Toys - as memories and writing tools

Almost every place I ever visited as a child is defined in some ways by the toys that were there for me to play with. Every relative's home, office I visited, restaurant, even schools and churchs, had their own set of toys to play with. Maybe it is part of my generation, or an eye to things to come, but in many cases I remember the toys more than the place, or the people in it.

Let's take both sets of Grandparents, first my mother's side, where I can tell you that she and Grandpa kept a big cardboard cannister of Lincoln Logs and a stack of comic books, handed down from my Uncle and older cousins in the hall closet. I remember nearly as much about those toys, as I can about her holiday dinners, but this is because NOBODY cooked like my Grandma Shaw.

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The Cubs Magic Number is 4, and thats a good thing

I'm very Sports Oriented. If my teams are doing good, I'm happier, call it immature, okay, but it's reality.

Sooo, the Cubs are doing really good right now, looking like they are going to be in the playoffs, playing good baseball, life is good. Then you have the Bears, who are embarrassing themselves against the cowboys, and this is being written before the end of the game. There is still a part of me that thinks they can win this game.

Rex just keeps giving it away.

I'll just remember, magic number is 4.

Funeral Party

A few weeks ago I wrote a piece out about going to funerals, in a stretch where I am probably beginning to face mortality. Right now, in the wake of several deaths of my peers, I am looking hard at life, and crazy-grateful for the turn it has taken over the last few years. For the longest time, I didn’t really care if I lived. I wasn’t going to go put a bullet in my head, but I wasn’t taking care of myself at all, and I have gotten in the worst sort of shape, but at least am still breathing.

My fitness is coming back, and mentally, I am solid, like never before. I just wish that those that have passed could see me, or know what I know now. Maybe it is my daughter, maybe it’s just some different manifestation of mid-life crisis, but it’s good.

As I’ve alluded too, a little time has passed since this was written, but I found it hiding in my Zoho stacks, and wanted to post it. Since this batch of funerals, there have been more, but the feeling about them hasn’t passed.

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