Too Many Goodbyes

As I've written before, there are multiple people in my life who are battling serious illnesses.  Six at last count.  Some of them won't make it, which breaks my heart.  I don't know if this is just a bad run or if it's a product of my age (58).  Was 2024 a rough year - an outlier - or is this the new normal?

Sunday, I said goodbye to a longtime lawyer friend of mine.  We've played softball against each other for 30 + years in the Nashville Bar Association softball league.  He loves the league and, of course, so do I.  Each of us has won tournament titles, although not in few years.  He was a stalwart for the Independents in the old, old days, when I played for Manier, Herod in the mid-1990's.  The Independents were our biggest rivals and the team we finally beat to get over the hump and win our first tournament championship.  I still have a team photograph taken immediately after the final game, a 12 - 1 victory for Manier, Herod.  

He played third base on those days.  He always - always - wore grey baseball pants, no matter the heat in late July and early August.  He also sported a wispy, reddish blonde mustache long after it went out of style.  He still has the mustache and, in fact, it appears he kept it long enough for it to come back into style.  

He was a singles hitter and someone, for some reason, that I could never seem to get out.  I always joked that he and Jerry Patterson - neither of whom are overly athletic - were two guys I could never solve as a pitcher.  Year after year, they singled me to death at East Park and, later, at Cleveland Street Park. 

Over the years, we shared beers together at the softball field.  We also shared our love of baseball.  Red Sox for him, Dodgers for me.  And we shared stories.  So many stories, borne out of a love of practicing law and a love of the NBA softball league.  He was a dear, value friend of mine.  Always.

At 71, he was the second oldest player in the league this summer.  We connected, as always, at the end of season tournament in late July.  He was there, in fact, when I was hit in the face with a line drive and left the field, blood everywhere, roaring in pain and anger, unsure if I had broken teeth (I didn't), a broken jaw (I didn't), or needed stitched (I did).  What I didn't learn until I visited him at home on Sunday is that while I was walking outside left field, trying to determine how badly injured I was, he was instrumental in preventing a fight from breaking out on the field as my teammates confronted the other team.  That's just who he is.

In August, shortly after the NBA softball tournament, he was playing golf and began to have excruciating low back pain.  It quickly got so bad that he couldn't walk or even move.  Sadly, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer after a tumor was discovered pressing on his spine.  Just devastating news for him, this family, and friends.  

Although he had chemotherapy treatments, I think it was as a way to, perhaps, buy him more time.  The disease was terminal.  He wasn't going to survive it.  What I hate the most is he has had such a rough ride since late summer.  Multiple trips to the hospital in an ambulance.  Extended stays at the hospital at or near the holidays.  Intense pain.  Constant discomfort.  It's been rough. 

Late last week, his wife texted me to tell me that he had decided he had fallen, which resulted in another trip to the emergency room in an ambulance.  The tumors had spread up and down his spine.  He was done with treatment and was going to be placed on hospice care at home.  Although he had been seeing only family and his closest friends from law school, he had decided to start seeing people if they wanted to stop by.

To say goodbye.

And that's what I did.  On Sunday afternoon, I stopped by the house in Crocket Springs, adjacent to the neighborhood I grew up in - Brenthaven - and spent a hour and a half with him.  I hugged his wife, also a dear, dear friend of mine.  I met his sister, who was in town from Michigan.  I briefly held his hand in the way that men do at a time like this.  Without embarrassment or insecurity.  With only love.

We told stories - we both love to talk and laugh - about practicing law and about the NBA softball league.  He was there at the beginning, when there was no softball league, just a softball game at the Nashville Bar Association summer picnic at Crockett Springs Country Club, near his house.  We laughed, a lot.  When I said goodbye, something passed between us, or at least it seemed to me that it did.  

Before I left, I shoveled the ice and snow off the front sidewalk while his wife watched.  I was so happy to do it, too, because it made me feel like in a very small way, I was helping.  Doing something tangible.  ai drove home and listened to music, alone with my thoughts and memories.  

I'm losing another lion.  

