Christmas Presence

This is the time of year when I miss my mom the most.  She loved the holidays, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the way they always seemed to bring the family together.  

As times passes, I realize more and more that my mom was a connector.  

From the early days of the internet and e-mail (and before), she was one of the people that kept her Jackson High School (Jackson, TN) classmates  in in touch with each other.  She kept the lines of communication open and always was in the middle of the high school reunion planning.

My mom was the same way with her nursing school basketball teammates, as she hosted an annual chili dinner at our house in conjunction with the Vanderbilt-Tennessee women's basketball game at Memorial Gymnasium.  She worked with Coach Jim Stockdale to purchase a block of tickets for the game, too.  On several occasions, there were as a many people - former teammates, husbands, and children - sitting in the seats she purchased for the game.  She worked tirelessly, with others, to see that Coach Stockdale was properly honored with an endowed scholarships (UT Women's School of Nursing and UT Lady Vols Basketball) for his many contributions as coach for 26 years of the University of Tennessee School of Nursing women's basketball team.

Growing up, it seemed my mom was forever hosting summer picnics, Vanderbilt basketball watch parties for family and friends, and organizing dinners for her friends at Sportsman's Grille.  

Closer to home, literally, my mom insisted that our extended family get together at her house for Thanksgiving and Christmas Day.  She was the matriarch of our family in all the best ways.  She loved nothing more than seeing that everyone had enough to eat when we celebrated Thanksgiving at her house, long before she made herself a plate.  I can still see her on Christmas Day, in the playroom at her house, smiling happily as she sat in the midst of uncontrolled chaos of four generations of family opening up presents the same time.  She always protested half-heartedly as wadded up balls of wrapping paper flew threw the air and hit an unwitting cousin in the side of the head.  

My mom always talked to all of us regularly, most often about our children, Vanderbilt sports, or whatever topic Kevin Ingram, Frank Wychek, and Mark Howard (the morning show) or George Plaster, Willy Daunic, and Darren McFarland (the afternoon show) had covered on sports talk radio that day.  Always staying connected.  

Since she died almost six years ago, my family has drifted apart to some extent which, I guess, is to be expected.  Fewer get togethers and rarely with our cousins involved.  Not as many telephone calls.  Covid-19 created a bad habit of not gathering tougher as a family, which is hard to break, I think.  Everyone coming and going.  Busy living life.  

I do miss my acutely this time of year, though.  Her laugh.  How we teased each other.  Her wisdom.  Most of all, her unwavering love and support for me.  

Merry Christmas, Mom.  I love you.

The Road to 156

As a dedicated runner for almost four decades, I am always looking for something to motivate me, day to day, month to month, and year to year, to get out and run.  You know, on those days when I am tired, too busy, or not feeling my best, it's helpful to having something in the back of my mind that convinces me to lace up my running shoes, get out the door, and go for a run.

Last December, I decided I would set a goal of 156 three miles runs in 2025.  No runs longer than three miles, which meant no long runs.  That was different for me, to be sure, because I am a faithful member of the Church of the Long Run.  Running consistently requires discipline.  Running only three miles, 156 times, necessarily required a different kind of discipline.  To be fair, it also took some of the pressure off insofar as I did not have to find the time or energy to run long.  It was nice, even reassuring, for me to know that every run in 2025 could be completed in under 30 minutes.  

In the past, my annual goals have been based on total mileage, the number of runs, or both.  I have run 1,000 miles in a year, most recently in 2020 (1,025), the year I outran Covid-19.  I have run 200 times in in year.  As I have gotten older, I have stopped racing as much and it's been years since I have run a half-marathon.  I will be 60 years old (yikes!) in July and I do not see another marathon on my horizon.  Maybe a half-marathon but not a marathon.  

As I guess is probably true with all dedicated runners, I tend to become obsessed with an annual goal.  It's not so much that I think about it all of the time.  Rather, it's always in the back of my mind.  How many runs do I have this month?  How many runs do I have for the year?  Am I ahead or behind?  I think about those type of things every day.  As such, it's party of why an annual goal works so well for me.  It creates an itch, a pleasant one, that I scratch by going for a run.  It's always been that way for me.

While I am proud of what I accomplished as a runner in 2025, I understand it was not an overly ambitious goal.  For me, though, that was the point.  I wanted to have a year where I enjoyed the simple act of running without worrying about annual milage or getting a long run in at some point during the week.  My running in 2025 was about staying healthy, being consistent, avoiding injury, and enjoying being a runner.  

I ran on treadmills at the YMCA (Downtown, Green Hills, and Franklin) more than I had in the past, at least since Go Performance and Fitness in Cummins Station closed during the pandemic.  I ran a multitude of three miles routes in the neighborhood, often ending with coffee at Barista Parlor in the Village (like today), 8th and Roast, Buck Mason, Hearts, Frothy Monkey, or Honest Coffee Roasters and a relaxing walk home.  I ran after work in downtown Franklin, to Harlinsdale Park and back.  I ran a time or two at Shelby Bottoms, a place where I want to get back to running more in 2026.  I ran in Sewanee.  I ran in Santa Rosa Beach, Florida.  I ran with JP, although not as much as I would have liked. 

I listened to podcasts while I ran.  Bill Simmons.  The Press Box.  Plain English.  WTF.  Zach Lowe.  The Daily.  This American Life.  The Ezra Klein Show.  The Rewatchables.  Interesting Times.  Ringer Tailgate.  In terms of music, I listened to John Hiatt several times while I ran.

I ran 156 times, three miles every time. 

Toward the end of the year, before I caught my annual sinus infection, my speed picked up considerably.  I ran three miles, easily, at under 8:10 per mile, something I have not done regularly in a while.  I felt strong and healthy, which was awesome.  

Running is such an important part of my life.  In fact, running is the essence of who I am as a person.  I am so blessed to be healthy enough to run consistently at age 59.  

Every run is a gift.

