If Corolla had its own local sports station, I would have made the highlights today.

Tapping my 60 pound weight advantage while charging toward the makeshift goals made out of flip flops dug heel first into the sand, I nudge my much more skilled daughter out of the way just enough to blast the ball between the footwear. An impressive goal from someone who rarely plays the sport. I just bested the best player on the beach. The celebration is zestful, but short lived. My child, born with a plethora of natural athletic ability, wastes no time making mince-meat out of me on the next run down the beach toward the other set of flip flops. Unlike her obnoxious father, the only celebration after humble daughter’s goal is a wry smile.

The two-on-two beach soccer game has been a nice way to unstiffen after seven hours of driving to Corolla, and has made a nice memory for me. A few years from now, my daughter will have no recall of my impressive goal, but the advantage of journaling keeps cool moments like kicking a soccer ball between flip flops locked up for good.

My sixteen year old daughter walks exhaustively toward the 30 yard line of Shentel Stadium; her exhale illuminates in the reflective light on this miserably cold and wet evening. She’s been run ragged by her district rivals who came out fighting, driven by revenge, and have built a four goal lead. There’s still 20 minutes to go, but the outcome of this matchwas determined long ago.

Adding to the misery, her coach kept her in the locker room a few extra minutes at half time to take out his misdirected frustrations on her. He’s done this before – lashing out at someone who doesn’t deserve it because he cannot find a more effective way in the heat of the moment of dealing with adversity. Tonight it was my daughter’s turn.

She’s soaking wet, cold, embarrassed, frustrated, and worn down from chasing foes. Nonetheless, as she crosses the 30 yard line in the glow of the stadium lights, I can’t think of any other time in my life that I have felt more proud of her.

Pride comes easy when all is going right. But tonight, when the world was temporarily falling down around her and no one was cheering, I was watching my child that I love dearly and could not be more proud of.

Friday.
Normally, a wonderful day.
However, today it was a kick in my ass.
A big kick.

Started with the surprising realization that the balance in my checking account had gotten pretty lean. My family has become a little lazy with expense management in the past 30 days: $845 pissed away on tanning beds, eyebrow trimming, clothing purchases, car washes, and fitness clubs. We'll be fine, but I won't be enjoying any over-priced, imported ales this weekend - my one and only extravagance. Seems I'm the only one making any sacrifices as we attempt to educate our oldest at a private college.

That was just the opening act though to this kick-ass Friday. At 8:20 I met with my doctor. This was supposed to be a quick wrap-up confirming that my heart ailment was simply a benign premature ventricle contraction. Nothing to worry about.

The conversation started jovially too, putting me at ease. We spoke for ten minutes about bush-whacking, time management, and Swiffer mops. But when it came time to review the results, these words from the doc turned my fortunes on a dime: "Frankly, these results were a surprise."

I passed my stress test without issue, but once under the hood, the technicians administering the test found another unrelated item of concern. Interatrial Septum. In layman's terms, there's some possible leakage between two chambers in my heart; apparently a condition that's been there since birth. The cardiologist who reviewed the results recommends sticking some wire down my throat to get a better picture of my leakage.

FUCK.

The word surprise is ringing in my head. (… as is fuck)

I pull into what now sadly has become my familiar parking spot at the local doctor’s office. For the past 25 years, I visited doctors about as frequently as the Winter Olympics came rolling around, but lately I’m unfortunately beginning to feel a bit like a regular. Cluster Headaches. Extreme Dizzy Spells. Unshakable Sinus Infection.

Today though, the stakes are the highest yet. This visit is not about benign ailments like ingrown toenails, clogged sinuses, or wart removals. Of all the body parts you want to be working properly, none are more important than your ticker.

For the past two months, my heart has been noticeably thumping harder and has starting twitching, flip-flopping, and skipping beats. Hardly ten minutes have passed over the last two months when I haven’t been feeling or thinking about my heart. Time to get it checked.

When I called to schedule the appointment a few days ago, I was immediately transferred to a rather domineering nurse. She would not settle for anything less than an appointment as soon as possible.

“Those symptoms are not anything you should be messing around with.”

“Yes Maam” was about the only acceptable response I could muster.

After being told when my appointment was going to be, she then ordered me to arrive twenty minutes early so an EKG could be performed.

“Yes Maam.”

