Weekend at Joe's Place

Jude and JP are in Texas, taking a look at Rice University in Houston and the University of Texas in Austin, so Joe and I are spending the holiday weekend together at home.  It's rare that Jude or I get a few days alone with one of the boys, so it's always an enjoyable experience when it happens.

It's not like Joe has tons of down time, of course, because school is back in full swing and there is always studying to be done.  Still, we've managed to find some leisure time this weekend in between school work and various sport activities.

Friday night, Joe and I ordered takeout from Postino's - one of our favorites but not Jude's, for some reason - and watched the first half of Creed 3.  JP watched it on a flight a couple of years ago, so Joe and I have been trying to find a time to see it on our own.  

Saturday morning, Joe's Bucket Squad drew the short straw, so to speak, and had the early game (8 a.m.) at J.T. Moore.  Ouch.  They soundly defeated another team, the Bucket Boyz, that had three MBA seventh graders on the roster.  I kept the scorebook and, as always, enjoyed interaction with the boys on a more personal basis in the context of a basketball game.  

Before the game started, I pulled Rex Waddy aside and told him how proud I was of how hard and consistently he had played lately.  I also told him I loved the fact that he was upset after MBA lost to Ensworth last week because that meant he cared.  It's supposed to feel like that when you lose to a rival.

Joe had a 3-pointer in the first half and a couple of other buckets, one on a nifty no-look past from Carson on a fast break.  Overall, the boys played well, although I continue to wish Cole would play with his back to the basket more and use this size to establish an inside game.  I think it would expand his game tremendously if he would establish himself inside, especially against smaller players, then work outside and shoot from distance.  But, what do I know?

The highlight of the day was breakfast after the Bucket Squad game.  Joe and I drove to Mr. Aaron's Goods on Gallatin Road, deep in East Nashville, a place I had read about and tried unsuccessfully to get to over the holidays.  To our delight, Joe and I had the best breakfast sandwiches we've ever had!  Joe had a bacon, egg, and (white cheddar) cheese on a plain bagel.  I had a sausage, egg, and (white cheddar) cheese on an everything bagel.  OMG!  Literally, to die for!  We will most certainly be back.

Yesterday afternoon, Joe had a pitching workout for the Redbirds at Ezell Harding Christian School.  They have a small workout facility in an out building near the track, behind the school.  The school is near the old Hickory Hollow Mall, so it's not particularly easy to get to.  Still, a baseball workout is a baseball workout.

Joe has a decision to make about baseball, I think.  He was accepted for a Wilson Grant at MBA to take a week long trip to Washington D.C., a trip JP was lucky enough to take, too, in the summer after his seventh grade year.  So, Joe already will miss a couple baseball tournaments.  On top of that, Joe has spoken, somewhat longingly, of how much he would love to go back to Sports Camp at Woodbury Forest.   This would be his last year of eligibility, age wise, to go to camp there.  

The problem, of course, is that he really can't play travel baseball this summer and go to camp at Woodberry Forest.  We talked about it a bit over dinner and playoff football (Seahawks-49ers) at Edley's BBQ last night.  I told him it's not what he needs to do but what he wants to do.  I don't want him to think he has to play baseball this summer.  However, I did tell him that I suspected it might he harder to make the Redbirds travel team the following year if he quits this summer's team.  It's a big decision for him and I will be curious what he decides to do.

After dinner at Edley's, we turned off the Seahawks' blowout of the 49ers to watch part of the 30-for-30, "June 19, 1994," which is a 1-hour documentary about the day of the OJ Simspon car chase in the White Ford Bronco.  While listening to a Bill Simmons podcast earlier in the day, I told Joe about the car chase and how crazy it was.  He was interested and I remembered the 30-for-30, and off we went last night.

Today, it will be church at St. Patrick's, another baseball workout, and more studying.  Probably a little NFL playoffs mixed in, too.