    

Christmas and a Head Cold

After managing not to get sick for the entire year after I had Covid-19 last January, I caught something earlier this week.  Jude's guess is that the people coughing behind us during Prairie Home Companion at the Ryman on Monday night infected me.  Laughing, I suggested maybe Garrison Keillor gave me something since we were sitting in the third row, dead center, and my mouth was open in sheer joy for most of the show.  I know not but here I am, under the weather.

I began to feel a head cold coming on mid-week and by Friday, I felt terrible.  Still, I gutted out a mediation - the case settled because the attorneys were so good to work with - and I came home and when straight to bed after a large bowl of chicken and rice soup from International Market.  My favorite.  I slept fitfully and I've been tired all day.  I skipped a family outing to see the Predators play the red hot Toronto Maple Leafs tonight because I don't want to make anyone else sick.

Things could be worse, though.  I was able to run three miles this afternoon in the neighborhood, albeit more slowly than normal.  In my relative, high mileage youth, I used to run through head colds and sinus infections all the time, with the idea that I would just sweat the sickness out of me.  I tested negative for Covid-19 tonight, which was a relief.  I wasn't looking forward to becoming a four time loser.  

At present, I'm having a bourbon as I sit in a camping chair on our unfinished but soon to be screened in deck.  It's quite the project, for sure.  It's long overdue, though, and will be awesome when it's completed in a few weeks.  It's a ton of added space.  We're going to put a ping pong table out here, which I know all of us will enjoy.  The plan is to add a flat screen television, too, so we can watch football and baseball games in the fall and spring.  Jude's taken the point on the entire project and I'm grateful for that.  She's wanted a screen in deck for a long time and I'm happy she's going to have one soon.

Christmas is upon us, although the temperature today hit the low '60's.  My Christmas cards have been out for a couple of weeks, believe it or not.  I still have a some Christmas shopping to do, although I think I'm in pretty decent shape there, too.  I spent an hour + tonight in the guest room opening boxes from Amazon and other places, as almost all of my Christmas shopping to date has been done online.  It's convenient, I guess, but it's so much easier to spend money and not realize it.  Point the mouse, click, and soon enough, an Amazon box arrives at our doorstep.

JP and Joe were so relieved to finish exams.  JP, in particular, had his ass kicked, I believe, by a couple of his more difficult classed.  I worry sometimes that he's not enjoying high school as much as I would like for him to because his class load is so heavy.  He's so busy.  I hope he's taking the time to slow down, occasionally, and enjoy himself.  He's been spending time with a young lady that Jude and I are very fond of and that makes us happy.  It's strange to think that JP has three more semesters of high school left, then off he'll go to college.  Very strange, actually.

As I left the Belmont women's basketball game vs. Duke to day - they got smoked by Kara Lawson's Blue Devils - I looked around and, as is so often the case when I'm on campus, I saw ghosts everywhere.  The ghosts of JP and Joe, very young boys a decade or so ago, and a much younger me, too.  We spent so much time on campus when they were little.  

In the atrium outside the Curb Center, where the giant Christmas tree is now, Joe and I used to play (Nerf) football in the mornings before I took him to Children's House.  Today, I could almost see him chasing me after I passed the ball to myself and ran for a touchdown.  "Blue 49, Red 13, Green 24," and off I'd go, with Joe close behind me, both of us laughing.  

JP and I used to hang out in the Student Center upstairs, adjacent to the Curb, and pretend like we were in college.  He has such an active imagination which I, of course, encouraged.  Almost every night after dinner, I would take JP to Belmont while Jude fed Joe, who was still and infant.  Those were good, innocent days and I long for them sometimes.  Many times, actually.   

Before too long, I guess, Christmas will be a time when Jude and I get the boys back a home for a couple of weeks.  Then, inevitably, we'll get them for a few nights, then maybe not at all after they have kids.  Time sure gets by you, doesn't it?

   

Cooper the Elf and the Ghost of Christmas Past

For so many years, one of the highlights of our family's Christmas season was the return of Cooper the Elf, named by Joe long ago after JP's friend, Cooper Allen.  Always, Joe was so excited when Cooper returned on the first or second night of December, perched in our Christmas tree.  Every morning leading up to Christmas, Joe scoured the house to see where Cooper had ended up after a night spent, presumably, wandering through the house and, maybe, other houses, too.  Jude and I reveled in Joe's delight every morning when he found Cooper, tucked away in a clever hiding place.  

In many ways, the arrival of Cooper the Elf signified that Christmas season was upon us.  I love this time of year so much.  As I've written here before, it's always hard to say goodbye to Cooper the Elf, when he leaves our house and flies back to the North Pole, usually with the boys' Christmas lists in hand.  

For the past couple of years, things have been different.  This year, for example, Joe noted Cooper the Elf's return but, really, that was about it.  No more looking for Cooper in the morning before breakfast.  No more laughing about the clever hiding place Cooper had found the night before.  I understand, of course.  Joe has school assignments, study sessions, and 7th grade exams to worry about, which doesn't leave a lot of head space for Cooper the Elf.

Still, I miss those days terribly.  That's the hardest part of being a parent for me, I think.  Constantly saying goodbye to so many things that I love and that have been such an important and joyful part of my life. 

Walks in the neighborhood with one of the boys sleeping in the City Elite stroller before 12South became 12South.  Singing the Uncle Carley song to Carley when she arrived, much to Joe's delight, in the morning to stay with him for the day.  Dropping JP and, later, Joe, off at Children's House.  Watching Sid the Science Kid with JP and Daniel Tiger with Joe.  "Joe time" in the mornings before school at Children's House, which often involved playing football in the atrium at the Curb Center.  Coaching baseball.  Playing Battleship with Joe at Frothy Monkey or Burger Up.  Driving JP to MBA.  Going for a run with JP.  

All of it.  I loved every single minute of in, including and especially Cooper the Elf's arrival every Christmas season and his presence as the boys counted down the days to Christmas.  

I find myself, this morning, thinking of the lyrics from "Puff the Magic Dragon," by Peter, Paul & Mary.  My sister, Tracy, used to cry when my mom played the song (probably on 8 track if not vinyl).  