As I approach the entrance, I can’t help thinking that I’m on the brink of a life changing occurrence. I’m either going to be patted on the head and told everything is OK, or I’m going to be whisked away for emergency surgery to have my most vital organ replaced by what just hours ago was beating calmly in the chest of some car accident victim.

Visions of a helicopter carrying a cooler with my new heart-on-ice are running through my head as I step up to the counter to sign my life away. Nonetheless, I’m calm - my heart is still, so to speak. It’s like being strapped into an airplane barreling down the runway at 200 miles per hour. There ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. My life is in their hands.

An hour later, after an EKG, drawn blood, and twenty minutes of intense questioning by a surprisingly young and attractive physician’s assistant, I’m cleared to leave. Though not exactly patted on the head, I’m thrilled that anesthesia and a pair of rib spreaders were not necessary today. More tests are to follow but the leanings are that I’m suffering from non-threatening premature chamber contractions.

The period and the exclamation point – I need something in between. A muted exclamation point, perhaps. Or an enthusiastic period.

I’m a pretty unexcitable guy, and so when I use an exclamation point while writing, I always feel it’s emphasis overkill.

It’s overkill!

See what I mean? Exclamation points imply yelling, and when was the last time you heard me yell?

If there was a punctuation mark in between an exclamation point and a period, I would use it with much frequency. And re-write several of my journal entries.

Several!

I’ve softened as I’ve aged…

I favor khakis over jeans,
Compromise over stubbornness,
Acoustic rock over electric,
Air conditioning over open windows,
Contractors over do-it-yourself,
Automatic transmissions over manual,
Obama over McCain.

I used to be a stubborn, jean wearing, stick shifting, do-it-yourselfer…
Now I’m a khaki wearing, air-conditioned, acoustic rocking, compromiser.

I cried twice today, sixteen years after the last time I cried when my youngest was born...

My oldest doesn’t know I’m watching as she fixes her hair. On my bed I have a clear view of her reflection. In the background John Mayer sings about Freefalling, and a few tears form. She’s six days from leaving the nest. My wife comes up the stairs exclaiming she’s ready to leave. We’re going for groceries. I wipe my eyes and grab my keys. Neither my daughter nor my wife know how emotional I am at the moment.

A few hours later, I’m at the funeral of a good family friend whose 8 year old daughter lost a battle with Leukemia. Their two older daughters are the same age as mine. From every angle I think about this tragedy I’m saddened, and again the tears come. I’ve never before felt so much sorrow as I did today for this friend and his family.

At 2:33 a.m. I’m wide awake in a darkened, packed-full theater feeling pretty damn proud of myself and my wife.

For the past 6 weeks, we’ve been putting together a PowerPoint slide presentation for the Graduating Class of 2008. We’ve sifted through hundreds of photographs of the graduating seniors, cropping compositions, enhancing color balances, arranging the images by themes, and adjusting the timing to coordinate precisely with the music that we surmised to be most appropriate for this audience.

I had fretted greatly over just how successful this slide show would turn out. Would it be cool enough to keep a couple hundred teenagers and dozens of parents entertained? Would there be enough diversity of students represented? Would the themes be meaningful to the audience? Would all of the necessary projection equipment work as planned?

But sitting just outside of the control room at the back of the theater where we had a full view of the audience, it was quite clear that this presentation was a huge success. Thundering music blared from the speakers but not loud enough to drown out the continual stream of remarks from the audience affirming our success. Lots of laughter, cheers, sentimental sighs, and tears.

It was one of the most fulfilling moments of the year, especially considering it was all for the sake of our oldest daughter’s graduation from high school.

“You ready?”, I ask Allison & Brooke. “For what?” they reply, skeptically. “For me to enjoy one of the best moments of the entire year” I say as I plop dramatically into my favorite reclining chair in the family room.

It’s Apple Blossom Saturday and I had just finished cleaning myself up after running this morning’s 10K race. The weeks of training and the race itself had just been completed and it was time to relax and relish in the glow of my accomplishment.

Throughout the year, only a handful of life’s moments feel anywhere near as good as this one. As I lean back in my chair, physically and mentally abuzz from my successful efforts, I cannot contain myself and let out an exaggerated sigh of relief to the chuckles of my wife and daughter.

I’ve now completed 5 of the last 7 annual races. And it seems that after each one, I tell myself that that’s my last race. But then come February it’s like an addiction, and a challenge to my manhood, so I sign up again.

