My Alex P. Keaton Family Ties Moment …

I realized I only had about four years left …

While everyone was fascinated with the planets and stars aligning on 2-22-22 it hit me … he’ll be gone in four years. Off on his next adventure into adulthood. And I felt that twang in my heart.

The little kid who liked bulldozers, Batman, choo-choo trains, and Wonder Pets. He’ll be gone. The one that reached for my hand as we walked across the street, with his tiny feet. That gave me pause.

It reminded me of an episode of Family Ties when Alex, Alex P. Keaton that is, was going away and his mom was having a hard time with it, the good-bye part. I remember the episode, I remember how she felt love and sad and hurt. I remember.

That’s on the horizon.

And it’s more than just Spring Breaks, Easter’s, Summer Escapes, Beach Staycations, and Saturday ball games to consider. It was mustache growing and height adjustments. It’s carne asada dinners that are on the countdown because I seem to have them numbered and that got to me. The everyday togetherness won’t be together.

I know it’s my job to prepare them for the world and educate them into being compassionate, hard-working, kind, smart, independent human beings. I got that. I know that’s at the top of my list but I had to take a minute there. I remember people telling me it’ll go by fast, the days will seem like forever when you’re changing diapers but the birthday candles will come and go quickly. And here I am nodding my head at comments I heard more than a decade ago, with four-plus years left, now the fast-forward button seems to be on.

I find myself wanting to hit the pause button. And I made a conscious effort to do that. I catch myself ready to steam up and holler when the not-listening phase extends itself multiple times throughout the day and we find ourselves rushing through, trying to get somewhere, and daily life making it harder for plans to work out smoothly.

The fire in frustration is what I’m working on as a parent. I want to be remembered for the Coach Taylor vibe I give off when I’m headed toward progress, not the hectic and stressed-out mom who’s constantly yelling at them to pick up they’re shoes, socks, cleats, or laundry off the floor and wondering when that extra common sense is gonna kick in.

I look at the grays in the mirror and try to be grateful for how I got them, because each comes with it’s own story, and one of the chapters is closing soon.

So I marked 2-22-22 as the opportunity to step it up a notch and try to increase the joy and venturing, because those four years will go by quick and then the kids will be making they’re own choices down their yellow brick road, their own gray hair adventures.

It’s been over a month now and although it’s been challenging and frustrating at times, I’m making that extra effort as the end result matters most. Filming a weekly log and leaving digital notes for them in the future is a surprise I hope they enjoy, as every day has an impact on what they feel. The countdown is on, it’s live and interactive. But not so much in counting the days and checking them off, but more so as my buddy would say … making the days count.

Buen Camino…

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Sunday Night Thoughts … Sometimes You Don’t Even Plan It

Even if you’re dragged across state lines or need to drive 6-8 hours to a destination for your kids’ tournament, it’s still a vacation.

I mean not an ideal one, may not be the one you want, with parents you would never choose to road trip with, but you make your own travel arrangements, and you hang out for a bit and then off you go. I mean you’re out of town exploring a new city, or some new diners, drive-ins, or dives of a city you haven’t been to in a while. You’re exploring the city with new people and their perspective helps you see this adventure in a different way.

Granted referees are not always the best part of a tournament road trip destination, but you make the best of the situation and forget about the bad calls when you leave the field, gym, court, or rink. You pass by little towns and big towns on the highways and stop by to see go-to spots just for fun. And I recently returned from a quick pit stop in between games. And hanging with my kids in that city provided a Sesame Street vibe I hadn’t known before.

Fisherman’s Wharf is a spot for the clam chowder and visits to Alcatraz. Of course. No doubt but we explored two spots that were a must, and they took me back to my Reading Rainbow-Romper Room days and I enjoyed the escape. I wasn’t aware how much I needed the escape until I got there. Different vibe, different feel. And the fact that the city was empty during the week made the trip even better. Crowded touristy places give me heartburn. But luckily the crowds were someplace else. And among this crowd-less part of town we caught the most awesome old-school arcade on the pier. If you’ve ever been in that area, can’t miss it.