Snow Daze

Earlier in the week, we began hearing about a snowstorm that was going to hit the Deep South toward the end of the work week.  Dallas, Atlanta, Memphis, and so forth and so.  "Sure," I thought.  "I'll believe it when I see it," given that I had been running in shirtsleeves a week to ten days ago.  

By Thursday, Nashville was in wholesale "snow panic" mode, as it became apparent that the weather forecasters actually might have gotten this one right.  At work, I suggested our receptionist take Friday off and leave Thursday night for a wedding in Memphis, to make sure she arrived safely and on time.  When I stopped by the grocery store on the way home, there was literally almost nothing left to buy.  No produce.  Very little meat.  And, of course, the grocery store was packed with people scurrying around like ants. 

This, my friends, is Nashville with snow in the forecast.  Every single time.  It never changes.  

USN and MBA canceled school Thursday evening, for Friday, much to the boys' delight.  Forget that they just returned to school after 2 + weeks off for Christmas Vacation.  Few things in a child's life are as exciting as getting an expected day off of school due to snow.  

It was snowing when I got up Friday morning with the temperature hovering around 32 degrees.  Perfect for a good, wet, snowman and snowball packing snow, which is what we got in Nashville.  Small flakes at first, then bigger flakes, as it snowed most of the day.  

I scrambled to find coffee Friday morning.  No Portland Brew anymore, which always was open during the snow, even when every other coffee shop was closed.  Dose was closed.  Fortunately (and surprisingly), Bongo Java was open until noon with a full kitchen.  I got my coffee and scrambled eggs and settled in to read the New York Times.  It felt, almost, like the old days at Bongo Java, as people from the neighborhood wandered in with their children, in the beginning of a snow daze that would last through the weekend.  

At one point, as I sat contentedly at my table sipping my coffee, I heard Tom Petty's "American Girl" playing in the background, over the hum of quiet conversations at nearby tables.  Watching the snow falling outside and knowing my family was comfortably ensconced at home a couple of blocks away, I felt . . . content.  

A Friday morning snow, ahead of a weekend with Jude and the boys.

Contentment is precious.  Hard to find and harder to hold onto when it finds you.

JP, Joe, and I went for a run in the snow later Friday afternoon, snowflakes falling on us as we ran.  JP ran almost three miles with Joe and me, then continued on to get five miles or so in, while Joe and I turned for home.  Runs in the snow, for me, are always memorable, because they're so rare.  Runs in the snow are even more memorable when I can share them with one or both of my boys.  

After our run, JP, Joe, and I walked up to Belmont U. to watch the women's basketball team play University of Illinois (Chicago).  Predictably, with the snow falling outside, there were few few fans at the game.  We ran into our friend and neighbor, Connie, who sat with us.  She and I had a delightful conversation during the game.  I learned that she met her late husband, Mike, by placing a classified ad in personal section of the Tennessean in the early 1990's.  An amazing story with the makings of a romantic comedy.  Who new?  

By yesterday, the roads had cleared for the most part as the temperature rose.  The boys and I had breakfast at the Henry in 12South, as Bongo Java was open but didn't have any kitchen workers to make breakfast.  We downloaded Madden '25 and NHL '25 on the Xbox - gifts from Uncle James - and the boys played video games for a while and read, too.  We watched the first round of the NFL playoffs and ate chicken noodle soup that Jude cooked in the crock pot last night.

For a couple of days, things slowed down.  No school.  No basketball games.  No basketball practices or baseball workouts.  

Today, it's back to it.  Donuts for church.  Church.  Basketball practice for Joe.  Baseball practice for Joe.  JP will get back in the books for school, I am sure.  I need to do some work later, because my week at work is crazy.

We're all emerging from the snow daze, slowly but inevitably.  

At least, until it snows again.

KYA Indoor Classic 2025

Yesterday was a normal Saturday for us.  Indoor track meet at Vanderbilt University for JP, followed by back to back basketball games in two different places for Joe, then back to Vanderbilt to watch JP race again.  Go, go, go.

