Dear Readers:
I've started my own Web site and you're invited. I'm retiring this blog to focus on writing novels. I'll use my new Web site to tell stories, write about writing, and to promote future works. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I hope to become a published author.
My web address: http://www.ricblack.com/
Until later.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
I'm Alive
Dear Readers:
It's been a long time since my last post. In fact, curiosity prompted me to check to see if this post still floated in cyberspace. Sort of spooky, seeing your work standing and not collecting dust. Anyhow, I haven't decided what to do with this blog. Maybe I'll keep it, maybe not. I'm planning to put up a new web site that showcases some of my planned novels. I'll keep you updated when I know more.
Until later.
It's been a long time since my last post. In fact, curiosity prompted me to check to see if this post still floated in cyberspace. Sort of spooky, seeing your work standing and not collecting dust. Anyhow, I haven't decided what to do with this blog. Maybe I'll keep it, maybe not. I'm planning to put up a new web site that showcases some of my planned novels. I'll keep you updated when I know more.
Until later.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Sandwiched
Dear Readers:
As you may know, I've written humorous anecdotes about my mom in the past. Unfortunately, she's not well lately, and I'm busy trying to help her stay afloat (she has frequent falls and doesn't eat enough). It's taking a lot of my family's time, and every day of the week, so I've been unable to find time to post on this blog. I've decided I'm going to take a writing sabbatical for an indefinite period until I regain my mojo. Thanks for your support and keep in touch.
Until later.
As you may know, I've written humorous anecdotes about my mom in the past. Unfortunately, she's not well lately, and I'm busy trying to help her stay afloat (she has frequent falls and doesn't eat enough). It's taking a lot of my family's time, and every day of the week, so I've been unable to find time to post on this blog. I've decided I'm going to take a writing sabbatical for an indefinite period until I regain my mojo. Thanks for your support and keep in touch.
Until later.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Snow Days
Dear Readers:
Today should have been a snow day -- it didn't happen. Even though the weather was cold, crappy, and the driving hazardous, I had to go to work. I'm disappointed. In grade school, that kind of freebie offered welcome relief from winter doldrums and homework. How come, now that I'm a veteran in the work force, I'm not able to claim my rightful place in history and grab my snow day. Hey! It's cold outside, traffic's scary, and I'm too old to take the bus. (And running a marathon doesn't count against me because that was on MY time and wasn't work related.)
Things just aren't the same anymore. Look around. Do you think we get our due respect? Time was, you could count on someone else going to work for you, like my parents. When I was a kid, I could rely on them bringing home the bacon and braving the weather to leave for work. You'd had thought my kids would have picked up their very fine habits and carried on the family tradition, but they haven't. They still expect me to act like my parents. I have to help with the dishes, take out the garbage, fix broken things, spend money for fixing something I broke, and worst of all, go to work on a snow day.
It just isn't fair.
Until later.
Today should have been a snow day -- it didn't happen. Even though the weather was cold, crappy, and the driving hazardous, I had to go to work. I'm disappointed. In grade school, that kind of freebie offered welcome relief from winter doldrums and homework. How come, now that I'm a veteran in the work force, I'm not able to claim my rightful place in history and grab my snow day. Hey! It's cold outside, traffic's scary, and I'm too old to take the bus. (And running a marathon doesn't count against me because that was on MY time and wasn't work related.)
Things just aren't the same anymore. Look around. Do you think we get our due respect? Time was, you could count on someone else going to work for you, like my parents. When I was a kid, I could rely on them bringing home the bacon and braving the weather to leave for work. You'd had thought my kids would have picked up their very fine habits and carried on the family tradition, but they haven't. They still expect me to act like my parents. I have to help with the dishes, take out the garbage, fix broken things, spend money for fixing something I broke, and worst of all, go to work on a snow day.
It just isn't fair.
Until later.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Badwater
Dear Readers:
The title says it all. One hundred years ago a mule refused to drink the water here. The white color is from salts crystallizing on the surface of the ground and forming hard deposits.
The title says it all. One hundred years ago a mule refused to drink the water here. The white color is from salts crystallizing on the surface of the ground and forming hard deposits.
