Fat raccoons and memories of getting married

Maybe it was coincidence. That fat raccoon out by the street, sifting through the recycling bin. He stopped when he caught me peering at him before scooting off into the night. Fat little fella’. I haven’t seen a raccoon in ages. Not since my wife almost ran one over on her bike. But that’s been a while, and here this one turned up on a special night — my wedding anniversary.

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No tigers here. We just love to run

There really is only one reason to run: A poorly fed tiger is in pursuit of your hindquarters. That right there is a damn good reason. Also, maybe a flood. Or if you’re on fire (although it’s actually better to stop, drop and roll, unless, of course, the tiger is behind you. In which case, just keep running!) But truth be told, I can think of very few reasons — logical, good, rational reasons — to go out and pound the pavement. To wear those short running shorts. To get blisters. To hear endless people shout out their car windows, “Run, Forrest, Run!” To put one foot in front of the other for hundreds, if not thousands, of steps so you can get from point A to point B. And I say all of this as a runner myself. As someone who loves — yes, loves — to run. But someone who also can’t quite figure out why in the world he does it.

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The wiggle of the little kid tooth

The “wiggle” has arrived at my house. You know … the wiggle. The toothquake. The shimmy-shimmy in the mouth. The flapping, shaking, waving dance of the first tooth about to sprout wings and fly. My daughter, 5 years old, has her first loose tooth. It’s flapping about like a little rocking chair, and I’m quaking a bit myself. It was quite a discovery. She mentioned it while climbing into bed one night. My wife, dubious, had to investigate. It seemed perfectly outrageous and entirely impossible. Not our child. Not this soon. Not a chance. No way. And then … “AHHHHHH!”

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