Thanks, Dad, for an incredible day. More connected with you than I’ve felt in memory. Your stories that weaved from place to place—about which I sometimes ask, “what was the point?”—today, the sharing was the point. Maybe that’s always true.
Am I focusing on the present because I’m having intensive surgery on Monday?
Right now, I’m afraid. Not of death, but life:
- What if improving my breathing isn’t miraculous?
- What if I fail?
- What if I die?
Death I can deal with. It’s failure that’s unacceptable.
I’m donating my tomorrow to high school kids. Teaching, mentoring, engrossed in giving.
When I could die at any moment, why do I hop stepping stones?
- “But Kid, the best stepping-stones are rock and their own right.”
I didn’t think about any of that today. Just talked with you, Dad. And I loved it.
For three months, You’ve driven around with a twin-sized mattress, originally acquired as a gift from a friend. You thought you might use it in your #VanLife #Van. After a week’s trial, however, you elect to use your previous queen-sized foam squishies instead. What to do with this large nuisance?
Option 1: Give it away.
- You posted on facebook–one nibble but no bites.
Option 2: Donate it.
- Goodwill doesn’t take mattresses. They’ll accept it for disposal, however… if you pay them $20.
Option 3: Discard it.
- You can’t just put it in a dumpster. Grrrrrr.
Option 4: Ask that homeless man steering his bicycle up the hill, “Hey – would you like a twin-sized mattress?”
- “Yeah!” he’ll say, and a huge weight will lift as you drive up to the gate of the forest where he lives.
- His name is Pete. He has rough hands and a nice smile. You feel giddy that you made him smile.
- You park your van on the street near his place.
- As the rain begins to plink, you feel a kinship with the misfit.