One thing I’ve learned throughout my time competing in the five races is humility. I’ve basically been running all my life. I’ve run far enough in the past 15 years to cross the entire United States. Yet, I am amazed on race day by how many casual runners - young and old, male or female, lean or overweight - finish with times much better than mine. However, more importantly, I’ve also learned not to be intimidated by this fact. I don’t run to beat others. I run to satisfy myself. And each year with great emphasis, I accomplish just that.

The low-fuel warning light has been on for a while. At 79 miles per hour, I’m hoping like hell I have enough fuel to get my gasping father to the hospital. I keep thinking as I accelerate how horrible of a memory it would be if he actually dies in my car.

Just ten minutes ago I was casually strumming my guitar on a lazy Saturday afternoon when the phone rang. Mom thought it might be a good idea to take Dad to the emergency room. When I arrived to pick him up, it seemed like a REAL good idea to take him to the emergency room. He was incoherent and struggling mightily to breathe.

As we pull up to the emergency room entrance, it’s quite busy. Not an empty seat to be found. I’m thinking this isn’t going to have a happy ending. But luckily, the triage procedures work well and Dad is quickly whisked away, ahead of patients with twisted ankles and high fevers – ailments that take a back seat to an inability to breathe.

An hour later, after a profusion of injections, applied ointments, and tube insertions, he’s breathing a bit easier. His body had been retaining fluids, most of which had collected in his lungs. The male nurse who was in charge of asking most of the questions, summed it up by saying he should have avoided the extremely salty bacon he had with his breakfast this morning, which was probably the straw that broke the camels back unleashing the wrath of a build up of salt in his system. In his fragile health state, when one problem gets rolling, everything starts rolling. And hence, not only were his lungs flooded, but he was battling soaring blood pressure, a spike in blood-sugar count, and an accelerated heart rate.

At 75 years old, the man is alive by a reliance on a complex combination of medications. This latest bout will most likely lead to yet another iteration in the sequence. Like the one doctor told me, it’s like Dad’s walking atop a narrow fence. When all is well, moving forward is no problem. But when there’s the slightest imbalance, off he falls.

I can’t help but feel today was a foreshadowing of my own health future…

And I can’t help but hope my daughters know to keep enough fuel in their tanks for emergency calls on lazy Saturdays…

When I was nine years old, my best friend asked me to try out for the community football team. I was just starting to form a fondness for athletics at that age, so I agreed to give it a try.

My friend’s father, Mr. George Taylor, was a former linemen for West Virginia University so he knew a thing or two about football. He gave David and I some advice before tryouts that has influenced my life to this day. In a word, he simply said run.

He thought there would be great advantage for us if we starting running before tryouts, getting ourselves in shape ahead of our competition. And so we did. For the few weeks prior to tryouts we ran… and ran… and ran.

When tryouts began and the first request of the coaches was for everyone to run a mile, David and I were well ahead of the pack making a very good first impression.

And so I thank Mr. George Taylor for providing the spark to ignite a passion that I still have to this day. A passion that I feel keeps me ahead of the pack, in terms more than just physical fitness.

Stepping off the escalator at the Gaylord Texan resort in Grapevine I’m greeted by the president of a company we used to do business with – nearly $3 million dollars-a-year worth of business. We exchange animated handshakes and how-are-yas, then drill a little deeper asking about each of our similarly aged daughters and their college choices. This then leads him to ask about my field of study in college. He presses on to find out how much of my math degree I now use as an insurance company vice president. Calculus and discrete variable mathematics are long forgotten skills, I say, but having a really good grasp on Bernoulli’s Law of Large Numbers – the very basic principle of insurance – helps me tremendously.

I think that answer impressed him… and upon reflection later, me too.

Earlier this summer while in Virginia Beach, I felt I had captured a pretty decent image of an American flag. I loaded it as the background on my computer at work and had been receiving some rather expressive compliments from my fellow employees. …“Did you take that?”… “That looks like a picture you’d see on the internet” … “That’s pretty cool”… etc…

Recently, as yet one more layer of protection against my hard drives crashing, I’ve uploaded some of my better photos to a website (http://www.flickr.com/photos/12405399@N06) so I’d have access to them wherever I could connect to the internet. Each photo uploaded is given a tag, or searchable word. For my flag photo, I simply listed the tag “American Flag”. Then, just for perspective, I searched the site for “American Flag” to see how mine stacked up. I was humbled when I discovered the search found over 30,000 other American Flag pictures, many of which were outstanding photos, and admittedly, some were much better than mine.

