The wretched son and the flower box failure

And now to sound like a horrible, awful, no-good son who says things like this: I should have bought my mother a Christmas present instead of agreeing to build her flower boxes. Yep, I said it. I’m a lout. An ungrateful sack of rotting kidney beans. I should have bought her socks or ear muffs or a gift certificate for plants. Something … anything! It would have been over and done with. Delivered on Christmas morning. Unwrapped, fawned over and forgotten.

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Searching for greatness … or just surviving Orlando in the summer

Muhammad Ali once said, “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’” I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about quotes like that. Thinking about how great champions — heroes of the sports world! — pushed themselves to the limits … overcame obstacles … undertook grueling training to climb high atop pedestals of glory. I am on a similar quest. A similar training program that I hope will bring me greatness. It will push my body to the limits. Finely tune me so I’m ready for anything. No, not just anything. Just one thing — my single-minded focus — my Mt. Everest — my championship — MY glory!!!!

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A search for answers to my dog … if she is a dog

I’m just about ready to drop some money on a mystery: What kind of dog is my dog? Or is she even a dog? Because she’s quite peculiar. Not in a bad way. There’s peculiar bad — like what you say when you’re trying to be polite: “I must say, GULP!, this apple and sausage pie is, you know, peculiar!” And then there’s just plain peculiar … the true definition … like “what the hell is that thing?” That’s my dog, Lily.

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The tick, tick, tick of the summertime countdown clock

There are countdown clocks in my house. Lots of them. All over the place. They are a constant reminder that for two of the three members of the family, school is quickly coming to a close. My daughter’s first year of elementary school — she’s in kindergarten. My wife’s first year of school — she’s a pre-school assistant teacher. Soon they go into summer-time bliss. Semi-retirement. Partial shutdown. Or whatever it is you do when you have months at a time without school or work or anything imperative to do. Summer camps. Jobs around the house. Counting spider webs.

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