I miss Patrick Swayze. I mean, who hasn’t seen Road House a million times, right? Twice a week it shows up on some channel and is clearly a classic, albeit terrible movie that has endured for almost 30 years. Throw in some Sam Elliot, classic fight scenes, awesome 80s hair, and you’ve got movie gold.
I was standing in line at a smoothie shop recently and watched how the employees interacted with the customers (as I always do). Most of the transactions were just that … transactions. Employee hands customer product and customer pays for product. Next…
I don’t put dates on my blog posts because I want most of what I write about to be somewhat “evergreen” so they could be applicable regardless of when a person might be reading it. This one is different. It is April of 2018 and I’m pissed. I’m scared. I’m hopeful. I’m faithful … but mostly pissed.
I had a sobering experience recently during a late lunch at a fast-food restaurant. There were only three customers (including me) in the place and I was checking email on my phone as I ate. A voice from across the room said “Looks like this cold weather is going to be here for a while.” I looked up to see a man I assumed was homeless from his appearance.
Several years ago, I was at the YMCA working out and met my wife coming out of a yoga class. She was talking with a mutual friend that instructs the class. Our friend invited me to class and I replied I didn’t think I could do any of the poses; I’d be one of the few men there, and would generally be self-conscious and uncomfortable. She said “Fine, if you want to walk like Tim Conway’s old man from the Carol Burnett show when you’re 70, then don’t come to my class.”
I’ve been watching the Netflix series Grace and Frankie lately and a recent episode struck a chord with me. Jane Fonda plays Grace, a cold, detached, retired CEO of a cosmetic company. In this particular episode, she comes to terms with the fact her family never viewed her as a mother/wife that showed unconditional love to them. It’s a sobering moment for her as she realizes what she deprived her family from feeling. I couldn’t help but reflect on my own ideas about love and what it means for it to be unconditional.
My daughters say I’m a mean texter. When they told me, I was trying to figure out what horrible thing I sent them and couldn’t think of anything. I asked, “What did I text you all that was so mean?” They replied it wasn’t the words themselves that were evil, but my use of punctuation – and specifically the period – that made my texts “sound” mean. Uhh…what?
It’s almost Christmas and this time of year is filled with … pretty much everything. The days from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day seem much like the old game of musical chairs. It’s as if we’re trying to mash as much as possible into our lives before the music stops playing – and there’s always one chair short of the number of players. Even if we do get lucky to “sit down” for a moment, the game starts again quickly and we’re back on our feet scrambling in that familiar circle.