A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys

Painted wings and giant's rings make way for other toys

One gray night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more 

And Puff, that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar

His head bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain

Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane

Without his lifelong friend, Puff could not be brave

So Puff, the mighty dragon, sadly slipped into his cave

For this Christmas season, at least, I'll enjoy seeing where Cooper the Elf ends up each morning.  More importantly, I'll also enjoy having both of my boys, together, with Jude and me, in the house as JP's high school career winds down and he prepares to leave for college in 18 months.  

Welcome home, Cooper.  

The Night That Wasn't

I had a long day, yesterday, defending a deposition at a law firm downtown.  Nashville, that is, not Franklin.  It's interesting because I don't go downtown often anymore unless it's to Court at the Metro Nashville Courthouse.  On those occasions, I park in the garage, walk into the Courthouse, and leave immediately after I'm finished.  It's rare that I walk around downtown and that's what I did yesterday, at lunch and in the evening after my deposition was over.

When we broke for lunch, I wanted a good cup of coffee.  I also wanted to get out of the Pinnacle Building and take a walk, so that's what I did.  I couldn't find coffee nearby so I ended up walking several blocks over to Fourth Avenue, past the high rise building in which I worked at Manier, Herod in the very beginning of my legal career a lifetime ago, and up to Drug Store Coffee Shop in the Noelle Hotel.  

When I was working at Manier, Herod in the mid-1990's, downtown Nashville was quite a bit different than it is now, even at lunchtime.  In fact, the Noelle Hotel was an office building that if memory serves, housed my friend Carl P. Spining's law firm, Ortale, Kelley.  Now and for the past several years, it's been a hipster tourist hotel, redneck chic and likely very expensive.  It wasn't always that way.

It actually felt like winter as I walked back to the Pinnacle Building, cold and windy.  Still, it was nice to get outside and take a walk.  Nicer still to walk back with a hot cup of coffee.  

I had hoped the deposition would end in time for me to attend Joe's first basketball game at MBA but that was not to be.  I already knew I would have to miss his band concert late in the evening because I had tickets to see Garrison Keillor and Prairie Home Companion at the Ryman Auditorium at 7:30 p.m.  I had bought the tickets several months ago as an early Christmas present from me to Jude to me and I didn't want to miss the show.  At 83, I'm not sure how many more opportunities I will have to see Garrison Keillor live.  Joe understood and was cool with it, although I did hate to miss his saxophone solo.

Since the deposition ran late and I already had validated parking in the Pinnacle Garage - a rare commodity indeed - I decided to stay downtown, eat dinner, and walk over to the show.  I put on my overcoat and walked a block or two over to The Southern, a newer restaurant where I had eaten once or twice in the past.

Perhaps because I was the only man wearing a coat and tie and I looked semi-important, I was able to talk my way into sitting at a 4-top table, as opposed to the bar, which was my preference if I was going to have a nice meal.  I told my server, Finn, my goal was to be his best table of the night.  Furthermore, if he took care of me, I would take care of him.  He did and I did.  

As I sat at my table, sipping an excellent Cabernet (Duckhorn), I relaxed, took in the scene before me, and enjoyed a bit of solitude.  I have no problem eating out alone or going to a concert or show alone.  In fact, I kind of enjoy it.  It's nice not to have to talk to anyone but, still, to be able to observe the hustle and bustle all around me.  To my delight, my filet was perfect, and the rare second glass of wine was even better.  

As I finished my meal and made sure to take good care of Finn, I bumped into my old friend, contentment, who I seemed to be seeing more of lately.  For a few minutes, anyway, all was right in my world.  I marveled at the changes in downtown Nashville as I walked to the Ryman, on schedule to arrive early for Prairie Home Companion.  It was damn near a perfect night.

Perfect, that is, until the tickets on my cell phone wouldn't scan and I was redirected to the box office.  T'here, after I slid my phone in for him to look at it, the Ryman ticket man looked at me through the plexiglass, smiled widely, and told me Prairie Home Companion was next Monday, not tonight.

What the hell, I said, then burst out laughing.  December 15 was Prairie Home Companion, not December 8.  What a dumbass, I thought.  Walking away, I couldn't stop laughing.  

Life is beautiful.  Life is funny.  Life is, well, life, and I am damn luckily to be living it.  

I walked through downtown Nashville, slowly, taking in the sights and the night life on a cold December Monday night, chuckling to myself.  Happy and content.    

The Fellowship of the Ring

If you know anyone who graduated from Montgomery Bell Academy, chances are they wear the ring.  They wear it with pride on their right hand.  Forever.

The ring is plain and understated.  Nothing ostentatious or showy.  

The ring is not given.  Not by a long stretch.  It is earned.  When you see it, you know.  Those who wear it have worked, studied, survived, and thrived in a cauldron of competitiveness during what are perhaps the most formative years of their young lives.  

A good friend of mine, John Rowland, has a son in JP's class (2027).  A couple of years ago, John said, "MBA is a daily competition.  Academically.  Athletically.  Socially."  He was right.  

MBA is not for every boy.  It's hard.  Intense.  And, yes, competitive in every way.

Still, the boys who go to school at MBA support each other unequivocally.  As much pride is taken in the success of the debate and mock trial teams - and they have had massive success - as in State Championships in lacrosse, soccer, or track and field.  MBA's choir travels all over the country to perform and many of its members excel academically while also playing sports.  Almost all of the boys are involved in a variety of service projects.    

To me, really separates MBA is the Honor Code.  The boys govern themselves by it, which I know firsthand as a result of JP's membership on the Honor Counsel for the past three years.  He takes great pride, I think, in playing a small role in preserving one of the things that sets MBA apart from other, similar independent schools.  

It's hard for me to put into words my admiration and respect for JP and all he has accomplished at MBA.  Not just athletically but academically and through his membership on the Honor Council.  

