When was the last time you gave yourself permission to jump? Was it a long time ago? Do you remember that feeling of excitement mingled with fear? Did you wake up, in the morning as well as in the middle of the night, and immediately think about the opportunity which had seemingly fallen at your feet? And, did you finally make that leap because you knew that taking a risk was actually less risky than not, in terms of regret?
That’s where I am, people. I can’t divulge details or specifics, but I, along with the guy who has supported me my entire life (my brother), are putting together a business plan and hoping to turn what has always been a sweet dream into reality.
This is my 1,000th DelSo post. So much has changed in my life over the course of these one thousand blog posts, but I still remember the nervousness excitement I felt when I hit the Publish button for the very first time. Exhilarating!
I really do believe this blog milestone is the perfect precursor to what comes next. Stay tuned.
Last night my soccer playing middle son and I went down to Wolff’s Biergarten to take in the women’s World Cup semi-final game. It was a great match up – #1 ranked Germany vs #2 USA and we, along with the majority of those present, were thrilled when our women were victorious with a final score of 2-0.
The bar was packed and the roars of the crowd were deafening. It was fantastic. There were so many familiar faces and it took both hands to count the number of former students who were present. Time does move on, doesn’t it?
The last time our women’s team won the World Cup was 1999, the same year my middle son was born. I remember we were in Harwich Port, MA and had the game on the little television set which was in our bed and breakfast. My oldest son was two and was completely captivated by the post-game excitement emanating from that small TV perched atop the mini fridge. It was unforgettable.
If England beats Japan tonight, Sunday’s final, a USA v England match on Independence weekend promises to be epic. I hope to be with both of my big guys, Liam the Anglophile and Griffin the baby born in our last winning year, at the Biergarten. Maybe I’ll see you there!
Photos from last night’s match are here.
I’ve been a member of ARE for maybe a year or so and, other than my recent forays into their (our?) Thursday Night Summer Trail Series, I haven’t really participated in much. Last week was a crazy, busy week for me with an activity or event every single night other than Monday, which ended up working out (pun intended!) perfectly. You see, Monday nights, according to the ARE members’ calendar, there is a group run of approximately 5.5 miles at a 10:00 mile per hour pace. Can you say right in my wheelhouse?
You should know by now that I’m not really a joiner and I don’t typically run with anyone beyond my Lunar B*tches and my friend, James. This means that getting in my car and driving down to Kinderhook to meet and run with people I had never met was a bit of a leap for me. But, the sun was shining and I wanted to start my week on a strong and positive foot, so off I went.
Pulling into a stranger’s driveway is kind of an odd experience, but the host of the event was friendly and chill. Guess what? Turns out she is also a librarian! Pretty cool, right? She actually didn’t make the run due to her participation the previous day in a trail half, but there were 6 or 7 other folks who laced up and took a counterclockwise lap around Kinderhook Lake. I originally set off on my own, but somewhere around my third mile I hooked up with three other runners and we finished up together.
Everyone was really nice, funny and low key about pace. I had dinner plans and needed to get back to Albs, but the rest of the group had brought food to share post-run. Who knows? Maybe I’ll cook a little something next time and make it an evening.
Back in May, I chaperoned a middle school field trip to Montreal. It was an exceedingly long day and somewhere around hour number 16 the acoustic Colin Hay version of Men at Work’s song “Overkill” got stuck in my brain. It seemed appropriate.
When I finally got home that night, close to midnight, the guy and I spent some time You-Tubing Colin Hay while sipping bourbons sours. As Saturday became Sunday, things began to improve and I finally felt removed from the smell of pre-teen feet, and the sound of pre-pubescent voices. I credit the guy, the music and the bourbon in fairly equal measures.
The very next week I saw that Colin Hay was coming to play in my very own pretty city. Unable to find anyone else willing or able to attend the show, I hesitated about buying a ticket solo until 97.7 WEXT offered some up with a pledge. I made a contribution and scored a single ticket – done.
In my heart, I was going with the express hope of hearing Colin sing “Overkill,” however I was a bit delayed in arriving at the show due to a different sort of overkill, namely of the wining and dining sort. You see, some friends and I met prior to the show to take advantage of both the pasta and wine specials offered at The Wine Bar and Bistro on Lark. And, we don’t like to do things halfway when it comes to terrific food and delicious wine…
So, I was about 15 minutes late in arriving at the show and, according to the ladies I spoke with later in the bathroom, Colin did “Overkill” prior to my arrival. Despite missing my one “must hear” song, I absolutely loved the show. Colin Hay is a very, very funny man and I spent as much time laughing at his banter as I did applauding his music. I was completely unfamiliar with every song he played but enjoyed each of them. I hadn’t been in the Swyer Theatre (the smaller of the two venues in The Egg) in a long time and had forgotten how good the sound is, so different from larger or outdoor venues.