It was a cool retro type of arcade with old school games, some probably from fairs back in the day. With $20 worth of quarters, we enjoyed classic arcade games that used to entertain people a long time ago. Finding puppets, arm wrestling feats of strength, jukeboxes and old arcade games made for a really fun afternoon. Smiles and laughs happening nonstop. Making memories and I hadn’t even planned it. Those are some of the best ones.

Cool baseball arcade game I wish we had 🙂

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Old School show your strength

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The DJ

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Before you knew it, was time to go. Getting dark and still needing to get to our destination. This little side trip to a place I’d known before felt different. And I didn’t mind it. I’d discovered a new spot in a familiar old town. A new spot that gave us a different adventure. That feeling you get when something good just happened and you know the kids will remember it, not because it was spectacular, with fireworks but because it was different and good, creative and fun, new and engaging. Classic arcade on a pier by the water. Feeling like the best part of an 80’s movie. Good Times … Noodle Salad.

But in reality, it was more like Good Times … and Chocolate at the end of the night. And I wanted it to last. Last longer so they could remember. That day was a good day.

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Good place for chocolate somethings

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😉

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Where the magic happens

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The good squares

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The important hand mixer

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Because turning is crucial

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Yes…

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Buen Camino …

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Saturday Thoughts … Traces and Happy Birthdays

I know very little about him, but he’s important. He has answers to questions I’d like to know, but now I’m just filling in blanks the best I can.

He was born on a coffee plantation in Guatemala to a mother of Mayan decent. He was taken from his mother by the owners and sailed off to Spain where he was raised.

My grandfather.

I don’t even know his mother’s name or what she looked like, or whether she spoke Kaqchikel or Quiché. Don’t know the color of the textiles she wore, or whether she was born in The Highlands, or Coban. That’d be my great-grandmother. Most people search the internet and find answers on a dot-com site. But there are no records or traces for that side of my ancestry.

This family tree questionnaire quest was brought to me by my son who asked about my dad’s family. He’s known stories of Papa for some time as I continue talking about his life and try to fill his heart with memories of good times, hard times, silly times, and adventurous times. Storytelling keeps my family alive.

I’d share about his never give up attitude and dislike for fast food money spending. I’d tell him about the time I told Papa I wanted the crunchy popcorn shrimp from the Sizzler and he was like you don’t want none of that. Then he’d make a giant mess in the kitchen with hot oil, smoke, and flour everywhere. He’d emerge, hair disheveled, holding a plate of fried shrimp and dipping sauce that looked nothing like the commercial but still nodding his head with pride … See, eh? See eh? Yeah …

And he was right … it was good. Then I’d have to wash all dishes before my mom came. Or else.

The kids know everyday stories of him dropping me off to school if I slept in late, or of his MacGyver ability of fixing the VCR-DVD-TV-Cable-Box connection with three separate remote controls. But they didn’t know much beyond that … of their great grandfather or great-great grandmother, or even beyond that.

I remember doing a family tree back in the day, but who knows where that circa 1980 Crayola crayon masterpiece ended up.

I knew my grandfather grew up in different parts of Spain but probably met my grandmother in Extremadura. I knew he died when my dad was 10, and my pops had a hard life after that, as did his siblings.

I know my great grandfather looked stylish in his black and white wedding photo, and he probably had many stories about his life, my grandma, and my dad. Stories I’d like to hear now that my dad’s birthday is coming up. Stories that celebrate his life that go best with birthday cake and coffee that he doesn’t get enjoy because he’s passed on, but we think of him as we blow out the candles.

And sometimes you don’t get answers after the smoke is gone. You have faded pictures of people that don’t look like you but they lived their life and you’re here because of their choices.