For the past four and a half years, almost every night, I've watched JP go up to his room and study.  For hours.  I've watched him prepare for quizzed, tests, and presentations.  At times, he's been under great stress and heart has hurt for him.  I've known, though, that learning to persevere under difficult circumstances is preparing him for college and life beyond college.  

I've seen JP get up on a school day in the spring, at 5:30 a.m., to get a training run in before an early breakfast.  Then, he's driven to school early for an Honor Council Meeting.  After a long day of classes, he's played a baseball game.  At home, before and after dinner, he's in his books, upstairs, in his room studying.  

He's grinned, each and every day, but that's why he takes such pride in going to school at MBA.  Few people I know are more humble than JP but as his father, I know he's proud of what he's accomplished at MBA, as he should be.  

Yesterday morning in the Paschall Theater, Jude and I watched our dear friend, Russ Allen (MBA '94) present JP with his ring at the ring ceremony for rising juniors.  Jude and I were moved and, honestly, fought back tears as JP, clad in coat and tie, walked in front of us, shook Russ's hand, accepted his ring.  

It was a moment I will never forget. 

Earned, not given.

     

On the Mountain . . . Again

We're home, so to speak, on Monteagle Mountain, again, spending the Thanskgiving holiday in Sewanee.  This time of year or, really, any time of year, there's no place I would rather be.  Strange, too, since I am not an alumnus of the University of the South nor do I have a familial connection to this area of the state.  Still, I love it up her, on the Mountain.  It's the perfect getaway for me.

Yesterday, I started with coffee at Walnut Hill Coffee in Winchester, a coffee shop I discovered in August.  It's twenty minutes from Sewanee but well worth the drive.  Located in an old, renovated building downtown, the coffee is good and the atmosphere is nice.  This morning, I'm sitting in a chair by the front door, listening to Christmas music as I drink my coffee.  

I took Jude and the boys for breakfast at the Dutch Maid Bakery in Tracy City.  It's the oldest, continuously run independent bakery in Tennessee.  It's a treasure, really.  An undiscovered gem.  Tracy City is a tiny town on the other side of Monteagle with not even a main drag to speak of.  A couple of restaurants, a gas station or two, and that's about it.  The Dutch Maid Baker is in an old building, two stories, with a storefront to display all of the bakery items - and there are many - and a diner downstairs.  Upstairs, is an art gallery in a large room with open windows and beautiful natural sunlight streaming through.  

Back at the house on Tennessee Avenue, the boys and I watched football - Ole Miss vs. Miss. State - while Jude when for a hike at Fiery Gizzard.  Later, JP went for a run, then I followed shortly thereafter.  We passed each other on University Avenue as he was nearing the end of his six mile run.  We slapped five as we passed each other, in a moment I would like to preserve forever.  Two runner, father and son, getting it done on a chilly November afternoon.

More football, some studying by the boys, and some work for me followed in the afternoon.  Jude and the boys went to the Fowler Center late in the afternoon, while I continued to catch up on work at the house.  When they got back, we watched Texas upset undefeated Texas A & M (and MBA's Marcel Reed), while Jude cooked an amazing turkey gumbo with leftover turkey from Thanksgiving.  It was a new recipe she found in Southern Living and it was exquisite.  An absolute keeper.  

After the boys went to bed, I watched the end of the Lakers - Mavericks game (a Lakers win!), then read a Susan Orleans' debut book, Saturday Night (2011), that Bryan Curtis turned me on to when he interviewed her on the Press Box podcast.  She's a fantastic writer, so much so that I can't put it down.  I'm always reading several books at once, so I love it when one grabs me by the lapels and insists I read it, then and there.

  

Time Passages and the Boulevard Bolt

The Boulevard Bolt, a five mile race on Belle Meade Boulevard, has traditionally been Nashville's biggest road race.  Held on Thanksgiving morning, it's a chance for people to get out and run, or walk, five miles before gorging themselves on turkey, stuffing, etc., later in the day.  

I've run the Bolt several times, though not in a while.  These days, I run to reach whatever annual goals I have set but I rarely race.  Plus, we've been in Sewanee for Thanksgiving for the past six or seven years.  Last year and again this year, JP wanted to run in the Bolt with some of his former and current teammates, so I stayed with him while Jude and Joe went to Sewanee.  They returned Thanksgiving morning so we could have Thanksgiving dinner at our house with Jim and Jane.  After dinner, we drive back to Sewanee to the house we've rented.  It's complicated logistically but it's worked for us the past couple of years.

Yesterday, JP left the house, in the cold, about 6:30 a.m. to meet Jack F., Brady, Charlie, and Gabe to run in the Bolt.  Jack F. lives nearby so they parked at his house and walked to the starting line across from St. George's Episcopal Church.  I drove over about 7 a.m., found a parking spot, and walked over to the starting/finish line.  It was crowded because there were slightly over 5,000 runners and walkers, along with the spectators.  

The crowed thinned out, of course, shortly after the race started.  I listened to Todd Snyder - R.I.P. - on my AirPods and waited for the runners to finish the five mile out and back course.  I was curious where JP would finish because I knew he had decided to race, not just run.  Callahan Fielder, a Brentwood High alum who runs at Dartmouth, finished first in a smoking hot run under 25:00.  JP finished in fourth place at 26:16, pretty fast at 5:16 per mile.

Later, on a group text with several old friends, I asked if they recalled all of us running the Boulevard Bolt years ago, then sitting in a filed and drinking beer afterwards.  Todd Blankenbecler (T.B.) immediately sent a set of photos from that long ago morning.  There, as I live and breath, were T.B., Rib Pewett, Warren Sanger, Chip Stanley, Doug Brown, and me, sitting in early prototypes of camping chairs, cooler nearby, drinking beer.  

I mean, damn.  Time gets by you, doesn't it?  Chip Stanley is no longer with us.  Rip is in Pensacola.  Only T.B. and I are still running.  Not as fast and not as long, but still running.  That was a good morning, as I recall.  