Hay signed merch (there was a good assortment of cds, vinyl and such) and shook hands post-show and the line was impressively long. Maybe I’ll catch that song next time. It certainly wouldn’t be overkill to see Colin Hay again.
It began with a simple email. I had seen an article recently about an authentic WWII bomber plane coming to visit Albany and knew two of my three sons would be interested in getting up close and personal with a piece of history. I forwarded the story to my 18 y/o and he immediately responded wanting to know if his 10 y/o brother could be taken out of school for the day to visit the airport. Uh, no, but I agreed to take them both in the afternoon after school.
After checking the now updated article, we drove up to Albany International Monday, arriving at approximately 4pm. We immediately saw the plane on the tarmac and a crowd of perhaps 40 or 50 people. I dropped the guys off while I parked, meeting up with them less than 5 minutes later only to learn that there would not be any tours conducted due to a “lack of time to move all the people through before 5pm.” Apparently the plane had arrived late and had then been occupied with providing scenic and
crazy expensive rides meaning we regular folks without $800 a head to spare would only experience the plane from the outside.
I don’t want to sound bitter or overly annoyed, but I sure am glad it only takes me 40 minutes roundtrip from my home to the airport. I would have been pretty damn irritated if I had made a longer trip based upon the promise of being able to actually get on board this WWII relic. The boys were disappointed but cool, in part I think, because they had toured the U.S.S Slater just 2 days earlier and had so enjoyed that experience. FiFi wasn’t a total bomb, but, it would have truly soared if her visit had been better executed.
Did anyone else get there and have their own impressions to share?
Filed under Albany, Boys, Local
I’ve been slightly obsessed with the windows in my second story home. Many of the windows are on the larger size and Jeter likes to situate himself so his paws are propping him up on the window sill. My big fear is that he will attempt to chase something he sees outside of the window and the screen will get pushed out with Jeter to follow. Ugh.
To lessen the chance of this frequently imagined tragedy from ever occurring, I generally only crack the lower window, opting instead to get my fresh air by pulling down the top window which is beyond Jeter’s reach. Now that I’ve resolved my own personal window anxiety inducer, I’ve cast my attention in other directions, at other screens that have caught my eye. Like the two I noticed last weekend during a walk.
The first were more an issue about a lack of screens, to be specific. As I was looking up at building near Lark Street, I noticed a 4 story building with open windows but no screens. I felt a little uncomfortable about the lack of screens, as my imagination kicked in and I started to picture small children and animals tumbling out of that gaping hole some forty or fifty feet up. Then I wondered shouldn’t there be some kind of window guards or something? You know those things that prevent a lower window from being raised beyond a certain point? I did a little research and it seems like there is an ordinance (Ordinance Number 62.81.06 ) but maybe code enforcement needs to direct some attention that way?
Jeter and I next made our way through the park and up New Scotland and over to Academy. I couldn’t help but notice a first floor window screen leaning against the front of a brick building. Naturally, my first thought was that the screen had been removed by someone either exiting or entering through the window. Is that a weird conclusion to make?
Eyes may be the windows to the soul, but open windows and screens cause fear in my heart.
I went to mass the other day. It was in my hometown in the same church where I made my first communion, attended catechism classes and impatiently sat through midnight mass on Christmas Eve eager to only get home and open a single gift, as was our custom. I was there to accompany one of my oldest friends as he said a final public goodbye to his father.
The priest was “new,” having been there for just 20 years, he said. He was not the priest from my own childhood, Monsignor O’Flaherty who had no hesitation about addressing those dressed too casually or arriving too late for mass. Reverend Sweeney, along with my friend and his siblings, provided a lovely eulogy to a man who lived a long life filled with family and friends. I learned for the first time that my friend’s dad had never met his own dad and rejoiced in the thought of that introduction finally, 87 years later, taking place. The image made me smile.
Am I a true believer in heaven and life after death? Probably not. Do I believe that when we leave our earthly bodies behind our souls somehow come together and combine with those of whom we missed to create a new energy? I think I do.
I hope your Father’s Day, be it the third Sunday of June or some other day not yet on the calendar, is filled with love and a sense of connection.