Another year has passed for me. I don’t feel much different than last year. I’m still a realist. I still want to do something great. I’m eternally angry at ‘the man’ and want to fight the system. I can still sleep all night without rushing to the bathroom — sometimes. I still feel the pull of the local concerts.
But I’m also at the point where I can *almost* yell at kids to get off my lawn in a very cliché sense. I twisted my ankle three weeks ago and it still hurts. My goatee is now half grey. (Really, the right side is white-ish. Looks creepy.) I measure my energy as a function of my ability to yell at/play with my kids.
To steal a line from the great Stephen Wright: How old do you have to be before you can die of old age?
My computer is placed in my office at home so that I can see out the window into the front yard. I have lots of trees around, in particular several black walnut trees. I’m not really fond of black walnuts, but my father is. So, I’m going to redirect some of my kid-yelling energy toward cracking a bunch of these iron-clad walnuts over the next couple of months. Right now I can see my three older boys walking around one of the larger tress, throwing the softball-sized nuts into a 7-gallon bucket. They don’t have to pick those up, but they’re doing it because it’s something they can all do together, even though their ages are so different. Their energy seems endless.
Miles played his best game of soccer ever last night. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I missed it because I had a thing at school. I hate missing things like that. More now than I used to. I guess that’s something that’s changed in the last year. I feel the urge to spend time with my boys more. I think about how things will change the moment they turn 13. And how much it’ll really change when they hit 16.
They’re gonna have a tough time moving that bucket when it gets full. Think I’ll go outside and help…