But you know what?  So is this one, as I sit in Walnut Hill Coffee Shop in Winchester, Tennessee, sipping my coffee before I drive back to Sewanee.  I'm going to pick up Jude and the boys and take them to Dutch Maid Bakery & Cafe in Tracy City for breakfast.  

I was thankful then, and I'm thankful now.  

The Migration

It seems that I've migrated again as it relates to morning coffee.  It's never a planned migration.  It just happens, often imperceptibly, over time.  

After begin a regular at Dose almost every morning for a couple of years, if not more, lately I find myself at 8th & Roast most mornings, before I head to work.  Why?  I really don't know.  

8th & Roast is a lot less crowded.  It's a much more convenient place to get work done.  The small scale renovation made it a little more user friendly.  Most importantly for me, however, is that 8th & Roast appears to have changed their espresso beans or roasting process, as the coffee simply tastes better than it used to.  I'm not enough of an expert to know why but the coffee is better.

Dose coffee still might be my favorite, along with Sump and Crema, but the atmosphere here at 8th & Roast in Melrose is nice.  Also, as is always the case, several of my favorite baristas at Dose have left in the past year.  Different reasons for all of them but mostly just moving on to something else.  

I was thinking this morning of all of the coffee shops where I've been a regular over the years.  In a semblance of chronological order,  Bongo Java, Frothy Monkey, Portland Brew, Honest Coffee Roasters, Dose, and, now, 8th & Roast.  Occasional forays to Sump, Headquarters, Hank's, Crema, Onyx, Fido, Pinewood Social, Steadfast, and a few others I'm forgetting.  Someday, I'll rank them all.  In fact, maybe in 2026, I'll see how many different coffee shops in middle Tennessee I can visit.  It's good to have goals, right?

Earlier this year, I starting having coffee at Bongo Java again.  However, when Michelle Herbes left, the vibe fell precipitously.  That, combined with Bob Bernstein's continued benign neglect - as evidenced by failure to have repairs done to one of the bathrooms for more than a month - shortened my return.  Plus, the coffee at Bongo Java is just not as good as it is other places.  

My history at Bongo Java is it's own story, which I'll tell sometime.  I miss the Bongo Java days, for sure.  It was a good time of my life.  

Off to work.  A thousand things to do.  Not enough time to do them.  The story of my work life the week of Thanksgiving 2025.  

Top 10 at NXR!

Yesterday, JP ran a 15:15 at NXR in Cary, NC, finished in 9th place overall.  Given the strength of the field - the best runners from 12 states in the Southeast - and the time he posted, it's probably his best race of the season.  He didn't qualify for NXN in Portland, OR, as only the top 5 runners do but that notwithstanding, it was a awesome race.  It was a race I think he needed, too, from a confidence standpoint. 

Jude was there to see it in person, as I stayed here with Joe, who had a basketball game early Saturday morning and Rory's bar mitzvah and party later on Saturday.  Today, Joe has confirmation class at St. Henry's.

I was able to watch the live results of the race on the NXR website, which posted splits at two different points on the race before the finish.  At then first split, which looked like slightly over a mile, JP was in 49th place.  I was disappointed until I looked at the split times and realized everyone was still bunched very closely together.  Less than 10 seconds separated the leaders from where JP was running, as near as I could tell.

When the second splits were posted, I couldn't find JP.  My heart dropped, as I thought he might have dropped out for some reason.  I kept refreshing the feed and trying to no avail to locate among the long list of runners.  At one point, I called Jude, who confirmed JP was still in the race and nearing the end.

I looked again, as finishing times began to post.  Suddenly, there JP was, 9th place at 15:15!  A top ten finish at NXR!  Last year, he ran 15:38, so 15:15 was an improvement of more than 20 seconds.  That's what I'm talking about!

I did a little research online, too, and as far as I can tell, JP set the MBA recored at NXR.  Last, Jack Wallace finished in 15:17, so JP beat his time by two seconds.  I'm pretty sure it's the fastest NXR time in school history.  

I knew JP would be excited because his goal and been to finish in the top 20.  I all honesty, I wanted him to aim higher because I thought if he ran well, he could run under 15:20.  It's a tough, two lap course, too, with a big hill at the end of the race, so 15:15 is an outstanding run to be sure.  

When Jude handed him her cell to talk to me, I told him he finished in the top 10 and he shouted, "YES!"  I smiled as we talked and he told me about the race.  He said per the plan, he ran the first part half for the race fairly conservatively then, on the last flat stretch before the final hill, he started passing runners.  He thought he had passed as many as 20 runners before he got to the hill.  As he approached the finish line, he was spent and one kid nipped him for 8th place.  

JP executed a great race plan and finished on empty.  What more can you ask?  

Later in the afternoon, Jude and JP drove over to Winston-Salem, NC, so JP could tour Wake Forest University.  Ella Allen is in school there, as are several MBA graduates.  I'll be curious to see how the visit  went, as JP continues his whirlwind college tour.

JP races at Running Lanes in Huntsville, AL, in two weeks.  It's the finale of the cross country running season on a course he's run twice.  Running Lanes, last December, and the Southern Showcase, earlier this year.  I think he can run a sub-15, which would be awesome.

JP and Gabe Guillamondegui, post-race.  JP finished 9th and Gabe finished 25th.  Strong showing for the Big Red.

Starting line.

Wake Forest vist.

Growing

This morning, I dropped Joe off early at MBA so he could eat breakfast and school and go to Catholic Club.  As he walked away from my truck, loaded down with two backpacks loaded with books and basketball gear - one in front and one in back in the style of all middle school and high school boys - I was struck by how fast he's growing up.  

Joe seems to be finding his way at MBA.  It's hard, I know.  November has always seemed to be the toughest month for JP at school.  It's likely that way for Joe, too.  The first semester is drawing to a close and they're staring down the barrel of mid-year exams, which are a big part of their first semester grades.  It's a lot of work to get ready for exams.  It's a lot of pressure, too.  I see that and I hate it for them but it's just part of it.

As we discussed last night in one of my patented "man-to-man" conversations, this is a tough road but one that Joe chose for himself.  It doesn't help to complain about it.  Better to buckle down, do the work as best he can, and look forward to most of December off from school.  