(8th & Roast)

Hardwood Joe

I've enjoyed watching Joe play basketball for MBA's seventh grade ("C" team) team the past few weeks.  He was supposed to play this afternoon, but Valor canceled the game.  He only has four basketball games left, three of which are next week.  I'm reminded of how short the middle school sports seasons are, which I had kind of forgotten since JP is in the back end of high school.

As I predicted before the season, Joe is starting, playing point guard, and in many ways running the team for better or worse.  He knows the offense, knows where everyone is supposed to be, and competes his ass off every play.  He turns the ball over too much, though, in part because his handle is not where it needs to be and his size limits his ability to pass over defenders.  This is especially true when he's double teamed.  

Still, he plays with heart and he's scoring the basketball more than he has in the past.  In a tough 44-34 loss to Tuesday Monday night, he scored 10 points and easily could have had 15.  He hit two 3-pointers and had a couple more buckets in the paint.  He missed a gimme layup at the end of the first half, though, and had a good look at a 3-pointer, late, that looked it was going in before it rimmed out.  He made some nice defensive plays, as well, including a late steal that led to a layup by his teammate, Rex Waddy.

I've coached, and known, Rex since he was five years old or so.  His father, Alex, is an old attorney friend of mine, as is his grandfather, Jack.  Believe it or not, Jack Waddy and I used to play basketball at the Uptown YMCA, now defunct, at lunch when I clerked at Manier, Herod in the summer of 1992 and, later, when I went to work there.  Yes, that is more than 30 years ago.  Alex and I used to play law league softball together.  A decathlete in college at Virginia, he's one of the best athletes I have ever known.

Rex is a sweet, kind hearted kid whom I love to death.  He's one of my all-time favorites out of JP's and Joe's groups because he's so funny, quirky, happy, and big hearted.  I think I identify with him in part because he lost his mother, Alex's wife, to colon cancer a few years ago.  Having lost my dad at a young age, we share in common that experience, although no two situations are the same.

What I love about Rex's game this winter is that I can see the light bulb beginning to come on for him.  He's competing consistently and, clearly, how he plays and how the team performs is starting to matter to him.  In games, he's never scared.  He uses his length and athleticism to rebound, defend, and get to the cup.  Now, he misses layups - a lot - but that can and will be corrected.  As his dad, Alex, told me, Rex is starting to love the game of basketball.  That's a beautiful thing to see.

Joe, Rex, Bennett, and Sawyer, three of whom are from USN (Joe, Bennett, and Sawyer) are starters and tone setters for the team.  I love that, of course.  Joe is a natural leader and has the ability to connect with anyone and everyone.  I know it and I need him to know it.  I think he's starting to figure that out.

This weekend, Jude and JP are traveling to Texas so JP can look at University of Texas and Rice.  Wow.  It's all happening.  I'm looking forward to having a long weekend at home with Joe.

(Herban Market)

When Dreams Die

Late last week, I learned that Barista Parlor was closing all of its locations except the coffee shop in East Nashville.  

The original Barista Parlor, at least for me, was Golden Sound on Division Street near the Gulch.  It was in a really cool building, garage door on both sides, with a lot of seating and the coffee bar right in the middle.  Parking was awful there but it was a great place to get a good cup of coffee and do a little work or to meet an old friend for a catch up conversation (Glenn Brown, Andrea McCoy, etc.).  When Yazoo sold their brewery and left area and their building was torn down, the handwriting was on the wall for Barista Parlor.  That coffee shop lasted longer than I thought, though, with towering condominiums sprouting up all around it seemingly overnight.

The closing of the Hillsboro Village Barista Parlor on Sunday hits me hard, too.  Particularly in the last year, I often finished my 3-mile runs there, grabbed a coffee, and walked home.  In fact, my goal-reaching 156th 3-mile run ended at the Hillsboro Village shop and the barista who made my coffee took a picture of me with my cell phone, so I could record the moment.

It's always a little sad for me, somehow, when businesses close, even ones I don't frequent with any regularity.  Why?  I guess it's because I always think that a person, or a group of people, opened the business with the idea that it would be a resounding success.  They had an idea, wrote a business plan, planned, held meetings, obtained financing, hired employees, and opened the doors with unbridled optimism.  

