High school sporting events are often inspirational. The athletes on the field, court, track or ice give it their all and are beyond fun to watch. For many of them, this is the pinnacle of their sports careers and they deserve our attention and respect. Seldom, however, does the crowd take the spotlight. This is exactly what happened at a local game in my small town, but I believe it could happen anywhere, at any time. I'm just glad I got to be a part of it.
Family: flawed and fabulous, adoring and amusing, messy and magnificent, important and irreverent, loyal and loud and yay — it's year-round. Just about everyone has one, but chances are yours isn't like mine and vice versa. So what makes a family? Everything. Anything. The sum of many things. Each family is unique, and even, dare I say, weird in some, dare I say many, ways.
Gratitude is among us! 'Tis the season for giving thanks. Let's talk turkey. Each year, at about this time, my family sits down to a big meal and we go around the table and tell one another what we are thankful for. Usually things like family, togetherness and green bean casserole top the list.
I’ve never claimed to be a great driver — good, perhaps — careful, for sure. My family would tell you I am cautious — sometimes to the point of being jumpy at the wheel. By jumpy, I mean on the lookout for surprises, aka accidents, waiting to happen. I’m on the lookout for pedestrians who come out of nowhere, squirrels darting across the street, dogs without leashes and cars — mostly other cars. I have trust issues with other cars, or more specifically the drivers of those cars.
We spent most of the weekend gardening, and I’ve come to an important conclusion. Some people are born with green thumbs. Others, including the guys I live with, are simply all thumbs — and not a one of them is green. I needed help with mulching. I consider it a heavy task and was hoping to put their muscles to work. They were more than happy to oblige and their attitudes were terrific. A few minutes after they started, mine was not.
The world is going to the birds. Or at least my little corner of it is. And I think this is just… ducky. Nests surround me, sometimes in the most unexpected of places. But not always. We have a birdhouse in our backyard. We inherited it from the previous owners (humans, not avian). It is made out of wood and was a dull (and rather drab) brown. It sat in the garden, empty, for more than a decade.
It’s all the rage and a cutting-edge craze — sweeping not only the nation, but the entire world. If you don’t have an inkling of understanding about what the verve is all about, chances are you’re aware of the buzz about "Pokemon Go." And, if you’re like me, you wish you had the foresight to invest in the Nintendo Company a couple of months ago.
Anyone who gardens grapples with the reality of pests. Most often, pests want to eat your garden before you get the chance to do so yourself. Or, they destroy the prettiness of plants by chewing holes in leaves and such. Pests are like a plague and a curse to gardeners everywhere. My particular pest of choice is the common slug. Although I suppose I didn’t choose them; they chose me, or better put, my garden.
Thank you and I’m sorry. I should have said this earlier — and repeated it many times over the years. To the neighbors on the left and right, kitty corner, in front and behind, and perhaps a few houses beyond that: You’ve all been infinitely patient with my brood. This morning while filling my coffee cup, I glanced out the window, which overlooks one neighbor’s yard, and noticed two errant tennis balls lingering in their grass. This elicited one of my deep, instinctive mom sighs. As far as I know my neighbors do not play tennis.
For most of my life, I viewed myself as old, even when I clearly wasn’t. It’s about perspective. The memories are vague, or even nonexistent, but when I was 2, I got a baby sister. By age 3, I’m pretty sure I thought I was old. For sure much older than my sister, which I held over her head — until I hit 30.