It's also the kind of Saturday I will miss with my whole heart when it's all over and these boys are grown and gone.  I don't know what Jude and I will do with ourselves when that happens.  I shudder to think how I will deal with the emptiness of my weekends.  It's all going by so fast.  

Jude and I divided and conquered, so I missed Joe's first basketball game (WNSL) at the old Cohn High School, on the west side, in a gym I love.  I don't think I missed much, as Joe's Bucket Squad rolled their opponent by 30 + and Joe didn't play particularly well.  Apparently, he took several shots but couldn't hit anything.  As I told him, I like the aggressiveness on offense - whether he's making or missing his shots - especially in a recreational league game.

Meanwhile, JP ran in the second heat of the 800 at the KYA Indoor Classic.  Tracy drove up from Franklin to watch him race, which was nice.  I enjoyed talking with her while we waited through 11 HS girls' heats of the 800.  Fortunately, in the HS boys' 800, it was fastest to slowest, so JP's group ran immediately after the first heat.  

As I am learning, indoor track is different.  T'he track itself is shorter than outside tracks.  Vanderbilt's for example, is 200 meters.  As a result the 800 is roughly two and half laps, the mile is almost five laps, and so forth.

JP got boxed out in the beginning of the race and started from the back of the pack, as is customary for him.  As is also customary for him, toward the beginning of the second lap, he moved to the outside and began passing runners.  His finishing kick is strong, something I think he takes pride in, although it's possible he relies on it a little too much as opposed to starting closer to the front of the pack.  What do I know about racing, though?  Not much.  

He continued to close toward the end of the second lap and by the beginning of the abbreviated third lap, he was in good position in the front group.  He finished strong in fourth place in his heat, running a 1:59:54.  In my view, anything under 2:00:00 is fast.  He ran slightly a similar time as the anchor leg of the 4 x 800 at the state championships last spring, so I was pleased with his race yesterday and I shtik he was, too.  He placed 14th overall.

I drove Joe to his second basketball game - a Stars' game - at David Lipscomb, or "John David Lipscomb," as Joe used to call it in his younger days.  I used to laugh and laugh every time he said that.  Joe's Stars' tame lost a close game, by three points.  

The difference, really, was that Joe's team had a three point lead and the ball with 16 seconds left in the first half with Joe on the bench.  One of their guards foolishly and needlessly telegraphed a pass at the top of the key, turned the ball over, and a boy on the other team hit a three pointer at the buzzer.  Tie game at halftime, when the Stars had a chance to be up by five or six points.

Although he only had one bucket and missed a bunny in the second half from the left baseline, I was very proud of Joe's game.  He handled the ball well, running the point.  No turnovers, which was huge.  He also played good, solid defense, and had several deflections and three or four straight steals.  He distributed the ball, made the right plays, and had a couple of nifty passes that would have been assist but for a teammate missing an easy shot.  

He played the game the right way, which is what Joe does.  As I've said before, he's a glue guy.  Not the most athletic.  Not the quickest, not by far, but almost always the smartest basketball player on his team.  I loved his game.

After a brief stop at home, Jude, Joe, and I made the quick drive back to Vanderbilt to watch JP run in the 1 mile race.  He ran in the third heat.  As it turned out, his MBA classmate and cross country teammate, Gabe, was moved up from the fourth heat to the third heat, which I knew would make for an interesting race.  

For some reason, JP and Gabe were seeded lower in the heat and started in a staggered position in the outside lanes, slightly ahead of the larger group in the inside six lanes.  To me, this is a disadvantage, as the they have to break to the inside toward the end of the first lap when the racers can leave their lanes.  

Sure enough, JP and Gabe ended up being boxed out, behind the leaders, at the end of the first lap.  It was a quick pace, so I wasn't sure how much ground they would be able to make up.  The answer, of course, is all of it, as JP and Gabe began moving up on the outside during the second lap, both running smoothly.  Like last year during the same race, I thought, this is going to be interesting.  And it was.

