Blog

You can't predict the weather

Last weekend Atlanta was warned to stock up. Kim and the kids wanted it to snow.

When we were growing up, that kind of news was thrilling. We’d tuck ourselves under the covers. Waking up to the last-minute holiday, Dad would wrap our shoes in plastic sandwich bags and secure them with rubber bands. We’d sled on pieces of cardboard from the top of the high cul-de-sac.

Kim texted. As Mom said, a “nothing burger.” I went back to lacing up my boots.

Falling up

I remember reading once that about 75% of falls on stairs are downstairs. Gravity not being our friend and all.

I’ve been convinced most of my life that if I’m ever going to fall to my death it’s going to be upstairs—definitely not downstairs. Folks have always laughed at my theory.

The other day I was sitting in a meeting in a café adjacent to a busy metro station. A set of stairs was nearby. A young man bolted up them two at a time, eyes locked on his phone. Two steps away from the top of his journey the full face plant happened.

I guess I’m not the only one.

Wacky Wednesday

It started with a cough that wouldn’t let me finish sleeping. Then the morning alarm beeped its way into my meditation.

I sat down to write. “Maybe AI can do a better job than me after all?” as self doubt took over. Lunchtime was marred with a spaghetti stain on my shirt. Then one client call cancelled, another rescheduled.

Putting on my shoes to take a walk I busted out laughing. Dr. Seuss had written about these kinds of Wednesdays.

Call me anytime

When the phone rings that early in the morning either someone has died or it’s a government agency. Sometimes the former seems less painful.

This day it was the latter. The woman introduced herself with a surname containing more accents and diacritics than one Slavic mouth could hold. She was calling about some important paperwork I recently submitted.

“You can’t quite do it that way,” she said followed by instructions that didn’t seem too absurd. Write this letter, submit that. Do it quickly, preferably today. That was followed by her telephone number repeated slowly two times.

“Call me anytime if you ever need help.”

It was all predictable

It was a peculiar bunch. Amongst them I could quickly spot my former mentor, a previous client, and even someone who means the world to me.

Their emails had arrived within days of each other. They all wanted my feedback on new business ideas, which made me feel kind of important. And I like helping.

Some ideas were interesting and new, others not worthy of a reincarnation. All of them gave a vibe that success was incoming and certain. A simple 1-2-3 path had been identified. The high praise was identical.

Just regurgitated digital aspartame.

Have a nice day

He pushed back on the sliding doors long enough to slip through. The metro driver’s horn wailed in frustration.

The officer in plainclothes smelled blood. His cohort had also managed to make it on board. They approached from opposite sides, ready to pounce. We all watched like spectators in the Colosseum.

A QR code was scanned. “Have a nice day,” they said.

She helped us forget

Stampedes of doctors and nurses passed by at regular intervals. A few of them mistook me for a pharmaceutical rep.

Most that waited in front of me were older, so it was understandable why they were there. Some looked at me with curiosity. Others envious of me for having more time left. But most were slouched over in heavy breath lost in their own worry.

I watched as she greeted each of them one by one—something I had never seen before. Their reciprocal smiles helped them forget why they were here. For each one she knew about their interests, about their storied careers, about their loved ones. And every single palpitation in between.

She appeared at the door again. I was next.

To the birthday girl

My sister was the one who liked birthday parties. I didn’t care for them. But she still does.

One year for Kim’s birthday all her friends gathered after school. We danced the Hokey Pokey at Sparkles roller rink and ate pizza and birthday cake.

Today will start with her morning phone call to God. She will be doted on all day by her three kids, husband, dog, our parents, and friends.

And she might sneak a swig of Hershey’s syrup from the bottle in the fridge.

Who moved my eggs?

It was the weekend and so there was more time for breakfast. But I was one egg short of a big enough omelette.

At the store I scanned the dairy aisle. It contained everything but eggs. “Weird, this is where they’ve always been,” I told myself.

There must have been another bird flu crisis. All those poor chickens culled. Or maybe there was some new tariff on eggs that had come up over night? Was there a hidden camera somewhere? Was I about to be the joke of a reality TV show?

A sign with tiny print pointed elsewhere.

It used to mean something different

Each year I’d address the holiday cards from our family to others. It was a tax I paid for having received so many compliments from teachers about my handwriting.

I would refill my calligraphy pen with a fresh ink cartridge, and attach extravagant loops to each letter. Many of the cards featured a cozy winter scene along with the word “peace” printed on them.

I had a lot of time to sit with that word. It seemed absurd that it existed. Like trying to divide something by zero. An unattainable, wasted word. After all I had a pen pal who was a commander in the Gulf War.

Some words have the power to change their meaning over time though.