Death Valley Marathon Pix
Dear Readers:
I thought I'd share this photo from Death Valley Marathon. We ran on the Titus Canyon jeep trail; the runners are leaving Red Pass (5000 feet elevation). Click the picture to enlarge it.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Hardly Moving
Dear Readers:
Well, I finished my marathon. Things didn't look too promising before the start; the course had closed due to bad trail conditions, but the day before the race it opened for use. Yes! So I showed up in high-thirties weather at 3000 feet elevation, climbed to 5000 feet elevation till my legs cramped to a crawl, and huffed and puffed my way to the top. It was easy to tell the other runners were used to this kind of running. One by one, they kept passing me, and they seemed to be breathing easier.
But I had fun. After hitting the top of the first mountain pass, we headed down the trail to a low point, then walked back up to 5000 feet before running the rest of the marathon downhill. It seemed like I was staring at the ground a lot to avoid twisting my ankle on a rock and ending up face down in the dirt. My wife told me one guy did sprain his ankle; his friend was shopping for plumbers tape to wrap the ankle. Anyhow, this race was some experience and well worth the trip and effort. It took me two days, though, before I could sleep without sore legs waking me up.
Until later.
Well, I finished my marathon. Things didn't look too promising before the start; the course had closed due to bad trail conditions, but the day before the race it opened for use. Yes! So I showed up in high-thirties weather at 3000 feet elevation, climbed to 5000 feet elevation till my legs cramped to a crawl, and huffed and puffed my way to the top. It was easy to tell the other runners were used to this kind of running. One by one, they kept passing me, and they seemed to be breathing easier.
But I had fun. After hitting the top of the first mountain pass, we headed down the trail to a low point, then walked back up to 5000 feet before running the rest of the marathon downhill. It seemed like I was staring at the ground a lot to avoid twisting my ankle on a rock and ending up face down in the dirt. My wife told me one guy did sprain his ankle; his friend was shopping for plumbers tape to wrap the ankle. Anyhow, this race was some experience and well worth the trip and effort. It took me two days, though, before I could sleep without sore legs waking me up.
Until later.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Why Don't He Write?
Dear Readers:
One week to go and I'm off to Death Valley for my first trail marathon. What if I get lost in the desert and have to live off tarantulas? Or worse, what if I'm thirsty, and I end up guzzling water from a poisonous pond? Or my face could blister from the scorching sun and my lips fall off. What if my rubber soles melt? Well, not to fear -- Dr. Rick is here; the good doctor will take care of things. Yeah, right -- I've heard that one before.
Anyhow, I'm getting psyched for the race and planning to take pictures. My wife is going with me, but the race directors won't let her on the course; spectators have to stay behind. She'll see me when I limp over the finish line. I'm sure there will be stories to tell. This event is the kind of thing that gets me to telling tall tales. I'll try to keep in touch, but if you don't hear from me, it's probably because I'm lost somewhere in a desert canyon.
Until later.
One week to go and I'm off to Death Valley for my first trail marathon. What if I get lost in the desert and have to live off tarantulas? Or worse, what if I'm thirsty, and I end up guzzling water from a poisonous pond? Or my face could blister from the scorching sun and my lips fall off. What if my rubber soles melt? Well, not to fear -- Dr. Rick is here; the good doctor will take care of things. Yeah, right -- I've heard that one before.
Anyhow, I'm getting psyched for the race and planning to take pictures. My wife is going with me, but the race directors won't let her on the course; spectators have to stay behind. She'll see me when I limp over the finish line. I'm sure there will be stories to tell. This event is the kind of thing that gets me to telling tall tales. I'll try to keep in touch, but if you don't hear from me, it's probably because I'm lost somewhere in a desert canyon.
Until later.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Secret Memos to Myself
Dear Readers:
I've got a marathon coming up in a few weeks. As part of the twelve week training schedule, a 20 mile run needs to happen two to three weeks prior to the race. I like to string in four such runs before the real marathon -- it gives me a psychological boost, and lets me know I'm ready for the real deal. Yesterday I ran 24.5 miles and fretted over the distance the entire time. I thought I'd let you in on my mind's stirrings.
Memos to Myself
I've got a marathon coming up in a few weeks. As part of the twelve week training schedule, a 20 mile run needs to happen two to three weeks prior to the race. I like to string in four such runs before the real marathon -- it gives me a psychological boost, and lets me know I'm ready for the real deal. Yesterday I ran 24.5 miles and fretted over the distance the entire time. I thought I'd let you in on my mind's stirrings.
