the old pit and his man

The people who walk their dogs at the soccer fields tend to follow a regular schedule. I know this because Hazel and I do not have a regular schedule. 

There’s a blue minivan that shows up Monday through Friday at Noon. The man in the pickup truck comes with his black labs around 3pm. The lady with the cane lets her white fur ball romp around the basketball court between 11am and Noon. 

On the weekend we are usually out around 2pm. That is when the old pit and his man are there. The old pit is what I imagine Hazel to look like eight years from now...a bit stout, wobbly and painfully slow...but the man is patient. He brings a blanket and sits on the grass in front of the tennis courts while the dog rests. Next, they make their way behind the courts to the trail and are out of sight for thirty minute or more. When they reemerge, he places the blanket in the grass and reads a book while the dog sits contently by his side. 

I stayed at the field for an hour today, just to observe their routine. I do not know their story, but I admire the man’s patience and compassion.

The Tumbleweave Diaries

Weave Salad...

happy birthday

2/22/2016

If you’re reading this then that means I actually sent it.

Today is your birthday. Hopefully it was a better day for you than last year, which you spent in the hospital.

I’m glad that we had a chance to talk the last time I visited. It seems like you have made some sort of peace with your diagnosis. Perhaps that isn’t the best choice of words, but it’s all that comes to mind right now. You are doing the best you can with the hand you have been dealt. I admire you for that.

When we were growing up you were the fragile one. Mom always felt the need to protect you. Now, all I can see is your strength...and I am sure that I don’t even know half of what you have been through the last three and a half years.

The other day someone asked me how I was doing with all of this. Honestly, I haven’t processed it yet. I know that I worry about Mom and that my heart aches for Cliff...but I also know that the time we have right now is a gift...an opportunity to you show just how much I love you.

Keep fighting.

The Tumbleweave Diaries

Southwest Weave...

on forgiveness

Everything is fluid, constantly changing...

My thoughts on forgiveness have evolved through my experiences. The current climate of intolerance has prompted me to revisit these thoughts.

And I started to think about the numerous facets of forgiveness...the daily interactions I have with people who are unwilling to forgive...forgiving myself for the mistakes that I have made...being open to others who ask me for forgiveness...and the beauty of the subtle way in which you know that amends have been made without having said a word.

MyFitnessPal

As with most things (Words with Friends, Candy Crush) I’m a little late to the game. MyFitnessPal has been around for about ten years. I looked at it over the summer, but quickly dismissed the notion of creating an account because it seemed like too much effort.

Fast forward six months and a “come to jesus” talk with myself after stepping on the scale. I wouldn’t consider myself overweight by any stretch of the imagination. However, the numbers were creeping up and the idea that I would see my college weight had become a pipe dream.

So I did it. I logged onto MyFitnessPal and began tracking my food and exercise. I bought a food scale and glass storage containers and got REALLY excited about it. 

It’s been seven weeks and so far I’ve lost almost nine pounds. Meal prep is time consuming, but it makes the week less complicated and more predictable.

And that college weight, well, it’s less than a pound away.

casings

On Tuesday afternoon, Jill and I went shooting at the indoor range, then headed to Camping World to look at RVs.

The salesman took us around the lot to look at several different models. While walking, I heard a jingling noise coming from somewhere. I checked my pockets, but the sound persisted.

We were checking out a forty foot toy hauler (which is the size of a small house) and I sat down on the couch. Two shell casings fell out of my pant leg and onto the floor. "Are those bullets?" the salesman asked. "Uh, yeah, I was shooting at the range before I came here." He laughed and said that was a first (I'd hope so).

When we returned to his office, he asked for one of the casings and quickly ran off to tell his co-workers the story.

Note to self: Check your pant legs before leaving the range.