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Tears of a Parent aka Oh How I Cry

My children may never know
How many tears I shed for them
Tears of joy for their successes
Tears of sadness when they are down
Tears of regret for my mistakes
Tears of anguish at my shortcomings
Tears of frustration for lack of time
Tears of angst for their future
Tears of confusion when they do not listen
Tears of acknowledgment that they walk their own path
Tears of befuddlement for making the simple hard
Tears of acceptance for innocence lost
Tears of pride for the compliments they receive
Tears of satisfaction when they smile at their achievements
Tears of ecstasy seeing them grow into independent adults

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Weekend update

A productive weekend was had. I slipped in some home improvement. The weather was beautiful. I really wanted to clean out the garage and repair the garage door but that wasn’t in the picture. Too much client work to be had. And I did get a lot of client work done but so much more remains. I wish I could have a few more days in this weekend. I am tired but need to go at it for a few more hours.

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Is the fight right

Time is fleeting
In the metaphoric stream of life
Do we fight the current
Or go with the flow
You can push upstream
Or float down
Which way do you go
Depends upon your life goal
Is it the source
Which forces fight to deny You
Or is it the delta
You struggle to steer
So focused on the destination
We fail to see others in the stream
Sharing the same dream
Or are we all lemmings
Walking a path because we are told
At the beginning or perhaps end
Of life’s stream is the goal
The wise will take pause
And stand immobile
To be in the current
Current in the moment
And observe
The shores
The rocks
The fish
The trees
The others
Before we are too old.

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He rides again! sort of

Went mountain biking yesterday at Baker Creek. Messing around on the pump track (you are supposed to be able to go around it completely without pedaling) and pushed too close to the edge going over into the brush. The bike decided this was a bad idea and it didn’t want to go into the brush so it stopped cold and flung me over the handlebars where I tried to stop the ground with my forehead (mostly helmet). As I lay on the slope on my back with my head down and feet elevated skyward, my first thoughts were, “Is the neck broken?” Twenty years ago, I would have sprung back onto the track with a prideful, “Meant to that!” This time I couldn’t help but feel the kudzu, poison ivy, and brambles enveloping me compassionately as if they were going to support me as they dragged me into the underworld. After answering the adults that I was okay, my son rode over and offered his assistance to me. I really have to teach that boy to say, “Sanka, are ya dead mon?” So that I can reply, “Ya mon, I’m dead.”

Now, my son gets home and tells the story. “Dad was going around the track then all of a sudden he just disappeared. Everyone was laughing and finally asked, ‘Are you okay?’ and we barely hear Dad reply, ‘I’m good.’ So I ride over to him and he’s just laying there like a dead body.”

This morning, Cathy and Evan are talking about how his scratches have improved and she says, “Dad somehow looks worse.” To which Evan replies, “Well, that’s what happens when you die.”

Today, I am a little tender particularly in my shoulders. Perhaps half an inch shorter. And range of motion in my neck is reduced. To look 90 degrees to my left or right results in protest from my body.

I am ready to ride again!