Pretty quickly, Joe has gone from our happy go lucky pre-teen to a hard working, hard studying middle school student at MBA.  Childhood for him is over for all intents and purposes.  It's a difficult but necessary transition on the way to adulthood.  That being said, I sure do miss the days for Joe of youthful, childlike innocence.  

What's really cool, though, is to be able to talk with Joe about music, movies, sports, politics, books, or life in a way I might talk to a friend or peer.  He has opinions.  Well thought out opinions and I love to hear them.  He's so smart, so verbal, and so articulate.  I love that about him.  

It's a give and take, I know.  As childhood recedes into the background of my memories, my relationship with Joe will deepen in ways that will make it stronger longer lasting.  So much in life if fleeting.  Childhood.  Time.  

Relationship endure.  

Contentment

It strikes me that true contentment is the rarest of human emotions.  It's like a precious metal.  So hard to find, especially when you're actively pursuing it.  Instead, you find it when you least expect it.  It's in short supply but it's so very valuable.  Priceless, even.

I'm always striving . . . for something.  Professional success.  Financial security.  Physical fitness.  Knowledge.  More business.  A more productive, efficient law practice and office.  Health.  More time.  A good night's sleep.  All of it.

It's exhausting, sometimes.  All of the striving.  

I guess that's why, for me, it's so special when I because of fate or serendipity, I find a moment of contentment.  It's pure.  Fleeting.  Magical while it lasts.

Yesterday, I had a long day in Court in Nashville.  A lot of back and forth.  A lot of negotiating.  A possible hearing.  A satisfying day to be sure but a long one, at the end of another long week at work.  I had something late in the afternoon in Franklin that canceled, so I found myself done with my day, and my week, at 3:30 p.m. or so.  I drove to 12South and, still in coat and tie, I just . . . walked.  Sure, I made a few calls for work but, mostly, I just walked, people watched, and marveled at how much our neighborhood has changed.  There were people everywhere getting a head start on the weekend.

I checked in with Jude.  She was trying to finish an e-mail for work, then go pick up Joe from soccer practice.  I offered to grab him so she wouldn't be so rushed trying to finish up the work day.  As I drove over to MBA, windows down on a beautiful fall early evening, listening to Neil Young's Dreamin' Man Live 1992, a feeling of contentment began to wash over me.  

Joe's soccer practice ran 30 + minutes late, which, strangely, was perfect for me.  I sat in my truck, listening to Neil Young, and felt . . . content.  The work week was over.  The weekend was here.  JP was on the way home after cross country practice and soon, enough, Joe would hop in my truck and tell my about his day.  Jude was home finishing up work for the week.  The boys were going, together, to the MBA-Brentwood Academy TSSAA playoff game, and Jude I would have the night off.

A little wile later, after the boys had left and Jude was out running a couple of errands, I poured myself a bourbon - Calumet Farms 15, of course - and sat out on the back deck in my camping chair, in the middle of the fallen leaves.  It smelled like fall, as I sat in the darkness and sipped my bourbon.  It was a damn near perfect moment interrupted only when my cell rang as one of my best friends, Doug Brown, called to check in.  Having a few minutes to talk with Doug and his wife, Sally, only heightened my enjoyment of the moment.  My feeling of contentment.

Those are the moments I look for all year long.  Sometimes they're few and far between or hard to find.  Still, they're out there, waiting on me.

Bucket Squad

Saturday morning, after MBA Junior School basketball tryouts, Joe had a WNSL basketball game at J.T. Moore with his Bucket Squad teammates.  This particular group of boys - coached by our dear friend, Thomas McDaniel, has played basketball together for several years.  Fall leagues.  Winter leagues.  Summer leagues.  3-on-3 tournaments.  WNSL's March Madness tournament.  All of it.

The core players - Joe, Pike, Cole, Nash - have played together, well, forever.  At age 13 and with middle school and club basketball looming, their days playing together are numbered, which makes me more than a little sad and nostalgic.  

They have improved so much and play together so well as a team.  They trust each other on the basketball court, which allows them to play unselfish basketball.  They share the ball so well.  Joe always has been a good and willing passer.  As the boys have gotten older, though, and matured, Pike, Nash, and Cole have become more adept as finding the open man.  

When the boys on the Bucket Squad are firing on all cylinders - and they certainly were on Saturday - it's a beautiful thing to watch.  They are able to beat bigger, more individually skilled basketball teams Joe and his teammates play team basketball.  Each player has a role and fulfills it willingly and unselfishly.  It doesn't matter to them who scores or who gets the credit.  Each player celebrates the others' successes on the basketball court.

Joe is the facilitator.  Selfless.  Almost always makes the right pass.  Plays tough defense.  Always puts his body on someone to box them out for a rebound, even though he's often at a height disadvantage.  The smartest player on the court at all times.  Intense and excitable.  

Pike is the scorer.  Instant offense.  3-point range with a myriad of moves to get to the rim.  The quiet assassin.  His offensive game and range, at this point, are the best on the team.  He's starting to see the court more completely and to pass the basketball with more skill.

Nash is the enforcer.  The most physical player, by far.  He's also the most dangerous scorer because he's got a quick first step and gets to the rim for layup after layup.  He's the best rebounder, too.  As his handle has improved, he's perfected the ability to take a rebound on the defensive end and go coast to coast for a layup in traffic.  No fear.  Always plays with a smile on his face.  Also, by far, the player most likely to get T'd up by a referee, usually because he's laughing at a call with which he disagrees.

Cole is the biggest, tallest boy.  He's starting to play more aggressively, to rebound the basketball, and to drive to the rim against smaller players.  Still a little to emotional, he's prone to getting down on himself, but that's improving as he matures.  In some ways, he's the bellwether for this team.  When he's happy and playing well, it adds a whole dimension to this team.  He can drive but he can stick and outside shot, too.  