And so I recall my Feb 21st, 2007 journal entry: “On a planet of billions, where millions are doing the same things as I, I resign myself to being nothing more than average with most of what I do in life.”

Running more than three miles has been causing me some health concerns over the past few years. Knee pains mostly, but I also wonder if running is contributing to my more-frequent back strains and even the extreme dizzy spells I’ve been experiencing. The root cause of this change, I’m convinced, is simply my age: 42 years.

In my younger years, I could regularly run 4, 5, or 6 miles at a time; or 3 or 4 times in one week; or 250 miles in a year with no ill effects. Those days appear to be over.

So I’m on my front steps this morning cooling down after a 2.9 mile run, and I envision a graph showing that running up to 3 miles at a time remains healthy and beneficial for me, but anything over 3 miles descends into a risky quadrant of pain and suffering. This then leads into a series of questions about other things in my life that are both beneficial and risky, and at what point the price of the risk outweighs the benefits.

I have a number of bad habits that erode my life expectancy, but I willingly continue on with because the enjoyment is well worth the price to pay. For example…

I routinely have a cigar each time I go hiking and absolutely love it. If three or four cigars each year shortens my life by a few weeks, I’d gladly pay that price.

My desire for a few quality imported ales each weekend comes with a price as well. But whether it’s a few weeks, a few months, or even a whole year, I would not hesitate to pay that price. Few things in life are as routinely enjoyable as sitting contemplatively on my deck amid the slight influence of a potent imported ale.

And my obsession with waking extremely early every day surely has a high price to pay. But securing a few hours each morning all to myself while the rest of the world sleeps is worth a pretty steep price. And yes, I’d willingly pay.

Without hesitation, I’d rather live a shorter riskier life, than a longer safer one.

On April 10th when I flew to St Louis, I had to request an aisle seat so I could keep my leg straight for the 2 hour flight. Bending my leg had become excruciatingly painful. While increasing my training efforts over the past month, I apparently had strained the meniscus in my left knee. Needless to say, for the second year in a row, I had depressingly given up hope of running the Apple Blossom 10K race.

But then two weeks before the race, in a quick turnaround, my knee felt about 90% healed. And so a challenge was born. I had two weeks to get back into shape for the race. Could I do it?

Taking three weeks off due to my knee troubles definitely left me far behind my normal training routine. For me, preparing for a 10 K takes a few months of dedicated training. To get ready for one in just two weeks was going to be quite a challenge.

Over the next 14 days I ran six times, with the longest run being 5.1 miles, or about 80% of a 10K. Though I was not fully prepared for the distance, I was hopeful that the adrenaline of race day would provide the extra fuel for me to sneak up to the finish line.

After passing the 5 mile marker today and warding off numerous urges to stop, I did in fact feel that much needed adrenaline rush kick in and I knew I was going to finish this race. Although 826 runners finished ahead of me, each with their own goals in mind, I was very content knowing I accepted and conquered my own personal challenge.

Truth be told though, I’ve never felt worse after a run than I did today. The much anticipated and joyous “finish line moment” that I’ve experienced in the past was replaced by feelings of extreme exhaustion, dizziness, nausea, and an excruciating headache. But that was nothing a few ibuprofens, a nap, and a very long hot shower couldn’t fix. Knowing too that I had just completed my fourth 10K in the past six years made the temporary discomfort an easy price to pay for today’s success.

In the spring of 1981, I was like a lot of other insecure 16 year olds; a little hesitant to take chances. I was learning that the world could be harsh for those who made bad decisions. It seemed safer to take the path of least resistance; to not take chances. So when a German exchange student named Wolfgang and one of my best friends Dan asked if I wanted to skip school to go see world-renown Russian cellist and conductor Mstislav Rostropovich rehearse at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC, I was taken aback. This clearly was not the path of least resistance. Chances had to be taken if I wanted to partake in such a unique experience.

I had taken a chance and skipped school one other time in my life. Two years earlier, a group of us thought it would be cool to sneak away from the bus stop and go to a friends house for pancakes and beer in the morning. I had taken that chance, ate some pancakes, drank some beer, and cupped my hand around a girls breast for the first time in my life, but I also felt very uncomfortable with my decision. Though I did not get caught, I did not feel right about my truancy.