And sometimes you get partials, like pictures of your dad when he was 10, the empty bottle of his aftershave you keep in your drawer, the Parker pens he used for work inside his Samsonite briefcase, or the last message he left on your answering machine. And on days like his birthday you hold on tight to the memories you got. You keep telling stories so you remember the details, you sing happy birthday to a papa that would have been alive, and try to fill in the blanks of a grandfather you never knew. And you still search for clues because his story can tell you more about your own dad …

Happy Birthday to my pops. He would have been 74 …

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My Old Man — Zac Brown Band

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Feel Good 5 Friday for a New Year on a Saturday …

In fuzzy pajamas waking up to the Rose Parade, followed by a run and blueberry pancakes.

I’m off to a good start … after a rocky ending. I mean with an old friend passing away and then Betty White, the year definitely did not end on a high note.

But the new day started with a new vibe.

And I was feeling the good vibrations of a New Year and the whispers of my inner ‘Yes You Can’ to gain strength from the bumpy roads of last year. Filled with gratitude to be out and walking on sunshine set the tone this morning for a positive outlook and an excelsior kind of feeling.

That morning song that sets you in the right direction, with its beats, and ability to travel through time and help you remember how to get your groove back, or just add that extra sauce to your strut, yeah … that helped today. That was the key. Just rode that vibe to another sporty adventure.

Pickleball.

I know, right? I had not heard of this pickleball, but apparently it is big and taking over tennis courts here and there. The sport is getting close to Gatorade levels.

Totally mixed-tape worthy.

We try something new every first day of the year … something outdoors if it’s possible and after a week-and-a-half of rain the sun was like time out. You’re up.

And so we ventured outside to the pickleball courts in the neighborhood with our borrowed racquets and took a shot.

This is totally our game.

And my son and I found it by chance. We happened to drop off my daughter at a soccer camp right before the storm hit us last week and hung out for a bit at the park. We discovered a full-on league of AARP posse engaged in this thing called pickleball. We stood there staring long enough that the team captain came over and asked if we had ever played and if we were interested he could show us the basics.

Between ping pong and tennis … we found that’s our sweeeeet spot.

They let us borrow some racquets to take home and hit balls against the wall and practice some basics. Today, however, the kids were like let’s hit the courts. We went to a nearby court and learned that keeping it in play proved to be more fun than smashing it down the line. So much so that when we got back from the courts, we ordered our own racquets and they played in the driveway.

Day One was good and that was a good start. Thinking of resolutions and words of the year and promises to help improve life, that’s still in progress. Forward is still my direction. Day One was filled with cool jams, fun times, smiles, me-time, and breathing moments. Deep breathing in the pockets of sunshine.

Buen Camino …

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I’m Coming Out — Diana Ross

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El Año Viejo — Tony Camargo

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Hot Stuff — Donna Summer

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Taking It To The Streets — The Doobie Brothers

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Here I Go Again — Whitesnake

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Words on Wednesday …

Thinking of La Vecindad just last week when Chente passed away, and then I find out that someone from La Vecindad had only a few days left to live and it hit me again.

All the memories flooding in from my childhood with Doña Maria, her caring and easy-going nature, and some of best pozole I ever tasted.

She lost her battle to cancer a few days ago and I felt that saddened pained heaviness in my heart. She’d met me when I was in diapers, and knew me through my first communion, TrapperKeeper and PeeChee folder days all the way until high school graduation. I’d seen her almost everyday. She’d been part of all the carne asada and Vencindad parties. She’d been there my entire childhood watching me grow and now she was gone.

In peace, I hope. No longer suffering the hurt that comes with cancer.

I was lucky enough to see her a few days before she had passed and I mentioned my favorite story …

Being a latch-key kid growing up, it was super important not to forget or lose your your key. I happened to forget it on one occasion and I had no other choice but to sit on the steps and wait. Cold and cloudy. I waited for someone to come home.

