It Is So Monday

I've not been sleeping well lately.  Blame it on hormones.  I think.  I don't know.  I gotta blame it on something.  So I keep adding to this mounting deficit.

This would be me.



Something's gotta give.  I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of molasses today.  And my surroundings, the backdrop to my world, it feels like everything is in black and white, and really bad clarity.  You know, like the TV channels from years ago, the reception not strong enough for a clear picture, no matter how much you adjust the "rabbit ears."   That's it.  That's what I see today. 



Add to that mundane happenings in court.  I hear words, but they all sound alike.  Rhetoric.

 

Oh. No.

Now what do I do?

 

I have to find the energy to drive to the post office,

stand in line,

and wait, wait, wait...

then drive home, change clothes,

and go to my son's JV football game.

No nap in sight.

 

Tuesday will be a better day.

I just know it.

Round One in Baltimore Comes to an End...

... and Round Two, in another sense, is just beginning.

They stomped us pretty good.  They're a good football team, Johns Hopkins.  They play fast and hard.  It was lots of fun just being there, watching the game, taking in the playoff challenge, even though we didn't win.

The weekend in pictures.  They sort of speak for themselves.

Friday evening...where shall we dine ... via iPhone

A glass of wine overlooking Inner Harbour

 

Another glass following dinner

 

Saturday morning sightseeing ... loved this window display

To my surpise, the cityscape was captured in the reflection!

 

Ready for some defense





Go D!



Hit Somebody!

Proud Mama Post Game

Father & Son Reflect on the Season

Heading to the car after a slice of pizza with the team

Dinner at the Irish Pub --

His favorite spot

Talking with Dad about his "next chapter"

Heading back to PA after a quick morning tour

Sunset on The Inner Harbor



NCAA Playoffs - The Launch

Taking the day off from work today to get an early start on our trip to Baltimore for the NCAA Playoffs, W&J vs. Johns Hopkins.  This should be a fun trip.  I've never been to Baltimore, and I'm anxious to explore the Inner Harbor and make the most of the day/evening today.  The game starts at noon tomorrow, so we'll spend today traveling and touring the harbor...maybe definitely some shopping while we're at it.

Still finding it hard to embrace, knowing that Big G's football days are coming to an end.  Time flies -- it just flat flies.

His focus on studying has improved slightly over the years at least...

Fun times of yesterday with my little guy ...or yesterYEAR?

(He STILL loves dirt pudding.)



Time for my morning run. 

Let the weekend begin...

GO PRESIDENTS!



The Season Ends With the Championship

This past Saturday was spent in Waynesburg, PA, watching my son play his final season game of football as a college senior.  A wash of memories flooded my mind as we made the drive north, the many years we'd spent watching him play, cheering him on, encouraging him, supporting him, watching him advance and mature and improve, his tenacity growing more and more fierce with each season.

Big G began playing football when he was seven years old.  I vividly remember one of the first plays in which his coach quickly cautioned him, "Son, you can't kick the players...you tackle them, you don't kick."

He caught on quickly.

He's been playing football ever since at all levels -- grade school, middle school, high school, and now college.  His football career is coming rapidly to an end, and it's a bittersweet time for us.  I get sentimental about stuff like this.  No, about most things, actually. 

  

The Washington & Jefferson Presidents proved themselves worthy this past Saturday in the last season game against Waynesburg, PA, who, at the time, was undefeated, beating them 31-14, winning their 23rd PAC Championship and an automatic bid into the NCAA.  What a sweet victory for G's senior and final year of football.  It was a joyous and glorious fall day made even more beautiful with an emotionally-charged, hard earned victory.  It was pure joy to witness the celebration following.

 

http://www.washjeff.edu/sportsnews/wj-defeats-waynesburg-31-14-capture-23rd-pac-football-championship

 

Consistently double- and triple-teamed!

 



The Good Sportsmanship Victory March

 

A proud and emotional moment for The Presidents

as they pose for photos, holding a memorial of their fallen teammate
 Tim McNerney

 

With Coach Griffin (D Line Coach) and his younger brother





 

The Presidents will play at Johns Hopkins this coming Saturday in the first round of the NCAA Division III playoffs.

Maryland, here we come...

