And so it begins.

Today after work there comes a knock at the door, as if it somebody gently tapping, tapping at my apartment door. I looked up from book and yelled, “Hey, quit with the racket!”. But still there came this tapping, this gentle rapping, at my apartment door…

So I rush to the door intent to give them what for… Because of that damn rapping, that tapping, at my apartment door. So I open the door, my countenance fearsome to behold, and what do I see, but 4 little girls ’bout 12 years old. With much giggling, smiling and then asking with a tee-hee, “Mr Scary Sir, can we please talk? Talk to little Daniel Lee?”

Ugh… With apologies to Mr. Poe, I find it helps in dealing with the oncoming preteen romance dance…

Yesterday was my birthday. ¬†It was a time for reflection for me, but nothing earth shattering or particularly apocalyptic in nature. ¬†I think about my life and place in this world a lot more than once a year. ¬†Yesterday was just the first day I did it, aged 36. ¬†No, yesterday wasn’t so much about my birthday as it was about having a cup of coffee with my father. ¬† He’s been gone from this world for almost ten years now, but death is hardly something to stop a coffee date. ¬†You see, I inherited this coffee cup from my father when he passed. ¬†It’s a Burlington Northern coffee cup, with the words, “Safety in ’88” on one side and “Yellowstone Division” on the other. ¬†In between the two, it has the BN logo emblazoned in gold lettering, all of it set on a blue colored mug. ¬†When I’m holding it, the mug has a solid, comfortable heft to it. ¬†It is a good cup for coffee… ¬† Perhaps the most consistent image of my father when I was growing up was him sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hand. ¬†Whether it was at his house, over at our grandma’s, at one of our relatives, or visiting my brother and I at our Mom’s, Dad always sat down and drank a cup of coffee. ¬†Cream and sugar, never black. ¬†He’d sit there at the table, talking with us boys and sip that cup of coffee. ¬†By the end of the day, it was a guarantee that there would be coffee stains on his shirt, almost like a measuring stick of how much coffee he’d had that day. ¬†As I got older, I’d have a cup with him, and we would sit and talk about whatever we had going on that day. ¬†Those times became our way of bonding. ¬†Anytime we wanted to spend time together, we just turned to each other and said, “Want to go downtown and have a cup of coffee?” ¬† So, yesterday, I sat down with that cup of fresh brewed coffee, thought about life at age 36 and told my dad everything that’s been going on for the past year. ¬†He didn’t say much, he never does anymore, but we drank our cup, enjoyed my birthday morning, and, like my father before me, at the end of they day, I had a coffee stain or two on my shirt, too.
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A Cup of Coffee With Dad

Yesterday was my birthday. ¬†It was a time for reflection for me, but nothing earth shattering or particularly apocalyptic in nature. ¬†I think about my life and place in this world a lot more than once a year. ¬†Yesterday was just the first day I did it, aged 36. ¬†No, yesterday wasn’t so much about… Continue reading A Cup of Coffee With Dad

An interesting point of view.

http://maxistentialist.tumblr.com/post/63322853991/an-open-letter-to-speaker-boehner-from-a-game-designer I liked this post. ¬†Being an avid game player and puzzle solver, I enjoy those things a lot. ¬†I liked how the author was able to parallel his experiences in design with a meta analysis of what is going on in Congress. ¬†I don’t think he’s wrong in his analysis, either.

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