Memos to Myself
Friday evening.
I'm tired. I wish I didn't have to do a long run this weekend. My wife said I don't have to, but I do have to, if I'm going to be physically fit for the marathon. The forecast calls for mid-forties on Saturday, then colder and snowy on Sunday. Looks like I'll have to pick Saturday for the run. I pull out my park map and string together all kinds of routes that end up totalling at least 24 miles. Finally, I drive to the park and measure the distance on the main park road using the odometer; I can run a complete loop on the road, and it's 3.5 miles per loop. Ah ha! I'll run four loops to total 14 miles, then add 10 miles of hiking trails in the park to make 24.
Saturday morning, nine a.m.
I try to remain in bed. The realization it's still cold outside helps me stall for a few more hours. I'll plan to run at noon when it warms up a bit. If I run under five hours, it'll still be light outside (gets dark around five thirty).
Eleven a.m.
Drat. It's time to prepare. I gulp down my chilled coffee drink and extra water, eat three bananas and a bagel. A new hydration back pack gets filled with sixty ounces of sport drink. Three carbohydrate gels are strapped to my waist. My trail shoes' laces are tied, a few stretches follow, and I'm off to the great outdoors. I feel tense, like I'm facing my final exams in college.
Twelve noon.
My car motors into the park. I know it's time to get going, but I decide to procrastinate. I'll take another drive down the main park road and measure the distance again, just to make sure I got it right. Yep, 3.5 miles. The parking lot is to the right. My car pulls in and comes to a stop. It idles there a few more minutes as I try to put off the inevitable. No time to waste. I better get my butt outside and GET ER DONE.
Twelve-ten p.m. -- time to run.
I strap on my hydration pack, check my gels, and leave the car. A few shuffles and I make it to the edge of the parking lot, then I slowly make my way downhill. It doesn't feel too bad, but I feel a bit sluggish. On the way back up the road I realize I don't feel in shape. No way do I want to run this boring 3.5 loop four times. I complete the loop once, then head onto a park trail. I'm prepared to think of a new strategy for my run. I veer to the right onto "dog path." It's grassy and level for the most part. A nice pleasant run. Peace enters my soul as soon as I saunter into a wooded glen. Civilization seems remote and I'm in my own world. Now, I turn left into more woodland trails and pass a giant dog before opening into two miles of grassy trails. I glance at the dog to make sure it's on a tight leash.
It must have rained a lot in previous days, because the ground is soggy. I jump puddles, run around the edges of the trail, and splash in dirty, cold water. My shoes look muddy, and the trail only gets more slippery on the way back. I make a special effort to avoid a stump that has tripped me before, but am unsuccessful. Some stump artist must have applied camouflage to the thing -- I can never see it. Finally, I've completed the loop, determined not to run it again -- too wet and soggy. So far, 7 miles completed and 14 left to go. Next stage, a dry woodland trail totalling 5 miles. I plan to run around it twice to total 10 miles. At mile 2 the trail stops. A sign signals DANGER, TRAIL CLOSED. Probably some tree fell down, who knows. I detour off the path, find the park road, and head parallel to the trail until I see it again. Then I follow a lightly-flattened, grass path off the side of the road and pick up the trail. I continue running on it some more.
Up and down, up and down. It seems endless. Fifty minutes later I've finished a 5 mile loop. At this rate, I'll be running for five hours! I decide enough of trail running for the day. I'll finish the rest on asphalt paths. There's a 1.5 mile loop at the bottom of the park road. So far I've run twelve miles. I'll do one more of those boring 3.5 mile loops and six of the 1.5 mile asphalt path loops, then I'll have my 24.5 miles.
Three p.m.
Two loops completed on the 1.5 mile asphalt and I'm dying. I've got to do something to spice things up. Maybe I'll run the last four loops different directions. This strategy works. For some reason, running the loop one direction, then turning around and running the opposite way seems to make the distance feel shorter. I empty a gel into my mouth every two loops. The first loop takes thirteen minutes; the last loop takes fourteen minutes. My fatigue is showing. I want to be environmentally friendly and drop the discarded gel packets in a garbage can en route. An empty packet falls to the ground. I strain to pick it up and my back cramps momentarily.