 

 

 

Week in Review

Some people like weighing themselves every day when trying to lose weight.  ("Lose weight."  What a loose, ambiguous phrase!)  I do not.  The numbers drive me frikkin crazy.  It has caused me to hallucinate, weighing every day -- the scale grows horns, evil laughter fills the air, smoke and venom emanate from under its surface, and I find myself premeditating malice and destruction.  This, despite knowing that it's all an illusion.  All of it.  The scales are a tool.  One generalized form of measurement.  But they are by no means The Gospel of progress in the wonderful world of "weight loss."

I like weighing on Fridays and/or Saturdays.  I tend to have more carbs on the weekends, which causes water retention often -- usually -- and I don't need to see PROOF of that on Sunday or Monday, setting my mood and upsetting my focus for the rest of the week.  From last Saturday to today -- one week -- I've dropped two pounds on the scale.  Again, a general measurement.  Yay me.  Bravo.  Rejoice.  But weighing this morning was like celebrating the New Year a day late.  I KNEW I was making progress simply by the way my clothes were fitting and my encounters with the mirror each morning.  "Coming attractions."  The scale only served to validate those sneek previews.

Being this close to "goal weight," -- again, ambiguous terms -- I have to maintain vigilance and initiate attacks as necessary from time to time.  I lose a few, gain a few, maintain a few, repeat.  It's called living.  Life.  The important detail being -- keeping an eye on balance and control.  Too far across center line, or too far off the edge of the road, things can get ugly.  Vigilance.  Maintaining control, cruising.  These allow you to enjoy the ride

My strategies for my "attack" this past week included:

• Carbs very low 2-3 days, slight increase for one day; repeat
• Calories controlled to a slight-to-moderate deficit daily
• Egg whites (with one yolk) omelettes each morning; Tilapia for Meal 2  (creature of habit and I like the taste of both)
• Weight training at the gym:  Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday -- approx one hour, followed by light cardio 15-20 mins
• Morning fasted cardio 25-30 mins -- walk/run intervals; endurance running
• One full session of Callanetics (45 mins); Callanetics stretches every day; Callanetics hip/thigh session only x 1
• Sufficient rest and ample water

Today I'll be traveling to watch Big G's game.  It is my rest day.  No exercise.  It is also likely to be a carb up day -- not full-go-crazy-caution-to-the-wind, not even close, but slight indulgences to keep my metabolism and hormones happy, diffusing the alarm mode.  Tomorrow I'll do some light cardio only.  And then I'll repeat that weekly plan once more and continue until I hit a road block or until the mirror or my clothes say --- THERE!  YOU DID IT!  NICE JOB.

Looking forward to a repeat at The Union Grill this evening.  All my sons will be present this time, a whole family affair.  Should be fun -- AND DELICIOUS!

The Union Grill

Some of the best restaurants are those with an established reputation, rich with history and family and values.  No fancy signs or marketing or decor.  The reputation speaks for itself.  They don't need to prove themselves to anyone or "buy" people's business.  The loyalty of the local patrons is the secret to their long-standing acclaim and success.

The Union Grill.

Why we're just now learning about this awesome place, I have no idea.  Maybe we just haven't done our homework.

We ate there after the football game on Saturday.  My son's girlfriend joined us, driving down for the day from her home about 45 mins away.  She brought with her an entire box of homemade biscotti --she's Italian and the girl loves to cook and she KNOWS her stuff -- of various flavors:  pumpkin, cranberry, almond, and even Pretzel M&M biscotti (for me!).  How thoughtful!  And SO delicious.


I digress.

She and G had eaten at this restaurant before and were very complimentary of its reputation for flavor and freshness and fun atmosphere.  Very laid back, unpretentious, casual.  The SMELLS of fresh Italian entrees filled the air as soon as we walked in.  After much debating, I ordered the grilled salmon Caesar salad off their "old favorites" section of the menu; that category won me over.  It was so fresh and flavorful.  We shared Fried Calamari and Hot Stuffed Banana Peppers for appetizers, and I sampled each of them.  Oh, yes.  We'll be back.  Put our names on the list in pen.

It turned out to be a wonderful, memorable day...Senior Day...the parents lining up with their senior players, walking arm in arm out onto center field at the beginning of the game for special recognition.  Each of the mothers was given a red rose to wear on their lapels.  This was a proud and very emotional time for the family of the young senior running back who was recently killed -- emotional for most of us, actually.  As his name was called, his mother, father and younger brother proceeded across the field in his honor as the announcer commemorated the last four years of his life as a student athlete.  The crowd roared with applause at the same moment his father released several red, black and white balloons into the sky.  The crowd cheered even harder as we watched the balloons float upward to heaven.  I choked back the tears, not so successfully, as I stood their clinging to my son's arm with pride, thinking of how proud I was of all that he had accomplished all these years as an athlete, and how grateful I was to be standing there with him to experience this moment.

