jobs that never seem to fill, positions for nameless companies that might want to talk to you. Maybe. If only you could talk with someone who can find you a job you’d love …

Meet Liz Khodak.

Visiting her office uptown during a job search years ago was different. We sat at a table and talked. She listened. She took notes. (I tried to read them, but I’m lousy at reading upside down.) It was a very different experience.

Go Ask Daddy about family dynamics, flavoring coloring and manned Martian missions

Vinyl is making a comeback. What happened to all my Hall & Oates albums?

I grew up uncle rich.

I’m not talking rich uncles. I’m talking men who took the role to heart. I want to recognize each here with a little shoutout. I love them all (and my aunts too).

10 things grateful, plus cheeseburgers and Charles Barkley

Always a good opportunity for stormtrooper art when we visit antique stores.

There are no timeouts in soccer.

I wanted to call one, once. We’d taken a 1-0 lead against the state championship runners up from last season. They’d beaten up on us for years. But today, as we broke for halftime, we were up 1-0.

“Guys,” I said, “look casual, but let’s see if we can get to the parking lot without anyone noticing us …”

The girls laughed. We thought if we could sneak away now … well, they couldn’t score on us, could they? We lost 3-1. But that moment proved we’d reached a level we’d strived for. For years, really. We were good enough to get ahead of a bitter rival.

10 Things Thankful, and a bit of self-forgiveness

Hayden snapped this photo at Bennett’s Real Smoke Barbecue Pit in Gatlinburg. We celebrated a season with a rack of ribs and a pint of homebrew. (This class mysteriously disappeared from our table, however.)

The toughest person to forgive is often ourselves.

I’ve two Go Ask Daddy posts unpublished. Crazy, huh? If I can’t finish on my self-imposed deadline, I won’t publish. I’ll save them. I’m holding my blog hostage. I force myself to finish freelance work (veggies) before I get to blogging (snickerdoodle cookies.)

Heard of the Pomodoro timer?

I’m using that too. I’m rewarding myself for hours of distraction-free work with writing for fun. It keeps me hungry (not for snickerdoodles, although …) to put in the work to get to what feeds my soul most.