Then, at some point, something changed.  Their business model didn't click like they thought it would.  The neighborhood changed.  Covid-19 arrived.  The economy fell.  Or, maybe, they just didn't enjoy owning and operating a business like they thought they would.

This brings me to Harris Baseball Club and its owner, Brian Harris. 

Yesterday, after I dropped Joe off at Ezell Harding for his baseball workout, I drove home on Murfreesboro Road.  When I got to Wilhagen Road, I turned right without much thought and decided to visit HBC's shuttered baseball workout facility.  

The first thing I noticed was that Wilhagen's Pub had closed, much to my dismay.  More than 30 years ago, the first year I played ultimate frisbee, Wilgahen's Pub sponsored Nashville's Ultimate Frisbee's Summer League.  Jude and I had just started dating and she convinced me to play.  We all went to Wilhagen's after summer league games.  I vividly recall kissing her in the parking lot one night, underneath the brightly lit Wilhagen's sign, and thinking this might be the beginning of something.  Turns out, in fact, it was the beginning of the rest of my life.  

Fast forward to last year and one afternoon while the 16U boys were working out,  Gavin O'Rear and I walked down to Wilhagen's for a drink.  That was first time in years that I had been inside and, as it turns out, the last time, as well.  As I drove by  yesterday and saw that it had closed, I looked on Instagram.  I learned that the owner, Bill Lloyd, retired and closed Wilhagen's Pub in August after a 36-year run.  Quite a run, to be sure.

Harris Baseball Club didn't have the same kind of run, in large part because Brian Harris probably wasn't cut out to own and operate a business that required him to glad hand parents, recruit boys to play at all age levels 365 days a year, and figure out which boys needed to coddled a bit and which ones needed to be cajoled.  

Brian Harris is a good baseball coach, especially for boys up to age 12 or 13, but as it turned out, he wasn't a very good administrator.  I think he would agree with me on that point, particularly since coaching baseball is the part of HBC he really enjoyed.  I don't think he really enjoyed running a travel baseball operation.  I do think, for the most part, he enjoyed giving lessons at the training facility, although about that I am not completely certain.

The point, of course, is that it made me sad yesterday when I pulled into his parking lot and saw his half of the building deserted.  No HBC logo on the large garage door and a dumpster in the front where someone - maybe Brian - had cleaned out the building.

I was sad because early on, Brian had a dream, I suspect, of building a travel baseball club that was different from all or the others.  Not as cutthroat, not as win at all costs, reasonably priced thought not inexpensive, and focused on developing boys as young men and baseball players.  He wanted to own his own training facility, so he could have a place for his travel baseball teams to train.  I think, too, he wanted to have a place where the older boys could train on their own in the offseason.  

And that's what makes me sad, too.  JP used to love to drive over to the HBC facility, often with Joe, and workout on his own or with Joe.  I loved it that he had a place to go, to work out, and try to become a better baseball player.  I'm sad that it's gone, too.

Although there were ups and down, on the field, for JP and Joe playing for HBC in the summers, memories were made that will last my lifetime and probably theirs, too.  I hope Brian realizes that and doesn't see Harris Baseball Club as a failed business venture.  It was so much more than that, to me and my family, and to many others.

I will never forget the trips with JP to Johnson City, Knoxville, and elsewhere.  Staying in hotels and just hanging out.  The games Joe played on the field I love off Nolensville Pike, tucked away and hidden from the traffic.  Most of all, the trip to Cooperstown with Joe.  It was beautiful, memorable, and important.  All of it.

I loved every time I drove JP or Joe to a practice or picked them up, often after dark.  I loved watching them, just watching them, playing baseball.  I loved every single minute of it.  

I miss Harris Baseball Club.  I miss Brian Harris, too, and I hope he's happy and doing well.  

Growing Old

It's been a tough holiday season for a few of my close friends who are dealing with aging parents.  