Rex is always the wild card.  He's the best athlete of the group.  When he's interested and motivated - usually when I've placed a cash bounty on rebounds like I did Saturday - he has the ability to take this team to another level.  His defense can be outstanding due to his athleticism.  He's deceptively long, so he can rebound, too.  His quickness allows him to get to the rim and his athleticism allows him to finish, too.  If he's motivated - and that's a big if - he's a difference maker.

Austin's game has improved tremendously.  Probably the sweetest, nicest boy on the team, he's got a bit of a mean streak in the paint, which I love.  He's a good rebounder, is staring to shoot the ball with more confidence, and even took a couple of 3-pointers on Saturday.  Just a great kid all the way around.

In Saturday's game, the boys got down early, 16 - 7, then went on an unprecedented run to win by more almost 40 points.  The passing was tremendous.  They pushed the basketball after every defensive rebound and even after made baskets.  They hit some 3-pointers but also made a ton of layups.  Joe had 10 points and played very well.

The other team's best player picked us his fourth foul early in the second half when he came over Rex's back on a rebound and threw him to the ground.  After his coach pulled him, he kicked a chair on the bench, drew a technical foul, then threw the chair into the stands before he was escorted from the gym.  Crazy.  

It's been quite a ride watching the Bucket Squad all these years.  I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.    

No. 3 at State

JP finished third in the state (TSSAA DII) yesterday at Shelby Farms Park in Memphis, behind Drew Beroset (15:03) and Marshall McConville (15:25).  Overall, JP's time (15:32) was the sixth fastest.  Beroset's time was the fastest overall, as he edged out Clevleland HS's Owen Clemons (15:06), who won the AAA race in a deal with Asher Oates (15:14) from Independence HS.   

It its return to Memphis for the first time since 1969, the state cross country meet was run on a course that was deceptively difficult, I thought.  As I walked the course before the race, I was surprised to discover so many rolling hills and switchbacks.   Two laps over relatively hilly terrain prevented any runner from breaking 15:00.  

As it turns out, I think JP was at a bit of a disadvantage against Beroset and McConville, because they had run the course a couple of weeks ago at the Frank Horton "Night" Classic.  That's not an excuse, as no one in the state was going to beat Drew Beroset yesterday - he was that strong.  Still, it would have been nice for JP to have raced the course in the past so he could have had a better idea of how to approach it yesterday.

Incidentally, I met Drew Beroset's parents and Marshall McConville's parents during and after the race.  Very, very nice people.  I was able to convince JP to let me snap a picture of him with Marshall before the awards ceremony.  He seems like a fine young man.  His times have improved tremendously from last year, when he placed 16th in the state.  As I told his father, Marshall's improvement is a testament to how hard he worked in the offseason.  Hard work and dedication pay off in cross country.  Always.

I didn't fully realize it until I talked with Austin Weaver last night but Beroset set a blistering pace from the beginning of the race.  In fact, Beroset, McConville, and JP quickly broke away from the rest of the runners and it was clear that the winner would come from their group of three.  Austin pointed out that the three of them ran the first mile at a 4:30 pace.  Beroset completed the first half of the race in 7:32, which is absolutely smoking.  McConville and JP were right behind him at the halfway point.  

It was clear to me that unless something strange happened, Beroset was going to win the race.  While JP was five to 10 yards behind McConville at the 2.0 mile mark, he looked to be measuring him up.  I thought he might be waiting to make a move.  However, at 2.5 miles, I could see that JP wasn't going to be able to catch him.  I was concerned that with that realization, JP might take his foot off the gas mentally and allow the fourth and fifth place runners to challenge him.  That didn't happen, however, as JP finished as strongly as he has in a race I've watched this season to capture third place.  

I jogged over to the finish line to find JP immediately after the race.  He was staggering a bit, trying to stay on his feet.  When he saw me, he motioned me over.  He threw his arm around my shoulder and we walked away from the finish line as he mumbled incoherently.  After a few minutes of walking, he came back to himself.  We walked back to the MBA tent, as we discussed the race.  

What I was the most proud of, I think, is that without question, JP finished on empty yesterday.  He had nothing left at the end of the race, which has to be a satisfying feeling for him.  As I told him after the race, it would have taken his best race to win yesterday.  He ran a good race but not his best race.  That's the way it is in cross country.  

I'm not ready to write about the cross country season yet.  I'll do that later.  Also, JP is running at NXR in Cary, NC, in two weeks.  To end the season, he'll run at Running Lane in Huntsville, AL.  So, while the school season is over, his season is not.

I was proud of JP as I watched him recognized at the awards ceremony for finishing third in the state.  Seeing him on the podium with Drew Beroset and Marshall McConville was cool.  He's accomplished a lot running cross country at MBA for three years.  A 3-time All State runner.  Co-Captain, with Jack McDaniel as a junior.  Still, I think there's more to come.  A lot more.

Pre-race routine.

Coaches Tom Cirillo, Win Basset, and Roderick Russ.  Dedication personified.  

The three amigos.

JP and Jack "McDavid" McDaniels.  2025 co-captains.

The 2025 MBA varsity cross country team.

The Cali hat only comes out after the big races.

Proud parents.  

Walking in Memphis

It's just past 7 a.m. and I'm sitting at The Hub, a coffee shop inside of a church (the Mission) walking distance from our hotel.  A little bit of an odd setup but convenient this morning, for sure.  I can always find coffee.

In less than three hours, JP will run for a state championship.  I haven't seen that the boys are seeded, like they were last year, but based on each runner's best times for the season, I would place him third or fourth.  All four of the fasted runners are within 10 to 12 seconds of each other however, so it seems to be that anything could happen.  Whoever runs his best race of the season will win the state championship in my estimation.  

It's 57 degrees and will be 70 degrees or so at race time at 10 a.m., so the heat should not be a factor.  It's a bit overcast, though, and as of yesterday, there was a 30% chance of rain today.  My thought is that rain would favor JP, particularly since he ran on such a wet, muddy course at NXN in Portland, OR, two years ago.  That's just a guess, though.  Either way, as Coach Russ says, "it's a good day to run."

