Before anybody confuses me with some kind of activist – I’m not. I tend to think people have the right to do whatever they want to themselves. Pro athletes wanna take steroids? Go right ahead. You wanna cover yourself in ink? Have at it. You love smoking? Puff away. That doesn’t mean I understand these things.
My seven-year old son needs glasses. I took him to the eye doctor yesterday, finally making it to an appointment that had already been rescheduled TWICE because of various conflicts. I almost rescheduled again yesterday. L. is home on spring break and digging his heels in about leaving the house to do even fun things, so a trip to the optometrist was not high on his list of preferred activities yesterday. He complained and grouched his way out of the house yesterday with T.
(With apologies to Simon & Garfunkel)
Hello golf course, my old friend
I’ve come to play on you again
Take out my driver and my irons too
I’ve got a long putt that I’ll make in two
And the vision of the ball dropping in the
This is the joy of golfing
A lot of people complain about Daylight Savings time; a lot of parents complain about it. I have never minded it so much. I don't mind setting the clocks back in the fall and feeling the anticipation of the winter holidays, and I certainly don't mind setting the clocks forward and having the extra daylight, especially since I always feel as if there are never enough hours during the day to get things done anyway.
Contrary to perhaps both popular opinion and damning evidence, I’m not really much of a drinker. Yes, I like to have my glass of wine or a beer now and again, but I’m not the guy that goes home every night and pours himself a drink. Hell, I don’t even necessarily have any alcohol if I go out to dinner with friends. But every once in a while, I truly need to get my drink on.
Last night was “every once in a while.”
My sister and I used to have a Lundby dollhouse, acquired sometime deep in the 1970s. We loved it and played with it constantly. I still remember the voyeuristic thrill of peering through the doll house windows at the Lundby family as they moved from kitchen to dining room, or upstairs, enacting poses and scenarios my sister and I had carefully planned out.
I had lunch at L.'s school the other day. Actually, I ate at my office and then went to his school--I wouldn't dream of bringing my lunch into the cafeteria--eating there is way too stomach-turning an experience. It was chicken nugget day and vegetable soup for the kids buying lunch. Chicken nuggets and chocolate pudding for dessert. During lunch I looked up for a moment (this is always a mistake) and saw the boy a few seats down from L. dipping his nuggets into his chocolate pudding.
Turning 40 and reminiscing about everything take 135…
In my review of the last 40 years, I’ve gotten back in touch with quite a few people – most of whom I worked with as counselors at a summer camp in the not-so-roughing it confines of the Malibu hills. I haven’t spoken with many of these people for 20 years, so, understandably, it’s been quite the trip down memory lane.
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