A little bit about Gabe.  He's a phenomenal runner, to start, but I think he struggled a bit in cross county to find himself until the last three races of the boys' sophomore season.  He looked extremely comfortable finishing the race at the state championship and at NXR in Cary, NC.  He set a PR when the boys ran in the final cross country race of the season in Huntsville at Running Lanes, early last month.  He excels in track and has a lot more experience than JP does in more traditional races, like the 1 mile, 2 mile, etc.  

The point is that for the next two years, Gabe and JP are going to push each other, which will make both of them better runners. 

By the end of the third lap yesterday, JP and Gabe were running in the first group with the leaders.  As the boys passed by me on the last lap, Gabe was in the lead and looked great, with JP in second place. It looked to me like Gabe was going to win the race and he nearly did.

JP passed Gabe part way through the final lap and started to pull away slightly,  Then, on the final stretch, just like last year with Sullivan Smith (Father Ryan HS), Gabe began sprinting and pulled even with JP near the finish line.  JP seemed to feel Gabe before he saw him - I think he remembered last year's race - and he sped up slightly and just held Gabe off at the finish line, winning literally by an eyelash.  JP finished first in the heat in 4:31:52 (12th overall), a PR, and Gabe finished second in the heat in 4:31:63 (13th overall), roughly a tenth of a second behind JP.  It was a fantastic race.  

I'm proud of JP and Gabe.  JP ran a solid race, particularly since he had raced the 800 earlier in the day.  It was the same with Gabe, given that he ran a blistering 2 mile race on Friday night.  I think there's a bright future for both of these boys.

The best part, for me, was that several of the boys' cross country teammates, and Coach Cirillo, came to Vanderbilt to watch JP and Gabe race in the 1 mile.  To seem them support their teammates was special.  I annoyed them all and snapped a group photo afterwards.

 

Saying Goodbye to 2024

As I sip my coffee at The Henry - yet another addition to 12South in 2024 - I feel kind of numb to the fact that another year is in the books.  Suddenly, we're almost a quarter of the way through the 21st century.  

It seems only yesterday that I lay under a blanket with our ultimate frisbee playing friends on a grassy bank by a creek in Gatlinburg in freezing temperatures, staring up at the stars at midnight, as we rang in the year 2000.  That was 25 years ago.  Before Jude and I got married.  Before we had the boys.  Before I lost my mom.  Before we lost Carley Meade.  

The eternal question, of course, is where did the time go?

I always have trouble categorizing a year in review.  Was it good?  Was it bad?  A little of both?  If I'm lucky, more good than bad and I guess that would be my though about 2024.  Mostly good, a little bad or, to be more precise, a little sad.

I lost David Easterling in September to a glioblastoma.  He's my first close high school friend - the first member of our group - to leave us.  There's something reassuring about knowing a close friend from whom you've drifted away a bit is still there, available for a random text exchange about Kentucky/Tennessee basketball, Cardinals/Dodgers baseball, or REM.  Always a clever, funny text.  I'm sad that's gone.  

I lost another lion, too, when Don Smith died.  I wrote about him earlier in the year.  He was the heart and soul of Manier, Herod, Hollabaugh & Smith - my first job as a lawyer - in the mid-1990's when I worked there.  An outsized personality and an original, if there ever was one.

For the fist time in my life, I have multiple people fighting various forms of cancer, and I think about them, literally, every day.  Gary, Scott, Reid, Kelli, Christa, and Lance.  How?  Why?  It's unknowable and that's beyond scary.  Sometimes, life is such a struggle, so hard and seemingly unfair.  

Work has been, well, work.  I stayed busy, as I should at this stage of my career.  Mediations and divorce cases.  Complicated, high asset cases and other cases that were not as complicated that I chose to take because I liked the clients (or their families) and wanted to help.  

Andrea, the associate on whom I took a chance when I hired her two years ago, left to work for a firm in Nashville, which was a bit disappointing at the time.  In the end, though, it probably was the best move, for her, for me, and for our law firm.  I'm still looking to replace her with the right person.

