Childhood memories of dirty hands and grass-stained knees

Nothing reminds you of your own childhood like watching a 7-year-old boy topple headfirst into a bed of ferns and filth.

And the sound of his father screaming across the backyard, “Striker! What did I tell you about being in the dirt?!?”

The child popped up like a groundhog, ferns and filth dripping from him.

Ah, to be a kid again.

This child is my nephew, Striker. His father is my younger brother, Scott.

This was at least the 75th time my brother had barked: “Striker! What did I tell you about being in the dirt?!?”

Now the boy had been summoned for a talk. The 75th time.

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Reflections on a year with COVID

“You know, you said we would be out of this in 2 weeks?” my daughter told me as we were driving last week. It was almost out of the blue. She was talking about COVID-19, of course. As if I needed to tell you that. As if, like everything else, you couldn’t just assume.

“I said what?” I replied, incredulously. “I don’t think so. When?!?”

“Um … a year ago,” she said.

A year ago? No! … Wait … Really?!? … Um …

“Oh,” I finally said. “I guess I did say that.”

I hadn’t thought much about the anniversary of COVID-19 up until that point. How this marked the beginning of the world turning upside down as the virus gained a deadly foothold. Forced us to upend our lives and alter almost everything about our daily routines. Things we never could have foreseen – toilet paper shortages, home haircuts, virtual schools, masks that hide precious smiles. And more important things, like lost family and friends.

For all the news stories about this milestone, it wasn’t until she said this that it really hit me.

A year ago it all began.

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The unending battle with the spring-time Florida yard

And so my yard said unto me, “Go, ye forsaken skunk, for ye shall not tame me. Wasteth not your breath, for I shall not be conquered, or kept at bay. I am the Indomitable Yard. The one who rages in your nightmares like a wild hurricane. The one who can withstand any assault. The one who rises up like the Phoenix to retake what is rightfully mine. And you? You are just a small, sniveling man with a pair of dull pruning shears and a rusty shovel. Lowly wretch! Oh, and by the way: there’s an ant crawling on your neck. You might want to swat that off before … ulp … yep, it bit you. Man, you are just a total mess.”

This is what my yard said unto me. It hurt. Both the ant bite, but also the general tone of its voice. Its confidence. It’s arrogance.

“Ye shall not tame me!” Oh, how I shall try.

I’ve been trying. So many years of trying. We all have. Yards are a constant battle. An ongoing struggle between weeds and vines and mountains of swelling leaves that threaten to avalanche on our houses.

For most of us, our yards are the last throwback to a bygone era when we had to battle with Mother Nature for our very survival. And sometimes, even today, our survival still depends upon it. Like when my wife calls out, “have you figured out why the vine keeps growing up through the bathroom floor!?!” only I’m actually sitting on the sofa watching soccer.

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I’m 48! When does the ‘wisdom with age’ kick in?

I suppose I should be more upset about it. Turning 48. Yep, that’s what I’m about to do. Don’t have much say in the matter. Father time doesn’t exactly ask if you want to go sky diving. He just throws you out the plane door whether you’re ready or not. “Don’t forget to pull the ripcord!”

“RIPCORD!?! Nobody said anything about a ‘ripcord?’”

SPLATTT!!!

I guess my philosophy is you can’t get too upset over something you have no control over. Ate a whole cake? You did that. Had a mid-life crisis and bought an alpaca? Well, you should have been a normal person and bought an expensive sports car you don’t know how to drive or got a tattoo that says: “Couldn’t think of anything better.”

Turning a year older is the one thing in life out of your hands, so why get bothered by it? Why rue it?

Besides, I thought understood it. There was supposed to be a nice tradeoff: “With age comes wisdom,” the old adage goes.

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Things you learn about yourself struggling with technology

It’s remarkable what technology can teach us about ourselves, especially when it all goes wrong. When we’re at our lowest. The lowest of the lows. Down deep in that great digital pit of despair. Drowning in bits and gigs and bandwidth and lots of other strange names that you know guys with goofy eyeglasses once came up with: “Yeah, this will mess with their minds. Let’s call it a ‘Flamingshnagel!’”

I hate those guys!

I learned a lot about myself this past week after my daughter permanently locked herself out of her iPhone by accident – yes, you read that right — and then the Phantom of the Modem wreaked WIFI havoc and killed our Internet. Lowest … of … the … lows! Two tech trials that tested my mettle and gave me a glimpse at who I REALLY am. It was ugly, and here is what I learned:

• I’m really bad at spinning bad news. When my daughter locked herself out of her phone after changing her passcode, but mis-remembered the number, she went on to exceed the number of tries Apple allows you before they lock you out completely. It’s a security technique that doubles as cruel torture for teens. But no worries. All you have to do is reset the phone and then restore it to the most recent backup. You know, when you last plugged it into a computer to save all of those precious images, files, contacts and settings? You know, the thing you’re supposed to do at least monthly? You know … you did do that, right? Because if you don’t, you’ll have no choice but to deliver this kind of report to a distraught 15-year-old: “So, the good news is, I was able to find a backup. Pretty good news, yeah? Pretty impressed with myself. Now, in ever-slightly worse news … uh … it’s a backup from 2017. But … BUT, that’s better than 2015, right?” No good way to sugarcoat that one.