Doña Maria’s husband, Don Chuco, coming home saw me sitting there, like a stray dog and invited me to come upstairs and wait until my parents came home. We walked in and the first thing I noticed was the smell of something savory coming out of the kitchen and the giant painting of The Last Supper hanging near their dining room.

Doña Maria came out and smiled.

Ven mija.

Mija.

That’s what she called me. It felt warm and fuzzy.

Sit down, sit down, what were you doing outside waiting, you know you could have come up here and waited inside. Come sit down, we’re gonna eat some soup. I was part of their family. In La Vecindad we were all family.

She served me a bowl of warm soup and I joined them at the table. As we began eating they both grabbed tortillas from the basket, but I just kept eating my soup. Then they grabbed another, but I just kept slurping away.

They looked at each other and smiled.

Don Maria asked if everything was all right and I said it was fine, tasted good. Don Chuco shook his head and in his big deep booming voice said …

“Oyes que no sabes que con tortilla se llena la gente …”

Roughly translated it meant … Don’t you know that tortillas help you fill up? Eat up.

They laughed. I smiled. I took a tortilla from the basket.

She let me watch cartoons the rest of the afternoon, by the window, so I could see when my parents came home.

When I told my dad later that night about the Last Supper Painting, the soup, and the tortillas, he chuckled. Said we should probably buy more tortillas then …

Doña Maria smiled at the story as she sat up on the bed wincing in pain.

Ay mija.

She smiled.

I smiled.

She passed away five days later and I felt sad. Still do. Hard to picture strong, kind, salt-of-the-Earth people that I knew, that were part of my life, part of La Vecindad no longer being here.

🙂

I send her light, love, sunshine, and waves.

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Buen Camino …

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Monday Moments … Duct Tape Adventures

I don’t have many of these opportunities left.

I remember the veteran parents letting me know, it’s gonna be quick. Happen in a blink. Before you know it they’re gonna be going to college.  At times it didn’t feel quick. The long days when I was struggling by myself, sometimes I got help, other times I did most of the heavy lifting. So it didn’t seem to be going quickly. The tough days lasted so long and the fun happy ones seem to be so short.

Perspective was difficult to find until I was able to slow days down with gratitude and find pockets of time that stood still throughout the day.

Now I feel it slipping bit by bit again. I still got a ways to go until the empty nest days, I know I’ll be a wreck, but I got time. And until then, I try my very best to have patience, but whenever I ask for the ability to have more, it just backfires and I get situations where I lose it and frustrations bubble over the top. There’s no patience. Zero.

And then I feel bad.

I breathe. 

I hit reset.

And start over again.

I realized I need to stop asking for more patience, because all that gives me are situations that require more patience than already have in the tank. The universe gives me situations, not patience itself. Instead of giving me more I’m just overwhelmed. So now I ask for other things.

Times that I can remember when I’m older and having my kids remember good times when they look back. I hope for that, for them to look back and remember the Kodak moments with smiles and feel good vibes. Good-Time-Noodle-Salad moments.

That brings me to our Duct Tape Adventures. Ever since I found out about it, I got the kids jazzed up about the cardboard boat race and went all out. Every year since my son was six, we’ve ventured into the chlorine-filled pool and done our best to splash our way home in the Hannah Barbara Wacky Races inspired adventure. I always enjoyed those races and the personalities of each car as it zig-zagged its way toward the finish line hoping to be first. These are some of the times I hope they enjoy and remember when they got gray hair.

It takes one to two weeks to build and create a floating vessel of some kind, where I do most of the building and they put in the details or add some rows of tape. Each year the kids alternate and get to choose what the theme for our boat will be, and they look forward to the big day. The excitement of the race, will we finish first or last, what other boats will be there, what will people create, which boats will float and which ones will sink.  The day is something we all look forward too.