Four p.m.
Finally, I complete six loops on the asphalt. Then it's up the same hill that dogged me when I started this run, and I finish at the parking lot. Ironically, my legs feel stronger going up hill than after plodding along on level asphalt for the last hour and ten minutes. I arrive at the car four hours, two minutes, and twenty-four seconds later. My walk is slow, pained, and awkward. I move like someone stuck a board up my butt. After walking around the parking lot two times to wind down, I open the car door and slowly make my way inside. I pick up my legs to put them inside the car because my hamstrings are ouchy and I want to avoid sudden cramping.
Saturday evening.
I'm zoned out, but it feels good to know I finished my last twenty mile run. I'm chilled to the bone, so I take a very long, hot shower. Then I gulp down three giant glasses of milk and a full can of peaches and fruity syrup. (I really crave fruity drinks after a marathon or long run.) Later that night I heat up like a furnace, and I throw off the covers to cool down.
Sunday morning.
Yeah! I did it. Today I get to eat without guilt. My back's still sore, but the ache clears up as the day progresses. Three more weeks to race time. I'm ready.
Until later.
I'm tired. I wish I didn't have to do a long run this weekend. My wife said I don't have to, but I do have to, if I'm going to be physically fit for the marathon. The forecast calls for mid-forties on Saturday, then colder and snowy on Sunday. Looks like I'll have to pick Saturday for the run. I pull out my park map and string together all kinds of routes that end up totalling at least 24 miles. Finally, I drive to the park and measure the distance on the main park road using the odometer; I can run a complete loop on the road, and it's 3.5 miles per loop. Ah ha! I'll run four loops to total 14 miles, then add 10 miles of hiking trails in the park to make 24.
Saturday morning, nine a.m.
I try to remain in bed. The realization it's still cold outside helps me stall for a few more hours. I'll plan to run at noon when it warms up a bit. If I run under five hours, it'll still be light outside (gets dark around five thirty).
Eleven a.m.
Drat. It's time to prepare. I gulp down my chilled coffee drink and extra water, eat three bananas and a bagel. A new hydration back pack gets filled with sixty ounces of sport drink. Three carbohydrate gels are strapped to my waist. My trail shoes' laces are tied, a few stretches follow, and I'm off to the great outdoors. I feel tense, like I'm facing my final exams in college.
Twelve noon.
My car motors into the park. I know it's time to get going, but I decide to procrastinate. I'll take another drive down the main park road and measure the distance again, just to make sure I got it right. Yep, 3.5 miles. The parking lot is to the right. My car pulls in and comes to a stop. It idles there a few more minutes as I try to put off the inevitable. No time to waste. I better get my butt outside and GET ER DONE.
Twelve-ten p.m. -- time to run.
I strap on my hydration pack, check my gels, and leave the car. A few shuffles and I make it to the edge of the parking lot, then I slowly make my way downhill. It doesn't feel too bad, but I feel a bit sluggish. On the way back up the road I realize I don't feel in shape. No way do I want to run this boring 3.5 loop four times. I complete the loop once, then head onto a park trail. I'm prepared to think of a new strategy for my run. I veer to the right onto "dog path." It's grassy and level for the most part. A nice pleasant run. Peace enters my soul as soon as I saunter into a wooded glen. Civilization seems remote and I'm in my own world. Now, I turn left into more woodland trails and pass a giant dog before opening into two miles of grassy trails. I glance at the dog to make sure it's on a tight leash.
It must have rained a lot in previous days, because the ground is soggy. I jump puddles, run around the edges of the trail, and splash in dirty, cold water. My shoes look muddy, and the trail only gets more slippery on the way back. I make a special effort to avoid a stump that has tripped me before, but am unsuccessful. Some stump artist must have applied camouflage to the thing -- I can never see it. Finally, I've completed the loop, determined not to run it again -- too wet and soggy. So far, 7 miles completed and 14 left to go. Next stage, a dry woodland trail totalling 5 miles. I plan to run around it twice to total 10 miles. At mile 2 the trail stops. A sign signals DANGER, TRAIL CLOSED. Probably some tree fell down, who knows. I detour off the path, find the park road, and head parallel to the trail until I see it again. Then I follow a lightly-flattened, grass path off the side of the road and pick up the trail. I continue running on it some more.
