Souper Sunday

Today is all about chocolate cupcakes that are drowning in black or yellow icing and sprinkles. It is about a wind that asserts itself by bending trees. It is about puzzle pieces strewn across the floor, leftover barley soup in the refrigerator, and an Amazon wishlist that won't stop growing.

Today is about 8 glasses of water, a couple of beers, the lassoing of a Terrible Towel. It is about magnesium supplements, and sliced tomato on toast. It is about embracing growth: learning to read in Spanish, choosing 5 classics to consume, and assuming new Yoga positions.

Today, I've decided that my favorite true crime books are these: Until the Twelfth of Never by Bella Stumbo, Fatal Vision by Joe McGinnis, Our Guys by Bernard Lefkowitz, and Small Sacrifices by Ann Rule. I've been slowly plowing through "In Cold Blood," and though I want to like it, I'm a little bored. Should I admit that? That I'm a little bored by Truman Capote? Oh, but it's true, at least for me.

Today is about my definition of good literature probably being different than yours, and that's okay, too. I'm open to your recommendations and I hope that you might be open to mine.

Today is about ballet on a ball field, choreographed moves, the song of grunts and "oompphs" against an orchestra of cheers. Today is about Mick, my skinny, wrangly Mick, pacing and thrusting and grabbing on a stage, while fireworks explode behind him:

If you start me up
If you start me up I'll never stop
I've been running hot
You got me ticking gonna blow my top

Today is about emotion: nostalgia, anticipation, excitement, joy, passion, envy, pride, disappointment. It is about wanting to turn away and look out the window instead of watching players, slump-backed on a bench, their huge hands over their eyes as the final few seconds tick away.

The wind sometimes asserts itself better than people do.

Today is about two little boys, covered in icing and crumbs, chasing each other around a room, pretending to be "Steelers." Two little boys cheering when their dad does, even though they don't understand what they're yelling for. Two little boys who might one day be football players or dancers or welders or clowns. Today, Mac asked Lou if there were any job openings at his office; I can see four year old Mac, newly hired in a rumpled suit, tie hanging to his knees, shuffling into the building while swinging a briefcase (filled with K'nex, no less).

Today, I have a lot to be grateful for, but the best part is being smart enough to recognize that.