Two years later, when Wolfy and Dan asked me to skip school, I was hesitant. But comparing it to the reasons for the last time I skipped, I felt better about taking this chance. I could hardly see my music teacher mother becoming upset with me if she found out. Unlike last time, I would be skipping school for a positive cultural learning experience. And that’s just what I got.

Wolfy, Dan, & I were some of just a handful of people sitting in the huge darkened theatre watching Rostropovich lead the orchestra through it’s final practice in one of the world’s most impressive venues. The music and the interaction of Rostropovich with his orchestra were magical. It was an amazing experience.

On our way home, Wolfy looked over at us, smiled playfully, then turned the engine of his Mercedes off. He wanted to see if he could coast the rest of the way to a McDonalds restaurant a half-mile away. When I realized what he had done, I was convinced that we wouldn’t make it. We still had to go through a stop light, then cut across a busy highway before pulling into the parking lot. Wolfy though, was much more confident. He just kept smiling as the car glided through the green light, across the busy highway, and gently rolled into a parking spot. It was the second amazing experience of my day. It was at that point that I realized that taking chances does not just involve risks of failure. It also involves the potential for remarkable rewards.

Mstislav Rostropovich died at the age of 80 today…

Driving to work for approximately the 5,634th time in my 42 year old life, fighting with a small bout of depression brought on by an overwhelming feeling of responsibility and lack of meaning in my life, I spot the brilliant orange of a sunrise to the southeast…and crack a slight smile. Unexpectedly I’ve delivered a knockout blow in my bout with depression. I feel warm, energetic, and vibrant again.

Feb 18, 2007:
In essence over the next month, I’ll write just one sentence – no more or less – to unearth the spirit of each day.

Feb 19:
I cannot recall ever feeling as bitterly cold as I did this morning after an hour of photographing the snow and ice in Clarke County.



Feb 20:
Accompanied by a string of fine XM songs, I ride to work basking in the glow of my solid defensive performance last night, which included four blocked shots, numerous rebounds, and a few steals.

Feb 21:
On a planet of billions, where millions are doing the same things as I, I resign myself to being nothing more than average with most of what I do in life.

Feb 22:
A short time after the opening bell rang, my brokerage service secured 5 shares of ACE, Ltd, becoming the first step of my foray into equity investing.

Feb 23:
NBA great Dennis Johnson’s premature death at age 52 made me realize that I am satisfied with my contributions to this world if my life came to a similar unexpected end.

Feb 24:
The findings of the 9/11 Commission implied that the US government failed to protect it’s people; however, it was the government’s well-meaning efforts of preserving our cherished freedoms that allowed the plot to unfold so easily.

Feb 25:
Regardless of your position on global warming, you must at least consider the environmental impact of these two things: exponential human population growth and a continued reliance on fossil fuels.

Feb 26:
Unsightly blemish located on the edge of my nostril made eye contact with others uncomfortable today.

Feb 27:
Fruit has been born out from a carefully worded department memo I issued, in part, to discreetly motivate one individual.

Feb 28:
Meeting the attractive chaperone with Argentinean accent and caring eyes brought some comfort to the decision made allowing my 14 year old daughter to spend 14 days in Costa Rica this summer.

Mar 1:
Felt quite dizzy as I walked into the kitchen early this morning following 10 straight minutes of staring through the dark at the stock ticker on Bloomberg TV.

Mar 2:
Applied for a job as a “volunteer photo monitor” to take pictures once a month of the progress of riparian restoration along Buffalo Marsh Run, a newly acquire property of the Nature Conservancy.

Mar 3:
Seated in the front row of a very intimate theater, actors actually bumped into me while performing “Much Ado About Nothing”.

Mar 4:
While converting a handwritten journal of quotes I started 22 years ago to computer format, it became clear that some had lost their meaning (or maybe I had changed), but others had fermented and were more meaningful than ever.




Mar 5:
Though the photo monitor position had been filled, I was offered the back-up roll, then was emailed a topographic map and aerial photos of the secret, undisclosed location of the Ogden Cave Preserve.

Mar 6:
Mr. Butler, then surprisingly Mr. Gayheart, made motion & seconded my nomination for re-election as Vice President & Underwriting Manager for another year.