After a year of hiatus, you know, because the pandemic was attacking Earth, we were able to come back. Vaccinated and masked up people created and participated, and I was able to bring some Wacky Races fun back into our household. Thank you duct tape.  I was a little worried as my son, who is a lot older now had that competitive edge driving him forward, while my daughter just wanted make it to the finish line without flipping over and having to swim across, dragging the boat to the end. I had to remind my son that this day was about fun, about enjoying the moment and not getting burned out if his sister wasn’t an Olympic caliber member of the crew team. I also had to remind my daughter that she had to work as a team with her brother and that competition is part of the fun.

Balance. They both just needed to see the other side. 

In the end they both enjoyed the day of sunshine, with smiles, splashing, intense rowing, cheering, and hugs as they won their consolation bracket. High-fives all round as the boat remained one of the last ones still afloat.

Gorilla Duct Tape … You. Are. Awesome.

Sunday Morning … Remembering Your Pops…

Most of the time he would not take the day off. My dad used to work seven days a week for months on end. Then years later he realized that was bad for his health.

Workaholic. Part of the working-class mentality is having that drive, that work ethic to do the hard labor, to show up and take pride in what you do, and provide for your family.

But every once in a while he’d take a vacation though. Day trip, road trip here and there. Take a plane to Guate to visit his mom. He’d call her all the time but didn’t make a regular yearly trip to see her until I was in college. After years and years of hard work he learned that taking a day off was good for his mental well-being.

Monday’s and holidays. Those were his days off, the days he’d sleep in, maybe go to the driving range and hit a few. Go to the movies with my cousin, call to hang out with me, visit my uncle at the cemetery. Eat fried fish at the Marisco place down the street, the one that unfortunately is no longer there. I think the owner sold it a few years back and now it’s just something called a bistro, and the last time I heard of one of those was when Jack Tripper opened up one of his own after working at Angelino’s.

He’d still work on Sunday’s though, even if it was Father’s Day. So if I wasn’t working, I’d make the drive just to hang for a bit at the shop. Told him I’d buy him a cup of coffee. Talk about life. He’d laugh at the thought of his daughter talking about life over a cup of coffee, seeing how I did t drink coffee. But I’d do it anyway.

I’d tell him I’d see him later for dinner, which usually involved a steak, sometimes Italian food, but most of the time steak followed by Lakers game, Dodgers game or HBO.

Today’s the day to think of that. To think about the conversations I had but can’t quite remember, but knew I had them. Time to remember his smile and the feeling of hanging out, to remember his laughter, the smell of his musk aftershave, white collared shirts, and butcher’s coat. Time to remember the times he didn’t wear white, like when we used to go to plays and talk during the intermission, to remember the hard times and the good times, because there were both. Time to remember that 11 years ago, Father’s Day was the last time I had a conversation with my friend in a hospital room, that last time he’d talk back. I remember leaving the television on and telling the nurses not to change the channel because the World Cup was on and he loved watching it. He might not have been able to see it, but maybe he’d be able to hear the famous GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL! GOOOOOOOOOL QUE GOLAZO!

Most definitely.

It’s the day to celebrate and remember your dads. The ones that you were born with, the ones that saw you in diapers, and the ones who acted like your dad, encouraged you and supported you even if you weren’t related, they were still family. To brothers and uncles that had your back, to teachers and coaches that helped you when you needed it.

It’s tough being a good dad. Pressures weigh heavily on the shoulders of a family man, and not everyone is strong enough to fill that role. Not everyone can handle that. Now with raising my own family, I realize that. So it’s important to highlight the ones that do. To the ones that pay the bills and show up to soccer practice, and basketball games before beer with the guys, to the ones that are there for Saturday morning cartoons, even if they’re just sleeping next to you on the couch, to the ones who read The Very Hungry Caterpillar and other bedtime stories, to the ones who teach you how to drive and change a flat tire, to the MacGyver’s and the remote control masters who cross wires and eventually fix the DVD-VCR-Cable connection, to the ones that high-five you when you succeed or pat you on the back when you don’t, to the ones who snore so loud they can inhale the wallpaper if you had any, to the ones that tell you to chase your dreams, to the ones who have a cup of coffee with their daughter and talk about life … today’s your day.