A little more than a month ago, the mother of one of my friends fell in her driveway and fractured her femur.  Recovery has been tough, as she's non-weight bearing and will be for at least two months.  She hasn't recovered from surgery the way we would have hoped, physically and mentally.  It's tough because this surgery followed hip replacement surgery a year or so ago.  

Another friend's mother recently fell while the entire family was in Hawaii and broke her hip.  She, too, had some preexisting medical issues that made surgery a dicey affair, particularly since she was 4,000 miles from home.  Fortunately, surgery went well and they were able fly back to Nashville earlier this week.  Still, she's looking at in-patient rehabilitation for at least a few weeks.

Another friend called me Sunday night, while I was watching television with the boys.  It was an odd time for him to call, so when I saw I had missed his call I called him right back.  "I wanted to hear your voice," he said, "because I knew you'd understand."  His mother had died earlier that day after experiencing breathing issues apparently related to pulmonary fibrosis.  My heart hurts for him, in part because I still acutely feel the loss of my mother, especially this time of year.  Like me almost six years ago, he finds himself an adult orphan, having lost his father in the last couple of years.  

So much of this seems to be going around, all with parents in their late seventies.  

It got me to thinking, of course that I am not that far away from my late seventies, given that I turn 60 this summer.  Over the weekend, I wondered how I can run five miles comfortably, now, on the trails or in the neighborhood, and perhaps he less than 20 years away from immobility and the every day risk of a fall that breaks my femur or hip.  I mean, damn!  The next couple of decades might really suck from a physical standpoint.  

On top of that, earlier this week I saw an old lawyer friend of mine - someone I went to law school with 35 years ago - struggling up the ramp as he walked into the courthouse across from my office.  He was in a terrible bicycle accident when he was a child, as a result of which he's always walked with two canes.  I've always admires his perseverance through so much adversity at a young age.  

In law school, he was thin with a thick shock of blonde hair, good looking by an objective standard.  He was strong, too, from all the years of maneuvering around with his canes.  Years later, I saw him in Las Vegas a few times and other than his difficulty walking, he was the picture of health.  When I saw him earlier this week and waved to him, I noticed he was heavier than I'd seen him and his hair was all gray.  And, as I said, he seemed to be struggling a bit to get into the courthouse.

I guess what hit me, hard, was he looked tired.  Really tired.  Like life had had its way with him over the past decade or so.  He had a bunch of children, as I recall, most of whom are probably grown and out of the house now.  So. what's left?  A man with a disability he got decades ago through no fault of his own, struggling to walk into the courthouse for work.

Honestly, it was kind of depressing.  All of that has been kind of depressing, not that it's about me, of course.  As JP considers various colleges and universities and Joe gets adjusted to seventh grade at MBA, I keep plugging away.  A client call in ten minutes.  A mediation later today.  Three projects I have to get done.  Telephone calls to return.  A receptionist to hire.  An office to run.  Bills to pay.

Yep, the holidays are over and the winter doldrums are here.  I haven't found the time to run this week and I need to get out there and get one it.  Hopefully, that will happen this afternoon.

Growing old is not for the faint of heart.  Truer words have never been spoken. 

The Winter Doldrums

Forlorn.  

That's the best word to describe my emotions as I sit at 8th & Roast on a Friday morning, sipping my coffee, watching the baristas take down the Christmas decorations.  It's sad, but necessary, as today is January 2 and the holidays are over.  Finito.  It's time.

I have so enjoyed the Christmas decorations, here, at 8th & Roast, this holiday season.  An artificial Christmas tree that, even now, is being stuffed back into the long rectangular shaped box it will rest in for the next 11 months, in a closet in the back.  Red Santa hats and outfits cleverly placed on the figures in the coffee photographs on the wall.  Christmas lights, everywhere, throughout the coffee shop.  And, my favorite, the two miniature town scenes in the center of the two bigger, community tables, complete with cars, Christmas trees, streetlights, and people, all on a bed of pretend snow.  

As 8th & Roast improbably became my new morning coffee spot the past couple of months, it has been nice to relax for a few minutes, and read or write, among the Christmas decorations.  'Tis the season.  Or, at least, 'tis was the season.  Sigh.