As a family, we went to Sewanee a couple of times.  My home away from home.  We traveled to Santa Rosa Beach, FL.  My other home away from home.  We also went to Chicago for the 4th of July.  A great trip where we stayed in a penthouse condominium downtown.  Joe and I traveled to Cooperstown, NY, for a week of baseball and multiple visits to the MLB Hall of Fame.  It was a trip we will never forget.  JP and I flew to Raleigh, NC, and stayed nearby in Cary, NC, when MBA's cross country team ran in NXR (Nike Cross-Country Regionals) for the second year in a row.

For baseball, JP and I traveled to Knoxville for a weekend last summer and stayed with Sarge and Jennifer.  In middle Tennessee, the boys played baseball or soccer (Joe) in various cites and towns (Mount Juliet, Murfreesboro, Smyrna, etc.).  For cross country (JP), we traveled to Louisville, KY, Owensboro, KY, Danville, AL, and to Huntsville, AL.  

The boys stayed busy and healthy which, of course, is a blessing.  They're happy, well adjusted, doing well in school.  Also, a blessing, and something I don't take for granted, not for a minute, particularly when I see so many children in my cases at work that are struggling.  I mean, Jude and I have the best boys, and we're so very lucky that God has blessed us with them.  It's the ultimate gift.  

I helped coach Joe's WNSL Braves in spring and all-star baseball.  The boys' run to the State Tournament run Mount Juliet was fun.  Joe played and pitched well, and coaching the boys was a blast.  I will never forget coaching the boys in temperature nearing 100 degrees and wearing baseball pants (!), as required by Cal Ripken baseball.  I will also never forget having a beer in the parking lot after Franklin knocked the WNSL Braves out in the semi-finals, debriefing with Scott McRae and Mark Erdman.  My guys.

If the fall, I took the WNSL Dodgers on their last ride.  As assistant coaches, I had JP, Wes, Benton, Cyrus, and JK from the original Dodgers.  JP was there almost every practice and game and, in fact, coached the boys in a double header in my absence one Saturday.  Coaching Joe and the other boys - Ram, Trey, Nico, Walker, George, Bennett (the original Junior Dodgers) and Huck, too - was, quite simply, the best.  Probably the highlight of 2024 for me.  

I kept running and stayed relatively healthy, which was nice.  Strangely, when I looked at my Runkeeper app on December 30, 2024, I realized that with one more three mile run the next day, I would have run 517 miles, exactly the same number of miles I ran in 2023.  Now, that's weird.  146 runs (2024) vs. 140 runs (2023).  Not necessarily the mileage I would like but, all things considered, a solid year of running, particularly when I hit my goal of 50 runs of three miles the last quarter of the year.  

I had Covid-19, again, back in the fall.  Third time was not the charm, as I felt a little bit worse than when I had it for the second time in 2023.  Jude avoided Covid-19 this December, after having it in December of 2022 and 2023.  

In the neighborhood, we lost Portland Brew and Mafiozza's, two staples and OG's, which was sad.  12South is such a different place than it was when we moved here 20 years ago.  More trendy, which is not a good thing, in my view.  

Time marches on, doesn't it?  Here's to a healthy, happy, and productive 2025.  

Bookman

For his theme project in his sophomore English class at school this year, JP had to choose an author to write about after reading three of his or her novels.  This interested me, of course, because I love reading.  While Ernest Hemingway was an obvious possibility, JP's teacher steered the boys away from him for just that reason.  Too obvious of a choice.  

After considering several authors and narrowing it down to a few, JP was on the verge of choosing Larry McMurtry.  I was ecstatic because McMurtry is one of my favorite writers.  Although I cautioned JP not to choose McMurtry solely because of my affinity for him, he chose him nonetheless.  

I've read many of McMurtry's books, novels and memoirs, and enjoyed every one of them.  His writing seems to speak to me in a way that others' doesn't.  I am not sure why but I always have felt that way.  After his death in March 2021, I read a fantastic biography about him by Tracy Daugherty, Larry McMurtry: A Life (2023).  

