I’m winding down listening to Eddie Vetter belt out heartfelt poetic lyrics and the sun which scorched me for several hours on an unseasonably mild spring day is preparing to set.  To make matters worse I hadn’t slept well last night opting to crash at my house and the disruptive energy was not conducive to good rest.  We had our opening game of the co-ed softball season and celebrated a victory with several pitchers of draft beer.  I had a decent outing with a triple, 2 singles and 3 RBI, although my left shoulder gave out a bit on my fourth at bat, a high fly ball to left.  By the time I was departing the bar it was after 10 pm and the extra 25 minutes to the lake house seemed much longer than what I was willing to tolerate, not to mention conserving on fuel.  However, after last night in which I found myself awaking sporadically throughout a restless night of racing thoughts I must make my choice based on wellness, not convenience or thrift.

I’d helped my buddy Ben, who is also my realtor, install several hundred feet of stamped concrete curbing.  We had a third guy, Jason, working on the mixer as I assisted Ben with pouring the curb.  It was obvious the two of them had worked on many job sites together as they hazed one another, which was quite comical, almost like brothers in a pecking order.  I told them that I appreciated the entertainment, escalating to a shove and a punch at one interval.  I noted the inconsistency of the mix as I hauled each batch from the mixer to the machine and wondered why they didn’t utilize a constant ratio of water.  It is always 4 buckets of sand, a bag of Portland cement, a bag of dye and a pinch of fiberglass.  And yet the water is added using a sprinkling can with no apparent ratio, resulting in a sometimes too wet mix that was difficult to trowel and stamp, and in other instances a too dry mix making for a hasty pour before it set up too hard to trowel.  In any event, we got the job done and everything looked aesthetically pleasing.  Ben paid me what amounted to $5 per hour, a rate I hadn’t earned since I was cashier at a gas station in high school 20 years ago.  I gratefully collected my wages and we agreed to do it again in a couple of days.  The phrase “beggars can’t be choosers” comes to mind, although I sorta like working with Ben and he’s been a good ally.  The way I see it I got paid for a fitness regimen that some people would pay a trainer 3 or 4 times what I’d earned to get the same quality workout.  I call that a win-win.

The hummingbirds and orioles are busy at the feeders dangling from the porch and the sun is inching closer to its curtain call.  I think I’ll hop on the quad and catch a glimpse as it dips below the distant liquid horizon.  I’ve also got a hankering to soak my weary muscles and bones in a warm Epsom salt and wild orange bath.  Tomorrow I have a small planting job in the morning and then intentions to deliver a small load of topsoil to my friends Matt, Amy & Erin who built a raised bed over the weekend for their vegetable garden.  If I’m not passed out too early I may take in some NHL action as LA Kings and Phoenix Coyotes battle it out in the western conference finals.  The bed sheets are tumbling in the drier and the prospect of lying down in freshly washed set of linens is enticing to the mind, body and soul.

In common wealth,



“You can always find the sun within yourself if you will only search.”

— Maxwell Maltz: was a motivational author and creator  of the Psycho-Cybernetics