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Come in.
Sit down
Take a second
You get enough advice
This is about nothing
And everything
And all of it in-between
That’s enough for now
It’s not a sprint
Travel to A Well Run Life.com
Tell us how you are
If the Chickens had a Mafia, this is how I imagined they would settle old scores.
Upon returning from a trip out of town, I walked on to Grace Farms.
There, I found all my girls- who I raised from baby Chicks - scattered in various poses of death and dismemberment.
I am vexed.
I built a Chicken Cathedral.
A good home, safe from any reasonable predator. But, clearly the neighbor houses an animal member of ISIS who hunts young chicks on my farm.
I have been reminded that this is the natural order of things. The predator was just looking to survive.
I have been told it is not personal.
The movie in my imagination shows a mid-sized dog launching from an easy boy and chewing the nose off my face.
To make matters worse, Jon Snow is back in town tonight.
Right along side my wife, I have been pining for him for months.
Jon Snow will soon face the White Walkers while I am faking bravery in front of a family pet.
I would like to report I did not soil myself.
Having survived the encounter,
my wife and I looked great at a very fancy event
we drank and danced and had a great time.
As if that isn't enough, we will be snuggled up to watch the brave Jon Snow in about two hours.
I am thinking of having a Martini –
shaken
Not Stirred.
Placing the cucumbers in the harsh desert light seems a harsh.
Under the pressure of the summer heat they will either shrivel and die, or come into the fullness of their flavor.
I trust their grit and I am anticipating a great harvest.
We are obsessively watching The Americans on Amazon Prime.
If you tasted this bit of Telivision Crack, chances are you'e done the same.
The show is overtly political but it's engine is the relationship between husband and wife:
Phillip and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth is this teeny tiny woman.
Now, my wife and I see the world vastly differently. There must be days when she cannot believe she married someone with my political views.
But we both agree: Elizabeth is a badass.
If you knew how much I hate the ants in my garden, you would be creating a Kickstarter campaign to cover the bills associated with my much-needed therapy.
The little demons aside, I am under the spell of growing food.
It's cucumbers, melons and sunflowers that generously fill my garden under my unforgiving Arizona summer sky.
I am barely surviving the blistering heat. And so, when I see a watermelon or cantaloupe resting on the ground
Vibrantly soaking in the over-available sunshine
Ant-free
It surprises me.
My wife's palate is very sharp. She can parse flavors in dishes down to the spices and the addresses of the pigs who gave their lives for the pork in our stew.
With great tasting powers come great smelling powers. Which can be a blessing and a curse.
"Honey," she says while I have come in from working on a small farm we are shaping to lay next her for a brief moment, "you need a shower."
My record as an entrepreneur is unambiguous.
I am an awful entrepreneur.
I have been pretty-good at making large sums of money for other people, but I have recycled my earnings through a series of business train wrecks that will make most every business person in the world feel better about their own skills.
The bones of the spine want to sit directly on top of each other.
The shoulders want to be down and back.
Pull yourself out of alignment and tell me you like it.
Slouch and crumple yourself and say it feels good.
But, when you see a dancer move, an athlete run, you know better.
The premium placed on sarcasm still surprises me.
I may be getting soft, but crassness seems to have become the surrogate for wit.
Harmony looks easy, but it requires holding the spine upright – it takes a bit of effort.
Beware of harshness.
In my opinion it is just the false promise of slouching spirit.
Stand up straight.
Most things will fall into line.
I hear the engine of a small airplane and the sky is very blue.
Who knows how memory works.
This is among my earliest recollections. Somehow, I remember it outside my body – looking at my 4 year old self in the front yard of the first house I ever lived in.
From that moment until today, I associate the sound of a small aircraft with beautiful days.
You never want to call someone crazy, but he was dressed in the blues of the local mental hospital. We were standing in front of a local grocery store.
I truly enjoyed this neighborhood.
But, family and friends found this an unusual predilection of mine.
A cross dresser in his early 70's fed stray cats outside the Starbucks from an open tuna can every morning.
My porch somehow became a garage-sale wherever thing was free. The theft was so common I put out everything I would otherwise donate for the petty thieves to sell on Craigslist.
Even when I entered my own home to find it in the processed of being burgled – I still liked the place.