My thought was for JP to read some of McMurtry's earlier and less famous novels, like Horsemen, Pass By or Leaving Cheyenne, then to follow that up with The Last Picture Show.  Or, perhaps, to read one of my favorites, All My Friends are Going to Be Strangers.  Or Texasville.  Or even Terms of Endearment.  An added benefit is that those books all are of manageable length, which I thought would be important given JP's class load this year.  

Alas, his teacher wanted him to read Lonesome Dove (1985), McMurtry's sprawling, Pulitzer Prize winning western that is my second favorite novel of all-time.  It's also 850 + pages long, so JP's teacher agreed to count it as two books if JP read it.  My hope had been for JP to steer clear, for now, of Lonesome Dove, and to focus on three of McMurtry's lesser known, earlier novels.  Also, I wanted him have the opportunity to reach three of McMurtry's novels, as opposed to two.  Not my call, though.

When it became clear that JP was going to read Lonesome Dove, I decided to read it with him.  Doing so would make it the first time I have read a book three times.  In truth, one of the only other books I have read twice is my all-time favorite novel, Stephen King's The Stand (1978).  Come to think of it, I also read Richard Ford's The Sportswriter (1986) twice, as well.

So, for the past few weeks, I have been reading Lonesome Dove again, keeping pace with JP.  Actually, I've been enjoying the novel so much that it's been all I can do not to stray too far ahead.  One thing I think I have learned is that JP and I have different reading habits.  I tend to hunker down with a book that grabs me and read it to the exclusion of everything else.  No television, no distractions, for solid blocks of time.  Joe is like that, too.  On the other hand, JP seems to prefer to read in shorter blocks of time, much like Jude.  

What's really been fantastic, though, is the discussions JP and I have had about Lonesome Dove every couple of days.  Gus McRae, Woodrow Call, Josh Deets, Pea Eye, Newt, Po Campo, and all of the rest of the Hat Creek outfit.  We spend time talking about Blue Duck, of course, one of the most fearsome and evil villains in American literature, in my view.  

We also have talked about the larger themes of the novel, like the epic cattle drive being the end of something.  A way of life.  A period of time in American history.  Several of the character's lives.  I love those kinds of discussions.  It's fascinating to me to talk with JP and to learn how he sees the larger themes of the novel.  In some ways, it's a glimpse into how his mind works, his values, and how he sees life.  At least, that's the way it seems to me.  

It's one thing to talk with my boys about a Dodgers' game or season, or to have a spirited discussion about which quarterback they would select if they were starting an expansion franchise.  It's entirely different - and more important, to me - to discuss a novel, particularly a Great American Novel, like Lonesome Dove.  Truth be told, although Jude and I have worked diligent to imbue our boys with a love of reading, I never realized how satisfying it would be for them to read books that meant a great deal to me and have discussions about what the same books mean to them.

I always knew how much I would love throwing the baseball with my boys.  I don't think I realized how much I would love sharing a book with them and, better yet, reading a book with one of them at the same time.

Being a parent is pretty amazing.

The Meaning of Christmas

As I rushed around on Monday, two days before Christmas, buying gifts at Green Hills Mall, Parnassus Books, Williams-Sonoma, etc., I found myself feeling a bit dispirited.  I've always enjoyed giving gifts so much more than receiving them but, still, there was so much buying of . . . things.  Things that in reality, no one really needed.  

What got me thinking about this was a conversation Jude and I had earlier in which she had confirmed that our elderly next door neighbor, Ms. Rachel, would be alone on Christmas.  Her niece, who lives with her most of the time, apparently was going to be out of town.  It saddened me to think about Ms. Rachel being alone on Christmas with no one to talk to and no gifts to give or receive.  It just didn't feel very Christmassy, if you get my meaning.

I also felt a sharp pang of guilt, too, as I thought about Ms. Rachel and how little we interact with her on a daily basis throughout the year.  Sure, we check in on her every now and then and occasionally pick up an item or two from the grocery store or Walgreens.  What we don't do, though, is go next door to see her, sit down, and just talk to her.  I can't help but think she gets lonely, particularly since her health has not been good the last year or two.

