My second child, my second daughter, turns two today.
My first, the oldest, is an eight-year-old that acts like she’s 14, and since there is such a large gap between number one and number two – for a very, very, very, very good reason – the past two years have been a refresher course in infant and toddler life.
“Always stay a student.”
— Frank Shamrock
The professor opened class with a simple statement.
“I assume everyone has the syllabus and all of the materials.”
Uh, I didn’t. I looked around the room and quickly ascertained that I was the only one. There was no sense in hiding.
I raised my hand to tell him. He wasn’t too annoyed. He simply said, “Open up Canvas and download it now, please.”
I said, “You got it,” but I thought, What the hell is ‘Canvas’?
One question that COVID-19 has brought to the forefront of our societal conversations is, Who are the essential workers?
The first professions that immediately spring to mind are obvious: doctors, nurses, firefighters, police officers. However, the pandemic has proven that there are additional tiers and classes of essential workers, including grocery store employees, delivery drivers, warehouse employees, non-frontline healthcare employees, and teachers.
My wife and I are in these last two categories.
I’m not a journaler by nature.
Yes, I have written down my innermost thoughts on occasion, but generally I jot down short quick notes on almost everything that pops into my brain that I then compile to use later for writing that I will publish, either here or in my newsletter.
Yet I felt that living through a time when a viral droplet infection — a silent, invisible killer — raced across the globe and was documented in real time was as good an occasion as any to keep a daily record of my thoughts.
Is it really going to be 2020?
It’s after 1 a.m. on a Saturday night/Sunday morning and while I’m ostensibly doing work for a class I’m taking, I can’t stop thinking about a phone call I received today. The bottle of wine I just finished is helping with the deep reflection, just FYI.
“Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.”
— Emily Brontë
As a parent and homeowner, it can be difficult to not become a slave to tasks.
The ceremony should serve as the base camp of a mountain, but far too many people treat it like the peak
I was dying to work for a Fortune 500 company.
I began playing organized basketball at the age of six.
By the age of ten, I was playing year-round for various travel teams in various leagues, almost always in the age bracket above mine. There was never an offseason. Camps, practices, summer leagues, fall leagues, spring leagues, open gyms – I did it all. When state rules prevented us from holding official practices, we all met at our point guard’s home and conducted practices on the full court in his backyard.
Basketball was an everyday thing.
