The other night, Martin was pretty animated as he told us about the gear he purchased for his upcoming marathon hike around the Swabian Alps. He wasn’t aware that Junior was behind him, mimicking him.
Laughing. Raising his hands. Shaking his head. Jibbering.
Laughing some more, just like Martin.
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Got my feelings hurt today when I learned a friend made a hurtful joke at my expense. It wasn’t even an accurate joke. I laugh along with those. But this one was based on a falsehood circulated during my career upheaval awhile back.
And the moody Millennial side of me sulked.
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Question #309: In the haste of your daily life, what are you not remembering?
I saw this question, and knew I would use it for today, the 18th anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. I posted twice on this blog on the actual day of those attacks, and shared further memories about that day and how it shaped the rest of my life many times here over the years.
So this will not be a rehash about the particulars of that day, but such an anniversary is a timely reminder that life is precious and can be snuffed out in ways that are slow and silent, or quick and violent. The cliche rings true: every day is a gift.
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She’s on a new soccer team this year. One of only two girls. It’s a more competitive league, and the practices have been brutal. She comes home from them exhausted, our shower lined with dirt from the field when she is done. Today was their first tournament.
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Waiting Room Table: a Still Life. For a society obsessed with privacy, zee Germans have such a weird way of handling medical appointments and prescriptions. One has to announce and describe to the admin behind the front desk, and to everyone else in range, in explicit and repetitive detail, exactly what is happening to your body and why you have arrived to spend time in their office. Such conversation is then repeated to the pharmacist downstairs.
I shall bring earplugs next time. I don’t want to know.
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I’ve been with Martin for nearly 20 years now, so excuse me for my shock when last night, he goes … he goes, “Why do you have to turn our bedroom into an ice box?”
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It’s not even lunch yet, but I still escaped to my car for a breather. Yesterday was my first day back to work after being gone for just over two weeks. Word spread fast.
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Just a casual shoutout to all the fathers out there who can pick their daughters out of a line-up, and who will proudly pose in pictures with them, even if those daughters are a little heavier than their birthweight.
I have so much laundry. And homework. And things to do in preparation for the weeks ahead. But first, coffee. And time to digest some truly random thoughts and observations.
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I am all about jumping on board a random “hashtag” holiday like International Dog Day to give a shoutout to Patches der Hund, who is truly an international dog.
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