Jump Shots and Home Runs
Busy week this week. Friend Dave called Wednesday afternoon. He had four tickets to the Celtics game and wanted to bring Middle Child and me with his oldest. So, yeah, it was the Celtics game, and I haven't cared about the Celtics since 1988 or so. Not to mention that the Celts are in the middle of an epic losing streak.
But the nice parts:
Yesterday, I had lunch with my old office mates from my consulting days. They just changed offices. They're now in the old Celtics suite. (Do you sense a theme here?) Celtics logos everywhere, even in the private shower in the bathroom.
This morning was the weekly basketball ritual: Middle Child played at 8 a.m. I usually hit those games (Friend Dave is a coach, and his oldest is on the team with Middle Child), but this morning, Middle Child asked the Saint to go, so Daughter and I got to hang out with Dora the Explorer. Oldest Son plays at 2, and I'm going to his game.
Meanwhile, the Saint is grocery shopping and we've got laundry going... Ahh, domestic bliss.
But baseball season is right around the corner. How do I know this? Because this morning we also signed up Middle Child for his third season of Little League. I coached Oldest Son's team last year with two other guys (I was doing it for Oldest Son, but it also ended up being the best gift I ever gave myself). Middle Child asked me to coach his team this year. That's a no-brainer.
Allow me to elaborate, because as great as baseball is, this is not all about baseball.
There's our group of five couples. We became friends because our kids all went to Kindergarten together (Middle Child's class). But the clincher was that in the Spring of 2005, all five of those interconnected kids ended up on the same baseball team, and three of the five dads were coaches. We started having cookouts every Saturday, after the game. That led to Saturday cookouts, post-season cookouts, and blowouts... pretty much on demand these days.
Yes, we know how cool that is. And now another season starts.
All of this as I'm crawling closer to the finish line on this novel. If this book were a rock and roll song, we'd be listening to the guitar solo between the third and fourth verses. Speaking of rock and roll, go see Dave Guarino's spirited defense of U2. Dave's rant drew a loud "Amen" from me.
It reminded me of the time a rival political operative dissed Bruce to my face. The results: Not pretty, but poetic in their brutality.
I may tell you about it some day, but not until the book is finished. Now, however, I have to go watch a basketball game. Oldest Son has inherited the Saint's talents in the low post. The results for the other team: Not pretty, but poetic in their brutality.
Adam
But the nice parts:
- Good friends
- Good company
- Shaq returned to the Heat
Yesterday, I had lunch with my old office mates from my consulting days. They just changed offices. They're now in the old Celtics suite. (Do you sense a theme here?) Celtics logos everywhere, even in the private shower in the bathroom.
This morning was the weekly basketball ritual: Middle Child played at 8 a.m. I usually hit those games (Friend Dave is a coach, and his oldest is on the team with Middle Child), but this morning, Middle Child asked the Saint to go, so Daughter and I got to hang out with Dora the Explorer. Oldest Son plays at 2, and I'm going to his game.
Meanwhile, the Saint is grocery shopping and we've got laundry going... Ahh, domestic bliss.
But baseball season is right around the corner. How do I know this? Because this morning we also signed up Middle Child for his third season of Little League. I coached Oldest Son's team last year with two other guys (I was doing it for Oldest Son, but it also ended up being the best gift I ever gave myself). Middle Child asked me to coach his team this year. That's a no-brainer.
Allow me to elaborate, because as great as baseball is, this is not all about baseball.
There's our group of five couples. We became friends because our kids all went to Kindergarten together (Middle Child's class). But the clincher was that in the Spring of 2005, all five of those interconnected kids ended up on the same baseball team, and three of the five dads were coaches. We started having cookouts every Saturday, after the game. That led to Saturday cookouts, post-season cookouts, and blowouts... pretty much on demand these days.
Yes, we know how cool that is. And now another season starts.
All of this as I'm crawling closer to the finish line on this novel. If this book were a rock and roll song, we'd be listening to the guitar solo between the third and fourth verses. Speaking of rock and roll, go see Dave Guarino's spirited defense of U2. Dave's rant drew a loud "Amen" from me.
It reminded me of the time a rival political operative dissed Bruce to my face. The results: Not pretty, but poetic in their brutality.
I may tell you about it some day, but not until the book is finished. Now, however, I have to go watch a basketball game. Oldest Son has inherited the Saint's talents in the low post. The results for the other team: Not pretty, but poetic in their brutality.
Adam
Labels: Daughter, David Guarino, Middle Child, Oldest Son, The Kids, The Saint, U2
posted by Adam Hurtubise at 12:05 PM
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