We won the game.  What a sweet victory.  And following the lineup of handshakes to their opponents, our team huddled for a moment, bursting with pride and renewed team spirit as they later broke out into chanting.  They cheered in animated unison with deafening volume, celebrating their brotherhood, their team, their family, their unified spirit, their fallen teammate -- This one was for you, Tim!

The sun was shining that day.  Tim's spirit was all about, serving to galvanize the team's love and allegiance to him all throughout the game.  I was climbing over people left and right, as I made my way down the bleachers in the direction of where his mother had sat throughout the game.  I wanted to hug her, to offer my condolences and respect to her, a small attempt on my part to hopefully help comfort and heal her broken heart.  The pride on that woman's face ... I will never forget it.  It sent chills down my spine.  What a fine woman and mother, so brave, the love of a mother for her son, unconditional and undying love ... everlasting and eternal devotion that would remain constant and unending.

I don't know how the day could have turned out any better.  A day of devotion, recognition, remembrance, pride, competition, victory, love, family, laughter, and good food.  Life is to be celebrated.  And celebrate we did.

The Steps of Positano

Sunday.  The Lord's day.  A day to praise and worship.  A day to rest.  Or to unwind.  Or to chill.

A day of restorative calm.

After beginning my day in the Lord's house, I decided I would make it to the gym for another glute & quad day, try to make up for lost time from the last week and a half of busyness.  Some people do not think of a gym workout as a way to unwind.  I, on the other hand, find that working out relieves stress for me.  Less stress, easier to unwind.  It does (did) serve my purpose.

I then have the rest of the day/evening to do as I please, and that would include resting, kick back, chillaxin ...

The wind has died down from earlier this afternoon, making it a perfect fall evening for a fire and a glass of wine.  Dreamy day's end.

What better tune to usher the mood, than my man Chris on his velvety horn.

Cheers.

shut up and smile, mom!

Adversity is like a strong wind.  

It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn,

so that we see ourselves as we really are. 

- Arthur Golden 

Football is a contact support.  You play football, you're likely to get injured at least once during the season.

My son G has played football since he was seven years old.  Plagued with a succession of injuries during his high school years at this sport, one significant enough to keep him out the entire year, he has learned to face adversity bravely, developing an internal toughness and unbreakable spirit.  He's a fighter.

Playing football at the college level ever since his freshman year, he has been blessed with good fortune.  He's had a relatively injury-free season for the past three years of playing Defensive Tackle.  But his luck ran out Saturday night in the second defensive play of their game.  He had just been triple-teamed for the second time, and as bodies were disengaging to return to the line of scrimmage for the next play, I noticed he was down and was struggling to get up.  I knew it was a bad injury.

My heart sank.  Not a good feeling, witnessing this event...oh, please, don't let this be serious...get up, son...c'mon, get up... the not knowing, repeating those words over and over, "Just get up."  And after what seemed like the longest 60 or so seconds in my life, he did.  And we all cheered.  And then there he was, standing on the sidelines with his team, now WATCHING instead of PLAYING, obviously frustrated and pissed off that he wasn't out there with them getting it done.  I think his anger exceeded any discomfort he might have been feeling.

As it turns out, we were told he may have torn his pec muscle to some degree, uncertain of the extent of his injury pending an MRI on the following Monday.  He's likely to be out for the next three weeks, regardless of how serious the injury.  But if it is bad, he could miss his entire season.  His senior year.  That stings.  Maybe my heart a little more than his, but hey, I'm a mom.  That's what moms do.

And that's football.  And injuries happen.  You can't dwell on it.  You just get up, try to heal, keep a positive spirit, and move forward.  You gotta love the game enough to accept and embrace the risks that go along with it.  And he does.  And he will.  He's tough.  His body may be injured, but his will remains unaffected.

He wears the Badge of Resilience.  The game must go on.  And he will either be right there on the sidelines, or on the field, fighting along with his team with that victorious spirit.

Update: 

THIS  BLOG ENTRY  WAS INITIALLY DRAFTED FOLLOWING MY SON’S INJURY, AND WE’VE SINCE LEARNEDTHAT IT WAS NOT A TEAR, BUT RATHER A BAD STRAIN OF SORTS!  YAY!  NO SURGERY!