Up and down, up and down. It seems endless. Fifty minutes later I've finished a 5 mile loop. At this rate, I'll be running for five hours! I decide enough of trail running for the day. I'll finish the rest on asphalt paths. There's a 1.5 mile loop at the bottom of the park road. So far I've run twelve miles. I'll do one more of those boring 3.5 mile loops and six of the 1.5 mile asphalt path loops, then I'll have my 24.5 miles.
Three p.m.
Two loops completed on the 1.5 mile asphalt and I'm dying. I've got to do something to spice things up. Maybe I'll run the last four loops different directions. This strategy works. For some reason, running the loop one direction, then turning around and running the opposite way seems to make the distance feel shorter. I empty a gel into my mouth every two loops. The first loop takes thirteen minutes; the last loop takes fourteen minutes. My fatigue is showing. I want to be environmentally friendly and drop the discarded gel packets in a garbage can en route. An empty packet falls to the ground. I strain to pick it up and my back cramps momentarily.
Four p.m.
Finally, I complete six loops on the asphalt. Then it's up the same hill that dogged me when I started this run, and I finish at the parking lot. Ironically, my legs feel stronger going up hill than after plodding along on level asphalt for the last hour and ten minutes. I arrive at the car four hours, two minutes, and twenty-four seconds later. My walk is slow, pained, and awkward. I move like someone stuck a board up my butt. After walking around the parking lot two times to wind down, I open the car door and slowly make my way inside. I pick up my legs to put them inside the car because my hamstrings are ouchy and I want to avoid sudden cramping.
Saturday evening.
I'm zoned out, but it feels good to know I finished my last twenty mile run. I'm chilled to the bone, so I take a very long, hot shower. Then I gulp down three giant glasses of milk and a full can of peaches and fruity syrup. (I really crave fruity drinks after a marathon or long run.) Later that night I heat up like a furnace, and I throw off the covers to cool down.
Sunday morning.
Yeah! I did it. Today I get to eat without guilt. My back's still sore, but the ache clears up as the day progresses. Three more weeks to race time. I'm ready.
Until later.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Out with the Old, In with the New
Dear Readers:
Tonight, New Year's Eve descends upon us -- the ushering in of a new era. I heard someone say to take it easy and to avoid the party scene. I've not been into party activity for years, but I do like to take note of the previous year with some reflection and private celebration. I've mixed feelings about this past year. It certainly has been a stressful one. Job transitions and family health issues predominated, punctuated by brief respites. Today is my last day at this work location; I've been here for eight years. They were mostly good years, but many of the people I knew before aren't here anymore. The culture of the place has changed to something foreign to me. It's time to move on.
Moving on takes resolve to navigate the grieving process. I'm ready to leave, but am sad at the same time. Especially so, when considering some of my patients aren't going to be seeing me any more. They'll find new doctors, but I'll miss them. Oh well, c'est la vie, right? I'll just have to make the best of it. Taking down the pictures in my office was hard. I'm not sure where I'll put them, but I'm taking them with me. Hopefully better days lie ahead. Some people have pulled me aside to wish me well and say goodbye. I'll miss them. At least new work awaits me -- I'll be at a new location this week. Though I'm glad to be employed, new starts are stressful, and I'm anxious to get over that newbie hump.
Hopefully this new year carries some good news. I'd like to see my book get picked up by an agent or editor. So far -- nada. There's a lot of hype about persevering in writing, but let's get real -- getting fiction published is difficult, and I don't want to be counted among the throngs of writers who never get their works off the ground. I saw an article from a publisher who wants writers to be authors and not marketing moguls. I liked what I read. As for other good news in 2008, I'd like to see my mother stay off the injured list. That certainly would calm my fears. She's unstable on her feet and has fallen frequently. Walkers, canes, and her "roadster" don't stop the falls (most of the time she won't use them). Last week she had to go to Urgent Care after falling; she needed eleven sutures in her hand.
I try to navigate each day one day at a time AND plan for the future. You never know what the future holds, but much can be anticipated. Hey, I'm a boy scout. The boy scout motto is be prepared. But, trying to anticipate the future is like trying to forecast the weather. The odds of hitting the mark are highest a few days into the future; nobody really knows what's going to happen further down the road. Surprises happen -- like the deer that collided into my brand new car a few months ago. That wasn't exactly something I anticipated. Also, eight years ago when I took this job, I could see myself staying here forever, but it didn't come to pass -- another surprise. So being prepared is mostly about being flexible enough to find your niche in a changing world.
