Memorial Day Weekend
I planted the garden, as I do each and every year, and I enjoyed family, friends, and the great weather - it seems the long weekend is always filled with blue skies and the first real heat of the year.
I also played a round of golf and felt the ache in my legs as I started hacking it up on hole 16. Don't even ask me about the little par 3 on 17 where I finished with a generous 10. Shut-up Renaldo.
I had a few drinks,some good food - my wife set up the party and did all the cooking, and both sides of the family stopped by to acknowledge that Matt is 16 and wants to get his driving permit. God help us.
The Yanks won big. The dogs ran around in the backyard, and thoughts of the coming work days were way off in the distance.
Yet the pain was still there, lurking, waiting to drop the hammer with each and every idle moment. Waiting, sneaking up, and dropping down - oh how he would have enjoyed my misery as I hit ball after ball after ball out of bounds on 17.
And Kathy's cooking? It would have taken a royal beating no matter how good it was, and Matt being teased about possibly driving, forget about it - the kid might never have recovered.
And yet there was a moment with my father when I begged him to pick himself up off the ground and continue to walk with us. The journey is completely different, but the ultimate goals remain the same.
And I think of Memorial Day and all that it means to every free person in this country, and I decided that I needed to memorialize the fact that the train continues to roll, through the broken fields, and down the dirt rounds, and around the uneven corners - just chugging along - still on the tracks - and we're still on board - hanging out the windows, and holding on for dear life:
But still moving...
I also played a round of golf and felt the ache in my legs as I started hacking it up on hole 16. Don't even ask me about the little par 3 on 17 where I finished with a generous 10. Shut-up Renaldo.
I had a few drinks,some good food - my wife set up the party and did all the cooking, and both sides of the family stopped by to acknowledge that Matt is 16 and wants to get his driving permit. God help us.
The Yanks won big. The dogs ran around in the backyard, and thoughts of the coming work days were way off in the distance.
Yet the pain was still there, lurking, waiting to drop the hammer with each and every idle moment. Waiting, sneaking up, and dropping down - oh how he would have enjoyed my misery as I hit ball after ball after ball out of bounds on 17.
And Kathy's cooking? It would have taken a royal beating no matter how good it was, and Matt being teased about possibly driving, forget about it - the kid might never have recovered.
And yet there was a moment with my father when I begged him to pick himself up off the ground and continue to walk with us. The journey is completely different, but the ultimate goals remain the same.
And I think of Memorial Day and all that it means to every free person in this country, and I decided that I needed to memorialize the fact that the train continues to roll, through the broken fields, and down the dirt rounds, and around the uneven corners - just chugging along - still on the tracks - and we're still on board - hanging out the windows, and holding on for dear life:
But still moving...
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