AS A RESULT, HE WAS KEPT OUT OF LAST WEEK’S GAME, OF COURSE, AND I WAS HOPING THEY’D KEEP HIM OUT OF ONE MORE GAME TO ALLOW FOR COMPLETE HEALING ON AN OTHERWISE COMPROMISED MUSCLE…BUT  THE COACHES MAKE THAT CALL, NOT MOMS. 

WE ARE THREE DAYS AWAY FROM GAME DAY…EVERY DAY OF HEALING COUNTS…

HOPING FOR CONTINUED HEALING, STRENGTHENING, RECOVERY.

REJOICING FOR THE GIFT OF A VICTORIOUS SPIRIT.

BLESSINGS FROM ABOVE.

MARCHING ONWARD. ..

She Will Move Mountains

I decided a few weeks ago that I would prioritize my workout schedule in this manner, allowing for more rest and recovery time,
quality sleep,
and improved performance in the gym
-- as well as all other areas of life, hopefully:


CARDIO (5-6 days per week)

• 3 "dark thirty" mornings during the week, i.e., getting up at 5:00 a.m.
• 2-3 later-in-the-day 30-minute sessions, one or two of those between HIIT intervals
• followup S/S cardio after lifting, 3 days per week, 15-20 mins

STRENGTH TRAINING (3-4 days per week)

• As my schedule allows*, typically Mondays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturday or Sunday
• Preferably splits, unless short on time
• 45-60 minutes per workout

* Saturdays will not be doable during most of football season since I will be traveling to PA for Big G's home games

This allows me to get a full 8 hours of sleep at least 3 days per week, sometimes 4; and a target of 7 hours of sleep all other days.

I realize that insufficient rest triggers a series of undesirable physiological aftermath that serves to backfire on me for all the work I put in towards keeping fit, energetic and "youthful."  Women need their rest.  Fifty-Something women?  Even more -- for, uh, preservation?  Fit-minded, fifty-something women need even more rest to allow their bodies ample recovery time and to keep cortisol levels in check, hormones happy, appetite levels balanced, fat burning optimized.

Today is Friday.  It was a sleep-in day for me.  When I returned home from the gym yesterday evening, after my post-workout shake, a shower, and later my evening meal, I found myself feeling more than ready for bed a little earlier than usual.  Trying to fit everything in as a working mom, I aim for a 10 o'clock bedtime.  Last night I was ready at 9 o'clock.  I washed off my makeup, brushed my teeth, grabbed a book and headed for bed.  Four pages later, I'm switching off the light.  Crashed.

8 ½ hours sleep

Oh how marvelous!

I felt like a new woman today.  My mind was clearer, sharper.  My body moved easier.  I felt energized and ready to take on the day.  Noticeably less aches, moodiness, brain fog.  The extra sleep did me a world of good.

My plan is to make it to the gym by 4:30ish, get in an hour of training and a short amount of light cardio following, and then relax and enjoy my Friday.  It IS FRIDAY, afterall...

Looking forward to that one, long-awaited indulgence.

and some jazz

Tomorrow is Game Day.

Kickoff Is Underway

Football season at our house has officially begun.  My husband is one of two videographers for the local high school team, and he attends every game, home and away, to video the game to assist the players and coaches for review and strategy.  After the game is over on Friday nights, he spends another hour (+) at their field house running copies and "making film."  A very busy evening for him, week after week, all through football season.

My younger son, a freshman, attends all the games to support his team, and after all home games attends "Fifth Quarter," an event at our local Baptist church that gives teenagers a place to eat, hang out, intramurals, an alternative and safer option than other places they might find themselves.  So I get to taxi him (and usually one or more friends) to Fifth Quarter, and then be available to drive back to take them home when it's over at midnight.  I am not a "late night" person.  I'm usually more than ready to fall asleep by 11:30 on weekends, and sometimes sooner, depending on how much sleep I've gotten that week.  So it's a long day for me too.

Saturdays are Game Day for my middle son at college.  It takes an average of 3.5 hours, or longer, to drive to W&J.  If it's a 1 o'clock game, we have to get up early and leave in time to grab a quick lunch for youngest son and still make it to the game.  We usually take him out to dinner after the game, so factoring in schmooze time by the field with players/families post game, then showering/dress time for him, we usually don't get finished with dinner until 7 or 8 o'clock, then the long drive home.  ANOTHER long day of the weekend.

