I had my annual physical this week.
That's a loaded way to start the blog. So let me start over:
I broke my reading glasses yesterday. Had them folded into the neck of my t-shirt when I lifted Sadie out of the back seat of the Rover. I read that letting her jump down from the vehicle is bad for her joints and I want to prolong her life and health as much as possible.
I just finished A Gentleman in Moscow for the third time. I like the ending so much that I immediately reread the last forty pages. I've never read the great Russian writers, so next up is Anna Karenina. It's a big book. I have trouble with big books. Everyone raves about The Count of Monte Cristo but I couldn't get through it. Someday I will go back and start from page one with a different translation, but for now the Count is on my list of failed attempts to read classic books.
It mirrors my own failure to finish writing a novel.
Track season came to an end yesterday. I followed up my final high school track meet of the season by driving to UCLA and watching a professional meet with my friends from the USA Track and Field Foundation. I even got to hand Parker Valby her big fake check when she won the women's 5,000. That's what she called it. I liked that.
I am literally living under a cloud right now. It rained last night and the marine layer still presses down on Orange County. It looks like it will burn off soon enough. The sun will shine and I will head on over to the local to sip a couple IPA's and read a book. I won't really talk to anyone but I like being around the noise. We had our track banquet yesterday and I got several gift cards to Board & Brew as a coach's gift. No time like the present to put them to work.
My barber made small talk during a recent haircut, asking me which sports I favor. We proceeded to talk about the end of football season, the sorry future of the Lakers and LeBron, and a little bit about the Angels just to agree that the owner sucks and needs to sell the team.
We did not talk about the Olympics — the best thing in the sports world for sixteen days every four years. Some people just don't watch the Olympics. To them I say: you don't know what you're missing.
We held a neighborhood St. Patrick's Day party in the cul de sac on Saturday night. Everyone brought an entrée and a dessert. BYOB. It was nice catching up with everyone in person, rather than just waving as they drive by on their way to work. The evening sky was clear but it was California-cold, most of us wearing something down.
