The Olympics are over. I am genuinely sad when they extinguish the flame. I am somewhat of an Olympics junky. I don’t have pictures of Shaun White hanging over my bed. Not for lack of trying. I blame my wife; she’s such a Red Gerard fan! But, I do enjoy the spirit of the games. Here is my solution to the hangover of the Winter Olympics 2018 . . . Wife Carrying!
A difficult but important story that I felt I needed to tell. It is about the influence that we have on others. The importance of recognizing differences, embracing and supporting one another. It could lead to avoiding a tragedy - or simply be the right thing to do!
“Rose Gold is Making a Comeback.” These were the words my wife, Beth, said to me as she continued to fill up her new purse with various items. Items that no one ever thinks to pack but always finds they need. This is a story about my wife, a granny purse, clogs and sincere admiration and love.
Dry January is apparently a thing. There’s even an app. Of course, there is. I was unaware of it until just a few weeks ago. I was out with a friend. I ordered a martini with extra olives, hold the vodka and vermouth. My friend asked, “are you doing Dry January?” I replied, “No, I am doing like give up like everything in January. “Giving up everything” is my pet name for the Whole 30 and here's my story.
As my fingers hit the keys today, I am in the mood for a rant. A mindless, two hundred and thirty-seven different topics, the world is against me rant. My kids. My kid’s school. Work. Relationships. Simply, put. Every first world problem that shakes the foundation of my easier than I perhaps deserve existence. Yeah . . . it's been a tough start to 2018.
Can we all just get along? That’s what Rodney King asked of us all following the 1992 LA Riots. The world is filled with darkness and light. We choose where we want to stand. In a world where Rosa Parks can take a seat on a bus – and Johnny can get Baby out of the corner for one last big dance number; then we should be able to find a way to get along.
New Year’s Eve 2017 . . . That’s when my Christmas cold turned into the flu. When the flu took flight, a gorilla built a house on top of my chest, in the form of an upper respiratory cold. I experienced, several nights of not sleeping, and not being able to breathe. Last night, I awoke with an unshakeable thought, “What a privilege it is to breathe!”
This revelation got me thinking about the concept of “privilege.” The simple act of breathing was no longer a privilege . . .
Christmas Day is over. I sit here, looking upon a hat purchased for me by my youngest daughter, Nya. Chances are I will not wear it out of the house. I could easily blame it on my oversized head. Or the hats, somewhat over-ambitious, and falsely stated “one-size fits all” label. But, it will most likely go unworn because of what it says above the brim. “World’s Best Dad.”
The holidays are here. A time of joy, laughter, and love. Well, for some. For others a time of anxiety, sadness, and regret. The end of a year can feel like a new beginning. Or it can feel like a massive look back at a loss, missed opportunity and disappointment. It doesn’t have to be that way!
Reconciling the mixed feeling that arrive with the Christmas Holidays
I was recently in the Canadian Territory of the Yukon. Dawson City to be exact. While there a took part in a rather strange, but entertaining, ritual. It has been going on since 1973! The ritual was posted on a popular website.
Soon the comments section took a negative turn. Several people even attempted to turn the harmless fun into a race issue. I was shocked and disgusted. Rather than join the fray, I wrote this piece. As an informed participant, I had the experience to offer more than an armchair opinion.