My youngest son's football games (freshman team) are held on Wednesday and Thursday nights.  Some of the teams they play are very far from home, which makes HIS game day ANOTHER long and exhausting day, especially factoring in our work schedule that day.

No rest for the weary (parents) once KICKOFF is underway.

INHALE. EXHALE. REPEAT.

I've decided to use the Friday night game time to work out at our gym.  My son isn't playing varsity this year, so I would rather use that time in more productive ways.  I dress into gear, drop him and his friend off at the game, then head to the gym for my workout.  Back home, post workout nutrition, relax a bit, shower, do a few chores and a small amount of down time as a wait on his call:

"Game's over, Mom.  We won.  Score ...{insert "kicked butt" ...?}

Come pick me up... we'll be in the last row of the parking lot...

bring my black Nikes when you come,

I wanna play basketball (he doesn't want to get his "best, showboat shoes" messed up)."

I head to the field, traffic slow and congested, as I crunch on a few almonds and guzzle my water to catch up with the day's water quota.  To the church, drop them off, back home.  Down time.  I find myself getting really sleepy.  I was up at 5 for morning cardio, and it's time to Shut.It.Down.  But I can't.  I'm still in Mom Mode.

And this cycle will repeat itself ... all.through.the.fall.

I slept till 7:45 this morning.  Ahhh.  Felt wonderful.  On my second cup of coffee, I am planning my day.  G's games don't begin until September 8th.  I have a little bit of a breather.  Adjustment time for the busy weeks ahead.  I listen to the stillness of morning all around me.  I think of things that hit my happy.  I reflect on people and places and conversations and memories that have filled my world with meaning, past and present.  I think about those people I don't get to talk to anymore and wonder how they are, what they're doing.  I wonder.

Time for more coffee.  I have a list of things to do today.

It's kickoff time.  Let's get it done.

Move In Day on Campus

I had mentioned in an earlier post that I would expand on move-in day on campus at my son's college.  I have a feeling that day is gonna stand out in my mind for years to come.  Not that there was anything truly significant or newsworthy about that day.  Nothing out of the ordinary happened.  Not REALLY.  I think it's more the milestone thing:  "Middle son begins senior year at college."  The beginning of the end -- for college tuition costs for this son, that is.  Thankfully.  (One more to go.)  The tuition at Washington & Jefferson continues to raise each year. And it stings.  It really does.  It puts the skids on the "fun and games" of life more often than I care to dwell on.

Football players had to report to campus earlier than the rest of the student body. They had to be moved into their dorms (not allowed to live off campus, not even as seniors!) by noon on Saturday, the 11th of August, but they couldn't BEGIN moving in until Saturday morning. So we were dealing with a short window of time within which to get all of his "stuff" moved from his packed little Kia (I have no idea how he managed to see to drive) and my car, up the stairs and into his dorm suite before he was due to the mandatory and punctual "lineup" with the football team for their first training meeting and lunch together.  I had brought a load of things that he brought home after the spring semester and that he couldn't fit in his car in one trip.  His father was staying behind to manage commitments dealing with our youngest son, his football practice, training and such.  I was making the trip solo, which I didn't mind at all.  I love driving on long trips by myself.  It's somewhat of an escape for me.  A break in routine.

I drove up to PA that morning, texting him to let him know when I had arrived on campus (he doesn't talk on the phone, he insists on texting.) I asked for directions to his dorm. His description was disjointed and confusing, as I had expected.  And so I drive.  And drive.  Lots of tight and narrow one-way streets, searching for his vehicle -- it's burnt orange, hard to miss -- but no luck. I'm back to where I started. I pulled to the curb, squeezing into a no-parking zone, and texted him again.

"I'm sitting in front of a small basketball court, a parking lot to the left and behind me. Where are YOU?  I'm lost."

I get another very abbreviated text message, slightly more helpful than the last.  (Am I that dense?)  After two more circles around the block and then a quick, last-minute hard left down a small alley, I finally discover his little orange Kia parked in a small private parking lot outside his dorm--the infamous "senior dormitory" he'd been waiting three years to move into. The senior dorms are so much nicer than those for underclassman. Sweet.  A Suite!

His hatch was open and he was nowhere in sight. His stuff was trailing out of the back of his car, all in disarray, no rhyme or reason to his packing. LOTS.OF.STUFF.  Yep, that's his car all right.

As I'm parking, I looked across the lawn to see him exiting the first floor doorway, looking around for something to prop the door open to make the moving easier. He goes back inside and re-emerges with a GIGANTIC colonial-styled exterior lantern-sconce, wires trailing from it. This was no small fixture.