Happy Father’s Day

Buen Camino …

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Feel Sort of Good Friday … 5

Even though I’m baking a cake tomorrow I’m still heading to the pie place.

It’s got one of those rectangle signs that spins, looks like a vintage diner now, but would be rocking it during the bell-bottom era. A coffee place where Flo probably worked the counter.

I made a promise … but never got a chance to keep it. We’ll have a piece of pie, coffee and pie, and talk about life.

I found out they got 24 kinds of pies.

I’ll have some trouble choosing just one. I’m sure I’ll know it when I see it.

We were supposed to try some, but he never made it out of the hospital. So even though I’ll be making a special birthday cake, I’ll start with a slice of pie to celebrate what would have been his 73rd birthday, because I made a promise. And that’s the kind of stuff you remember, the little things that don’t seem so little now.

73.

That’s a pretty hefty number. The kind that comes with wisdom and life. I imagine the Big 7-0 comes with that too. You get to a point where you don’t care and you live your life with the lessons that got you there. Plus coffee. I imagine he’d be retired, or work less by now. He’d probably have more baseball caps.

73.

I get stuck between being sad and celebrating his life. I imagine it hits a lot of people like that, you miss your friend, but you’re glad he’s not in pain because of a stupid random disease. Celebrating life … I remember his aftershave, still have his last bottle. It’s small, made of glass, with white letters spread across the front. It’s got only about a quarter left. The orange liquid swirls as I pick it up and hold it to the light. The musky smell reminds me of his morning shaves with his blue Gillette razors. Don’t remember him cutting himself shaving, but I imagine he did. All guys do, at least once. But I never saw him with toilet paper on his face, trying to stop the bleeding. Come out fresh. Style his hair with mousse and a black comb, the kind you’d get a barber shop.

He’d walk down the stairs and struggle to put his shoes on, to which I’d say, c’mon ol’ man, to which now I completely understand considering my back injuries and how really difficult putting shoes on is when your body doesn’t fully cooperate. White collared shirt. White pants. Black shoes. Baseball cap. Samsonite briefcase. And two Parker Pens in his front shirt pocket. I need to get me some Parker Pens.

Breakfast?

Sometimes.

Running late. Sometimes not enough time for eggs, scrambled or sunny side up. Not enough time for black beans. For bagels and cream cheese. For oatmeal with raisins. For coffee. But never cereal.

He’d say bye and drive off in his truck. For a long time it was a gray Nissan pickup … stick-shift. Not many people know how to drive one of those now, I’m glad to say I learned, I messed up his clutch a couple of times, but eventually I got the hang of it and shifting between first and second got easier. He’d listen to jazz on the way to work and never honk his horn at the jerk that cut him off. He’d just shrug his shoulders and keep going.

Even after he left the house, the smell of his after shave filled up the space.

Daily routines of the working class man. Morning routines.

I see them at night when I’m sleeping and in the morning when I’m putting on my own shoes.

I try to fill my kids with stories about Papa and little details, like baseball hats and musk aftershave, like trouble putting on shoes because of his back, his laughter after one of my bad jokes because I didn’t want to get out of bed. These morning routine details stand out most. The details matter more, when you’re trying to remember someone. They help fill the picture with the missing pieces. So I paint the landscape of my dad’s life, with attention to the detail so they can really see him up close. They help me remember too. Celebrating his life, his moments. Got to hold on, to even the simplest of things … like a promise for pie.

So birthday cake and pie.

Buen Camino my friends …

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Miles Davis — Freddie Freeloader

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Happy Birthday Donald Duck

Juan Gabriel — Buenos Dias Senor Sol

Mavis Staples — The Weight

Vince Guaraldi Trio — Linus and Lucy

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Feel Good 5 Friday …

Sometimes you say the truth and it’s too strong for people. You make a mental note and then remember the next time around. Some people enjoy telling you like it is, but don’t enjoy it when you return the favor. The opinion they’ve asked for is no longer welcome.