I think JP is ready.  I hope he isn't running this race with the idea that there's always next year, when he's a senior.  There is no next year.  There is only today.  I want him to be in moment.  To lay it all on the line and to give his all to win this race.  To compete.  To be willing to suffer.  To be willing to hurt.  To want more than anything to win.  Today.  

There is no next year.  There is only today.

I think he can win today but only if he's willing to go to the place he went to when he led wire-to-wire in 104 degree heat at USN's river campus when he won his first cross country race as a 7th grader.  When he finished the race, he had run so hard he couldn't see or talk for five to 10 minutes after the race.  I put a wet towel around his neck and, as he leaned on me for support, we walked around near the finish line until he came back to me.  

As I wrote at the time, that was the day the beast was born.  I knew, then - knew for certain - that he had something special.  Something within himself that would allow him to succeed in this grueling sport if he chose to pursue it. 

To win, today, JP needs to summon the beast again.  To surrender to him.  He needs to be want to return to that place, again, where there is no one but him, the pounding of his heart, and running.  That's the secret. 

I can't go there with him, not anymore.  But I can be there waiting on him when he returns.  And I will be.

State (2025)!

JP and the rest of the MBA cross country team leave campus at midday today and drive to Memphis for tomorrow's state championship cross country meet at Shelby Farms Park.  The boys run tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. in the first race of the day.  

Several of the smaller school division run today, so it will be interesting to see what kind of times the boys are posting.  I know nothing about the course, nor does JP, as MBA hasn't ever run at Shelby Farms - at least not that I'm aware of - so tomorrow's race will be more of an adventure than normal.  For reasons known only to them, the TSSAA decided to move the state championship race to Memphis this year.  This of course, inconveniences every family who doesn't happen to live in Memphis, particularly those in East Tennessee.  Go figure.

The boys are planning on driving straight to the Shelby Farms Park this afternoon to get a look at the course and, hopefully, to run it.  I hope they arrive in time for that, as racing for the state championship on a course with which you're not familiar isn't ideal.  T'hat being said, I think most of the other top runners - McConville and Beroset - haven't run it either, so they will be in the same boat.  

It's hard to believe that as a junior, this is JP's second to last cross country state championship race.  It seems like yesterday that he was racing at Sanders Ferry as a freshman with Samuel Trumble, Mitchell Chaffin, and Jack Wallace.  Now, he's a junior and here we are.  Tomorrow, he'll race with Gabe Guillamondegui, Wynn Humphrey, and Jack McDaniel.  The long red line of MBA cross country runners continues!

I'm proud of JP, Gabe, and all of their teammates.  They've been training hard since the summer.  So much work, dedication, and discipline.  So much togetherness which, in the end, is what it's all about to me.  I think, and hope, that these boys have built bonds that will last a lifetime.  

I was a little wistful thinking about it as I dropped JP and Joe off at MBA this morning, the first time all school year that I've taken them both to school.  

Roll Red!

 

Fall Classic!

For better or worse, my mom passed on her love of sports to me.  In fact, some of my fondest memories as a child are going to Vanderbilt basketball games with her.  I've never known a woman who loved sports - all sports, really - more than her.  One of the things I missed the most after her memory began to fade before she died was not being able to call her and talk about the Titans, the Predators, etc.  

It's only natural, I guess, that my boys have inherited my love of sports.  That very same love of sports that I inherited from my mom.  It's like an unbroken circle of which my mom, my boys, and I are all a part.

What means the most to me, though, is that JP's and Joe's hearts bleed Dodger blue, just like mine.  The boys have been blessed, for sure, to grow up in an era when the Dodgers have been competitive and in the mix every year.  12 division titles and five pennants since 2013.  And I've been blessed to be able share my love of the Dodgers with them during a period of sustained success that is almost unprecedented in baseball's modern era.

Of all the Dodgers' baseball games the three of us have watched together, last night's game probably tops them all.  Game seven of the World Series in Toronto.  A World Series in which the Dodgers were heavily favored and appeared poised to win handily after winning a Game three on Freddie Freeman walkout home run in the 18th inning.  a game I finished watching, alone, at 2 a.m. on a night when I had to go to Court the next morning - only to have the Blue Jay win the next two games in Los Angeles to send the Series back to Toronto with the Dodgers down, 3 - 2.

The Dodgers won Game 6 behind another sterling outing from Yoshinobu Yamamoto to force a game seven, the most exciting thing in sports.  

As JP watched upstairs with Martha Grey and I sat with Joe on the couch in the den, all appeared to be lost with one out in the ninth inning, the Dodgers down 4 - 3.  On a full count, Miguel Rojas hit one of the most unlikely - and timely - home runs in World Series history when Jeff Hoffman hung a slider.  Rojas jumped on the pitch and hit it into the left field stands.  What I'll always remember is Joe and jumping around the room while JP screamed and yelled upstairs.  It was an indelible moment that I'll remember forever.

After throwing 96 pitches last night, Yoshi took the ball, again, with the Dodgers in trouble in the bottom of the ninth and miraculous got out of the inning.  Heroically, he stayed on the mound for the next two innings and was the winning pitcher after Will Smith's two out home run in the top of the eleventh inning held up to give the Dodgers a stunning 5 - 4 win and their ninth World Series title.

When Alejandro Kirk grounded into a game-ending doubler play - Mookie Betts stepped on second base on a broken bat ground ball up the middle and threw to Freddie Freeman at first base - it was complete pandemonium at our house.  JP and Martha Grey ran downstairs as Joe and I yelled, hugged, and danced around the den.  It was sheer ecstasy, the kind that only a true sports fan can understand.  Just when all seems lost, your team rallies and give you a moment that you'll never forget.  

It was a moment the Dodgers will never forget either.

Kike Hernandez, the heart and sole of the 2025 Dodgers.

Someday, I know, JP and Joe will tell their children about the 2025 World Series.  I think they'll smile and, hopefully, think of me as they're watching Dodgers baseball games, someday, with their children.