Please tell me he didn't just pull that off of a wall.

He places the monstrous sconce on the ground against the door, just as two parents are approaching the dorm with questionable looks on their faces. I didn't have to claim him at this point, being several feet behind them. I could stand back, wait it out. Be there to bail him out if campus police were notified. As odd as this seemed, it WAS rather comical.

"So if you can't find a door prop, just remove the lanterns and use that instead," they said laughingly. He laughs back.

The sconce, it turns out, had been removed from the exterior of the building by Maintenance earlier that morning for cleaning, repairs, etc., and was waiting for remount.

He saunters to me in his typical "BigG" way, that recognizable cocky gait of confidence. His hair had grown long over the summer, and he'd dropped a lot of body fat, which served to highlight his muscularity and size. I stand there staring at him, with a proud smile forming on my face.  Massive traps, shoulders, arms, and the iconic bodybuilder butt -- tight, round, high and chiseled. Yes, I'm bragging on his butt.  It's okay.  I'm his mom.  I can do that.  I've been there to witness his hard dedication, commitment, effort, and sacrifices to get that hard body, and he wears it well.  As a noseguard, I was used to seeing the SIZE -- he's one big dude -- but with far more "bulk." Now I was seeing the size, noticeably leaner, far more definition and musculature.  Big G?  Lean?  Would his coach approve? Questionable. They want their noseguards as big as they can get 'em.  He may have to return to his signature insatiable eating habits.

We spent the next hour plus moving his things into the dorm. I met two of his teammates/roommates, both of whom commented openly (and favorably) on his longer hair and his conditioning. He ate it up. "Thas right, I'm lookin' mean and lean," he's thinking. I read it on his face, in his body language. The Ham.  King of the Hill.

His room was more spacious than in years past, well-furnished, great view of campus, central air, a large living room area and kitchen in each quad. Someone had already moved a gigantic flat-screen into the living room. Priorities. His bedroom had a large closet with shelving above and below, more than ample to hang and store his clothes and belongings in an orderly fashion.

"Will you please hang your clothes up this year instead of leaving them in trash bags, baskets, boxes or strung all over the floor? There is plenty of space here, and you'll be able to find everything easier if you keep your stuff organized."

"Yeah. Sure."

Man of many words. 

And I'm sure mine fell on deafened ears.

We joked around, discussing random subjects briefly. I then implored him with my eyes, a signal that I was about to make The Speech, reminding him how important it was to apply himself this year toward his studying, his grades. Make this year his best. Make it count. Focus. Really focus. It was his last year and he needed to make it mean something toward his future career goals. He had the rest of his life to pursue personal interests, relationships, etc.

"I know. I've already thought about this," he said reassuringly.

I reached up and hugged his broad shoulders.  He hugged me back tightly, and with feeling, a lingering strong embrace. That one display of affection spoke far louder than all of the words we had exchanged in recent days.

"I'm proud of you, Gavin. Make it happen this year.  Make it count."

"I will, Mom."

"I love you, son."

"I love you."

"Well, it's time for y'all to go eat and get started training. Show 'em how it's done, K?"

"You know I will."

"Let us hear from you in a few days. Okay?"

"Yep."

"Later...," and I turned to start down the steps, my heart feeling heavy. Happy and sad all rolled into one.

"See ya, Mom."

And as I walked down the steps, down the hall, and out to my car, I stopped to look around me at the beautiful historic campus. Talking and laughter filled the air as athletes made their way to and from the dorms, parents saying their goodbyes. In a flash, my mind was escorted back into time, sixteen years previous. A little rough-n-tough boy is smiling and talking with other children, making friends, fearless, void of the typical anxiety of "first day of kindergarten," a new territory.  He turns to wave once more at his mother who had left the classroom moments before and was now standing paused outside the window, looking in, needing assurances that it was okay to go now...he will be fine...and she sees the look on his face...I'll be fine, Mommy...and turns away just as her tears begin again.

Another milestone.  The beginning of his final year of schooling.

It takes my breath away -- How can that many years pass so quickly?

One thing is for sure:  He's as fearless today as he was sixteen years ago.

That's my son.

his name is gavin.

(Written by his younger brother for a class assignment.)

(With big brother Z)

Live daringly, boldly, fearlessly.

Taste the relish to be found in competition,

in having put forth the best within you.

Harry J. Kaiser