I once told someone that I've gotten use to living on an ice flow: You stay put for as long as there's solid ice under your feet, but when it starts to melt, you relocate to a different one nearby. (Yes, I know -- the polar bears haven't been making it with this effort, but I said these words before I knew about the plight of melting ice caps and polar bears.) Mostly, I said this in regard to an unstable job market, but the principle of being flexible helps navigate many of life's obstacles thrown in your path. Being flexible involves pain. Today I said goodbye to friends and coworkers, and that was hard. We had good times and often engaged in good natured banter with each other. I remember when one nurse reached for papers on the floor as I walked past her.
"You step on me and you're dead meat," she warned.
"Oh, don't worry," I said. "I never step on road kill."
We laughed then and had many other friendly jests. It was a hectic and busy job, but we could still take time out for levity. I'll miss those days.
Until later.
Tonight, New Year's Eve descends upon us -- the ushering in of a new era. I heard someone say to take it easy and to avoid the party scene. I've not been into party activity for years, but I do like to take note of the previous year with some reflection and private celebration. I've mixed feelings about this past year. It certainly has been a stressful one. Job transitions and family health issues predominated, punctuated by brief respites. Today is my last day at this work location; I've been here for eight years. They were mostly good years, but many of the people I knew before aren't here anymore. The culture of the place has changed to something foreign to me. It's time to move on.
Moving on takes resolve to navigate the grieving process. I'm ready to leave, but am sad at the same time. Especially so, when considering some of my patients aren't going to be seeing me any more. They'll find new doctors, but I'll miss them. Oh well, c'est la vie, right? I'll just have to make the best of it. Taking down the pictures in my office was hard. I'm not sure where I'll put them, but I'm taking them with me. Hopefully better days lie ahead. Some people have pulled me aside to wish me well and say goodbye. I'll miss them. At least new work awaits me -- I'll be at a new location this week. Though I'm glad to be employed, new starts are stressful, and I'm anxious to get over that newbie hump.
Hopefully this new year carries some good news. I'd like to see my book get picked up by an agent or editor. So far -- nada. There's a lot of hype about persevering in writing, but let's get real -- getting fiction published is difficult, and I don't want to be counted among the throngs of writers who never get their works off the ground. I saw an article from a publisher who wants writers to be authors and not marketing moguls. I liked what I read. As for other good news in 2008, I'd like to see my mother stay off the injured list. That certainly would calm my fears. She's unstable on her feet and has fallen frequently. Walkers, canes, and her "roadster" don't stop the falls (most of the time she won't use them). Last week she had to go to Urgent Care after falling; she needed eleven sutures in her hand.
I try to navigate each day one day at a time AND plan for the future. You never know what the future holds, but much can be anticipated. Hey, I'm a boy scout. The boy scout motto is be prepared. But, trying to anticipate the future is like trying to forecast the weather. The odds of hitting the mark are highest a few days into the future; nobody really knows what's going to happen further down the road. Surprises happen -- like the deer that collided into my brand new car a few months ago. That wasn't exactly something I anticipated. Also, eight years ago when I took this job, I could see myself staying here forever, but it didn't come to pass -- another surprise. So being prepared is mostly about being flexible enough to find your niche in a changing world.
I once told someone that I've gotten use to living on an ice flow: You stay put for as long as there's solid ice under your feet, but when it starts to melt, you relocate to a different one nearby. (Yes, I know -- the polar bears haven't been making it with this effort, but I said these words before I knew about the plight of melting ice caps and polar bears.) Mostly, I said this in regard to an unstable job market, but the principle of being flexible helps navigate many of life's obstacles thrown in your path. Being flexible involves pain. Today I said goodbye to friends and coworkers, and that was hard. We had good times and often engaged in good natured banter with each other. I remember when one nurse reached for papers on the floor as I walked past her.
"You step on me and you're dead meat," she warned.
"Oh, don't worry," I said. "I never step on road kill."
We laughed then and had many other friendly jests. It was a hectic and busy job, but we could still take time out for levity. I'll miss those days.
Until later.
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