If it’s within a mile or so, I’m so hoofing it. Unless I’m pressed for time. Or it’s all highway with no sidewalks. Or it’s too cold. Or too hot. Also, only if I have one of my miles-walking pairs of shoes on like I wear to Target.
Last fall, Camdyn had a tournament in beautiful Gatlinburg, Tenn.
I love that place. The forecast was for snow and a low of zero. But it would get up near freezing during the day. Other parents moaned. I secretly wanted to see how Camdyn would play as a block of Camdyn ice.
Not that big a deal. But, also twice the serving size. (I even cut it only into two pieces, you know? Two-piece maximum.) When I eat half the pizza, I feel normal. Average. So then that other half looks back at me … tantalizing …
Where was I going with this?
Oh, quality. Well, I still can’t remember the exact connection I was trying to make. But it’s almost lunchtime. And I’ve fallen behind on this challenge. And I haven’t been thrilled with the writing quality. I feel like I should write more ahead of time. I feel repetitive.
Even though sometimes it feels that way. A friend in need recently asked if I could just put the Zen on a shelf and be pissed off with her. Yes, I can. My girls’ team said, coach, you know, you can be pissed at us sometimes. We need that.
Oh, I’ve been pissed at them.
I’ve been mad at my team not for bad results, but subpar effort. I’ve been ticked at dudes who are crap puddles to female friends of mine. I’m angry about the Rockies’ rocky start and that if Kobe Bryant farts, it gets the headline over any Denver Nuggets victory.
Separately. Then together. We didn’t know where to go for a realtors event. It had a speakeasy theme. I haven’t been in a speakeasy since 1931. Neither one of us dressed the part, either.
There was plenty of gangsters and flappers, but Kristen and I were so 2019. (Well, 2017, for me. Forgive me. I’m a dad.)
We found our way eventually to the right room, although we bumbled into the wrong one first. This place had better food, to be honest. And I met with a coaching colleague of mine, and suddenly, Kristen found herself being introduced to someone she didn’t know.
Literally and figuratively. Before last night, I hadn’t written in it for weeks. Also, the back cover has fallen off. There are about five pages left in her, and it looks like it spent a season getting kicked around on Gilligan’s Island.
Gratitude is easy to come back to, it seems.
It wasn’t as if I’d abandoned #gratitudeandshit. It’s part of every day. It just wasn’t getting written down. So I had some old things in there. Things such as, I’m grateful for new episodes of Silver Spoons and I’m grateful for my new calculator watch.
Note: This post comes from a prompt in the book 300 Writing Prompts. On a flight from Charlotte to Phoenix last June, I asked the girl in the seat next to me to choose a prompt from the book for me to write about.
When I finished, the topic sparked an interesting conversation I’ll never forget.
Are there any lines that you simply will not cross?
Yes – although I can’t promise I never have, or I never will.
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.
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.
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.
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.