Mar 7:
Strange, that a rectal exam will be today’s lasting memory.

Mar 8:
A frank discussion with my daughter about commitment unintentionally left her feeling like a failure, and me too.

Mar 9:
A frank discussion with my wife about raising our daughters, surprisingly (though not true), left us both feeling a little bit like failures.

Mar 10:
Abuzz from a Sam Smith’s ale and a few nips of Chivas Regal, I switch back and forth between two of my favorite movies in a shallow pursuit of relaxation and pleasure.

Mar 11:
Worked for 20 minutes graphing sine, cosine, and tangent curves to figure out in which quadrants they are positive only to find out that my daughter already had an acronym “CAST” to help her remember.

Mar 12:
Looking forward and behind, I count dozens of cars heading east like me on our way to offices, meetings, shops, job sites, train stations & airports in our daily attempt at earning a living, and maybe understanding just a little more about this life than we did yesterday.

Mar 13:
Despite the fact that I exercise regularly, have no extra weight to lose, and avoid many of the high risk foods, my cholesterol levels were high enough to cause mild concern to my physician.

Mar 14:
Placed a $10 wager on the Oregon Ducks making the final four of the NCAA basketball tournament, only to then be beaten by overall winner and national champion Kansas Jay Hawks.

Mar 15:
As the brilliant sunrise and honking V of geese fade into the fog enshrouding Opequon Creek, I’m inspired to turn off my radio, feeling it’s meaningless listening to yet another self-righteous prognosticator make basketball predictions.

Mar 16:
In my car at zero miles an hour for 30 minutes while the debris of two flipped vehicles and the lives of their occupants are cleaned up, I savor a soda and some peanuts content and relaxed while others around me are fidgety.

Mar 17:
Words I’m surprised I used over the past month include foray, nostril, rectal, ado, Chivas, cosine, enshrouding, & fidgety.

While standing in the president’s office I begin to feel a constriction of vessels around my temples. When I turn my head quickly to the left, the room begins to spin and I grab hold of the chair in front of me. I keep smiling and nodding as the president talks, but inside I’m on a roller coaster ride. As the conversation ends, I gently grab the door jamb on my way out, then the copier, then the counter as I head to the bathroom to re-group.

But re-group doesn’t come and I’m wondering if I can make it back to my office in time to cancel the 9:00 a.m. meeting I am scheduled to lead. By great effort, I pinball my way down the hall bouncing off walls, desks, and chairs for balance, all the while trying my damnedest not to let anyone notice my struggles.

After postponing the meeting for an hour, I head to the attic to avoid people and see if I can get the world to stop spinning. It doesn’t, and I throw up into an empty cardboard box.

When I realize my predicament is not going to get any better up in the attic, I stumble back to my office and call the president. I tell him I’m heading home and ask him to cancel my meeting.

The last half of the hour-long drive becomes a challenge. Between waves of nausea and semi-consciousness I think of unfinished projects in my life and whether my family will be able to open up my password-protected journal if I die. It seems every traffic signal is red. When I finally arrive home, my mouth is watering, but not for incoming food. I quiver up the steps, walk right past Allison, lift the toilet lid, and vomit again.

Relieved but still not right, I head to the couch and sleep for three hours, after which at least the thoughts of dying have ended.

Allison thinks I have something contagious and follows behind me disinfecting. I think I’m having a mild stroke or some other non-contagious circulatory problem.

I hope I’m wrong…

I’m alone in my car with my thoughts nearly two hours a day. I’m 42 years old and don’t remember things as well as I used to. So when a good thought arrives while I’m driving, there’s a terrible risk of it escaping into my 65 mile per hour wake. To compensate, I now travel with a hardbound notebook sitting on the passenger seat. When a worthy thought arrives, I sloppily jot down the essentials while whizzing along, then fine tune that thought once stationary.

To further aid my memory deficiencies, I use the notebook as a place to record my jogging distances. Sweaty and exhausted after I run, I stop by my car and temporarily record my distance before heading inside for a shower. It’ll later be entered into my computer at work.

And when less thoughtful, the hardbound notebook serves as a tray for my drive-thru chalupas and biscuits; the perfect dining table for those who prefer to eat at 65 miles per hour.

Thoughts begin in my trusty notebook; runs and drips end there.