When it comes to home repair, don’t come to me.
When it comes to home repair, don’t come to me.
For the past two years, I have almost exclusively listened to True Crime Podcasts while driving in my car. When I find other people who are also interested in these podcasts, love to tell each other some of the stories we’ve heard. Some famous, some not-so-much.
I am often asked where I get the ideas for my blog. Usually, I answer its the stuff that happens with my kids, ex-wife, family, and just every day life.
I was at my sister’s house a few years ago for a family function, not sure of the actual occasion, when my daughter Amanda, who was three years into her degree in journalism at NYU casually said, “You know, maybe I should be a doctor.”
That is what this blog is about, the people in my life, family and friends. But, it is also about people like the young woman I met in the park one day.
Beautiful day today, so decided to take a walk in the park. Drove over there and rode through the park to see how crowded it would be. There were a lot of people but not overly crowded. Before I stopped, I decided to get gas, not knowing how early the gas station might close this holiday weekend.
As we headed up the mountain on the lift, I fixated on how I would get off that thing. As we climbed skyward I was terrified, not of skiing down this mountain, but of the small little slope of snow that awaited me at the end of that ride. With all that, the small voice in my head just kept repeating, “don’t fall off the chair — don’t fall off the chair.”
It was a long way down from the top of that hill and you had to navigate through an army of spruce trees that tried their best to keep you from completing your run. I had seen many friends fly face first into the open arms of a waiting spruce only to appear on the other side with exposed skin scrapped raw and smelling like Christmas.
When I tell people that my wedding song was U2’s“Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” I wait to see how long it takes them to realize I am joking. In hindsight, maybe it should have been.
The cashier, a girl probably in high school, but not much older, says hello to me. As I take the last item out of my cart, I say good afternoon. When I move up even with her, she holds two twenties in her hand. I assume its the last man’s payment.
I was wrong…
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