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The outdoor weekend excursion planning checklist

All right! The weather is finally starting to turn a little more spring-like. That means we native Floridians are less likely to die of frostbite or hypothermia when we take the garbage to the curb. (Almost didn’t make it back last week. Lost three toes.) This also means we can begin venturing back into the wilds in search of adventure through hiking, kayaking, fishing and for some really extreme types, cross country cornhole.

So, as you begin to consider what outdoor adventures you might search out as the first twinklings of spring arrive, I’ve put together a checklist of items to help you begin planning your outdoor weekend excursions:

• Taking your dog with you will be an excellent idea and a truly enjoyable experience … right up to the moment that she throws up all over the back seat because she remembers how as a puppy she used to get motion sickness. It is important to keep in mind at moments like this: The idea was truly terrible and someone else should be blamed for it.

• When you head out with family and set a time to leave, remember this: They always stop for coffee and donuts. So, add two hours to your actual departure time and plan to sleep in.

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Winning the COVID-19 vaccine lottery

Fireworks rang out. Ticker tape fell from the ceiling. A line of dancing penguins waltzed across the room waving flags that read, “You did it!” and “Congratulations!” U2 burst from a closet singing their great rock anthem, “It’s a Beautiful Day.”

Oh, yes. Yes, it truly was.

We had just scored family members COVID-19 vaccines. The most exclusive ball of the season. The rock star event of the year. The Holy Grail of health.

“Wow!” my wife said. “It’s like a ‘We won the lottery’ rush!”

Well, maybe not quite that. Someone in Michigan just took home a billion dollars in Lotto. He or she can afford to get the vaccine while riding in a gold-plated rocket.

But, still pretty darn exciting. Our own lottery win.

Maybe you know what I’m talking about. The feeling? Along with frontline workers, anyone 65 and older is eligible for the COVID-19 vaccine. But just satisfying the age requirement is the easy part. Getting the actual shot is where the trick comes in. Here in Florida, it means trying early in the morning to snag one of the availabilities in our county’s online reservation system. Frantically searching out days or times for available “shot slots” in the hope that you will be one of the lucky souls to come away with an appointment.

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Hey Tech geeks: It’s time for The Magic Explainer

After a year of technological inventions that helped us better navigate the pandemic, 2021 is looking to be a bit of a let-down. Proof can be found in the recent 2021 Consumer Electronics show – a debutante ball of sorts for the latest and greatest gadgetry. This year’s event showed off everything from a toilet that can tell you about your health (I won’t explain how!) to self-opening pet doors activated by an app on your phone.

Revolutionary? Life-changing? Or a sign that the geeks in the lab are getting bored and running out of ideas?

Why not more pragmatic and simple tech like we got in 2020 when videoconferencing, health apps and other ingenious advancements made our lives better? More connected. More livable.

You know, things we really need. Like a Magic Explainer. That’s my idea. Think of it: A device that dispenses advice, wisdom and a host of explanations for problems that are stymieing us.

Wouldn’t that be great?!?

I know what you’re thinking: We already have virtual personal assistants like Siri and Alexa. But for me, they’re too passive. Always waiting for us to call them. Better at direct commands and helping with everyday tasks. They lack initiative, and don’t know when to insert themselves in situations to be more useful to us.

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On becoming ‘those’ crazy animal people

We’ve become “those” people.

I realized this in the checkout lane of the grocery store while the cashier ran my goods over the scanner.

He was making idle chit-chat. As he scanned a large pack of crunchy kitty treats he said, “Got a cat, eh?”

I realize now the correct answer. The reasonable, maybe even sane answer. It would have been something along the lines of: “Yep. Sure do.” And that would have been the end of it.

Instead, I replied, “Yeah. He’s a deaf stray with only three teeth. I don’t know why he loves these so much. Can’t crunch them with only three teeth. Chuckle-chuckle. But, you know, kitty gets what kitty wants.”

Did I actually just say that?!?

The cashier stopped and stared at me. He had his mask on, but I know underneath his mouth was agape. He was trying to figure out something to say. Anything. Finally, he managed, “Yeah, OK, so … got any coupons?”

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A jelly jar’s worth of memories from 2020

We started a new tradition last year. In January 2020. You know “that” year. The little goblin. The stinker. Someone got it in their head that it would be a good idea for our family to chronicle each week’s “highlights.” Seemed like a good year to launch it, back when things first got started in 2020. So full of promise. A big, bright horizon ahead. Lots to look forward to and record for posterity.

And it probably would have been a good idea … ANY OTHER YEAR!

Each Sunday we would gather around the table for dinner – mother father and daughter jotting down our favorite memories, highlights or pretty much anything worth mentioning from the previous week. We would write them on a piece of paper, fold it up and put it in a glass jelly jar. The idea was this: a year later, on New Year’s Eve, we would open up the jar and as a family, read through all the little highlights. Remember all that had transpired in the passing year.

A jar full of remembrances. A 2020 time capsule.

What a great idea! Cue sound of blowing raspberry.

Of all the years.

But we did it. Not all year. There were huge gaps – whole weeks, and even months missing. A little spotty, but the jar filled nonetheless.

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