For once, I have managed to stay away from the office, for the most part, over the holidays.  It was easier this year because of how the holidays fell.  Christmas Eve and Christmas, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, on Wednesday and Thursday.  That made it easier to take last Friday off.  I needed some down time, I think.  I was feeling a little burned out at work toward the end of the year.

Today, however, I am headed into the office.  Time to get back after it.  

The boys return to school on Tuesday, so they have one more long weekend to relax.  Then, for them, too, it is back to the grind.  Jude, too, as she has been off work entirely over the holidays, which has been nice.

Hopefully, running more and longer will get me through the winter months.  That and lots of reading and family time.  

Goodbye, for now, to my favorite time of year, October 1 - January 1.  Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's.  Fall.  All over.

Yep, I am forlorn this morning.  

Back to Shelby Bottoms

After 163 three mile runs in 2025, I started 2026 with a 5-miler on the trails at Shelby Bottoms, my favorite place to run when I am home.  I haven't run five miles in, well, over a year.  Still, I felt great, and I loved every step of the run.  8:18 pace, which is fast for the trails (grass and gravel, not paved). 

The temperature was in the low 50's - beautiful for January 1 in Nashville.  Cloudless blue skies.  It would be hard for me to dream up a more perfect day to run five miles.  What a way to start my running in 2026, the year I turn 60.  

Over the years, I have unquestionably run long at Shelby Bottoms more than anywhere else.  I know the trails like my own backyard.  I miss the old Cornelia Fort Trail terribly but after the most recent tornado, the trail was never cleared and, now, it has disappeared from view.  Still, I love running on the trails, which are off the beaten path, fairly deserted, and sequestered from the many cyclists flying up and down the greenway (paved trail).  

It's peaceful on the trails at Shelby Bottoms.  Beautiful, too, throughout the year.  Now, with the leaves fallen from the trees, the Cumberland River is visible at various points along the trails.  I'll take Shelby Park over Percy Warner Park or Edwin Warner Park any day.  Less crowded, by far.  More scenic.  Plus, I love East Nashville.  

If I can stay healthy, and I hope I can, I am going to try to pick up the mileage a bit this year by adding runs longer than three miles to my repertoire.  I want to start running long again, too.  It's time to return to the church of the long run.  

I do not take any of this for granted.  At 59, being able to run consistently is a blessing, especially for me.  Being able to run three miles (and, I suspect, more) at an 8:00 pace, like I did yesterday on my run at Harlinsdale Farm, is a bonus.  It was nice to feel strong and fast the last three months of 2025.  My running peaked in November and December 2025, which was cool.  

When I am locked in with running, like I am now, I find myself thinking about when, where, and how far I am going to run next.  It's like an itch that I need to scratch.  I think about my schedule - work and family - and how I can work in a run.  I think about how many miles I have run in a week, for the month, and for the year, especially when I have a goal I am trying to meet.  It drives me, this feeling that I need to run.  That I have to run.  I love it.   

I hope to run more with JP in 2026 than I did in 2025.  He runs at a different level than I do, obviously.  I don't to interfere with his training by persuading him to run with the old man.  Still, I think we can work a few runs in together.  

Today, JP did a workout at MBA with Sam Trumble and two of his teammates from the Kansas University track team.  It is nice for him to have the opportunity to work out with college runners.   

I am also going to get Joe out to run with me more, like I did last weekend.  Not because I want him to run competitively.  It's not his thing, which is totally fine.  However, I want him to enjoy running recreationally because it will give him self-confidence, fitness, and balance in his life.  Running will help him relieve stress.  

In the end, my goal for JP and Joe is the same.  I want them to enjoy a lifetime of running recreationally.  For themselves because running will make them more patient, more relaxed, more balanced, more self-confident and self-reliant, better friends, better sons, better husbands, and better fathers.  

Running has given me so much.  Everything, really.  I want the boys to have that, too.

Scenes after yesterday's end of the year (2025) run to Harlinsdale Farm in Franklin.

(January 1, 2026 - Haraz)