You know anyone like that?

It can be emotionally and mentally exhausting dealing with that in your life. No matter how many times you let the words slide off your back some of them scrape your skin on the way down and leave a mark. Building strength to deal with that when you’re trying to avoid it is tough. Deep breaths don’t always come to mind but getting away, taking a walk, and turning your phone off, that’s something. That’s a moment that can build.

During a recent escape I found myself trying to think of a happier place. After the run, I remembered multiple flashbacks when the kids were younger. I shifted my attention and emptied the space this frustration was taking up and filled it with these memories of toy cars, bubbles, Crayola squiggly art, squishy hugs and tiny hands.

I sighed because the peoples were right.

I blinked and now they’re much bigger.

But it didn’t feel like a blink though. I felt some of those days. They were long and I was grateful when the moon came out. I got the gray hairs to prove it. But they’re bigger and it feels fast now. Although the pandemic is definitely making the days last longer than anyone would have thought.

I watched old videos of Monster Trucks and book festival outings, of inflatable pool splashing, little league baseball games, Play-Doh creations and first days of school. I filled my heart with these memories and a strong urge to preserve it radiated. And then it came to me … instead of dealing with people who aggravate me with their one-sided courtesies and spite, I should fill my space with more talks, movie nights, and board game sessions so in a couple of years I don’t feel like the blink was too fast.

It’s not that easy, of course. We’re you’re in the middle of it, you feel like there’s nothing else that you can see. So another mental note, give more space and more compartments in my mind so that what matters and what’s positive can sneak in instead of the anxiety inducing conversations I replay in my head.

I mean I know I can’t turn it off instantly, but as soon as I feel it coming on, definitely activate the force field so that I can give even more time to people and moments that fill you up instead of making you create invisible barriers to help protect yourself from anxiety and bad vibes. As my girl Tabitha says … That’s just not in my spirit. So I’m hoping to continue to focus on the switch and this week the tunes from my past help jumpstart that pathway. I don’t know what it is, but the tunes from the past keep making me feel good. Don’t get me wrong the music is good today. I mean there’s The Zac Brown Band, right? But something about the growing up tunes that always produce the good vibes that create the smile and boost I need.

Buen Camino my friends!

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The Greatest American Hero Theme Song — Believe it or Not

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Tiffany — I Think We’re Alone Now

DeBarge — Rhythm of The Night

Claridad — Menudo

Tears for Fears — Everybody Wants to Rule The World

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Words on Wednesday …

Needing to escape the funk and keeping my vision board promise to myself I filled up the gas tank, packed the car, and went off on a RainMan road trip adventure with the kids.

Never been there before, but it was on the list, see this majestic being. And I stood there and soaked it in. From all angles I took my time to just sit there and appreciate it.

The Great Outdoors

The air. We just took a little extra that day and it filled me with peace.

But I guess a lot of people were looking for the same kind of wonder because for a middle-of-the-week escape there were quite a few people. Everyone was tying to get a nature makeover and Sequoia National Park was the place to make that happen.

We still enjoyed ourselves, masks and all. It was good to escape the city and make it all the way to the sequoias. Something about being in that giant tree forest helped me forget about all the excess, even if it was for a brief moment.

I was in it, I was present and I felt that reset button hitting itself. I was even more grateful that it happened for the kids too.

I was grateful I could give them the escape and views that helped rejuvenate their spirits. Being restricted by Covid has minimized our summer adventures but I was so appreciative for this one. Glad we got to see General Sherman and all of his awesome giantness. It was definitely worth the drive.

My jar of awesome got another note and our family spirit got that boost we needed before school started. Hoping you find yours …

Buen Camino!

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