I guess it's more than a Christmas thing but I am so busy with life, personally and professionally, that I don't think about how Ms. Rachel - or others like her - are doing.  I don't think about what I can do - in even a small way - that might have a outsized impact on her life (or others' lives).  It's so easy to write a check to WPLN (Nashville Public Radio), Renewal House, Nashville Shakespeare Festival, and the 21st Judicial District Recovery Court - and Jude and I do that every year.  They're all worthy non-profits.  What's harder, at least for me, is to give my time to someone or something.  In some ways, I suppose, my time is more valuable than money.  

Part of the problem, too, at least as it relates to Ms. Rachel, is that she is a private person, is fiercely proud, and doesn't seem to like the idea of accepting handouts from a neighbor.  I'm struggling, today, to find a way to see her and interact with her more - to do more for her - without intruding, imposing, or making he feel like a charity case.

Yesterday, Jude, JP, Joe, and I walked next door after we had opened some of our gifts for each other.  Jude had made a plate of food for Ms. Rachel and we gave her Kroger and Walgreen gift cards.  What we did that mattered as much or more, I think, was to sit down in Ms. Rachel's living room and talk with her for 15 minutes.  And you know what?  It was nice, for us and for her.

I led the conversation as I often do because I'm naturally inquisitive about people and, of course, as a trial lawyer and mediator, I spend a lot of time trying to persuade people to tell my about themselves.  Yesterday, we learned that Ms. Rachel has lived in her house since 1972.  Coincidentally, she moved into her house the same year my mom moved into our house in Brentwood.  Without question, Ms. Rachel has lived on our block longer than anyone else.

We talked about the changes she had seen in our neighborhood.  Becker's Bakery, come and long gone, was a place that my mother used to go to when she visited Nashville as a young lady, before we moved into Brentwood.  We talked about the beautiful mansion across the street and when it burned down, years ago, when it was owned by Jenkins Wynne, a local realtor who died of cancer way too young.  

We talked about our old house on Elliott Avenue and the leaf party we had for the kids every October.  I talked about how the woman to whom we sold the house cut down our beautiful and stately maple tree last summer.  It was nice to visit, even for a few minutes.

I hope we can visit more with Ms. Rachel in 2025.  I hope we can find a way to do more for her and that she will let us into her leg a little more.  That would be nice.  

This Christmas, I'm grateful for my family, for sure, and for what we have and are able to do.  God has blessed us beyond measure.  

 

 

50

In late September, when David Hanchrow and I drove to Atlanta to see a Dodgers - Braves game, I stayed overnight with my longtime friend and fraternity brother, Todd Blankenbecler.  We stayed up after the game and talked for a bit, then had breakfast the next morning at a local diner.  It was a brief but fulfilling visit as is almost always the case with old friends.  

As we talked, TB mentioned that he was a three mile a day runner.  He said he ran the same course - three miles - almost every day.  Interesting, I though, particularly since TB and I used to run the Thanksgiving Day Half-Marathon in Atlanta together in our mid-20's.  How does a runner go from running for mileage which, almost by necessity, includes longer runs and runs of varying distances, to running the same three miles route on a daily basis.

On my five hour drive home, I thought about this a lot.  As a longtime runner, I am always looking for different ways to motivate myself to get out and run.  Mileage goals for the year.  Running a certain number of times in a given year.  A certain number of long runs for the year.  Preparing for a race (although that hasn't happened for a while).  

Runner are hard on themselves as a rule.  I am very hard on myself if I don't put the work in running.  More is better, I think I had come to believe, looking down my nose at a three mile or, sometimes, a four mile run.  Why?  For no good reason, I realized.  

On the drive home, I decided to run three miles 50 times before the end of the year.  Not the most ambitious of goals, I know.  Still, it was a new approach for me.  After all, it's pretty damn easy to find 30 minutes to run three miles, including stretching before and cooling down afterwards.  I figured all I needed was good health, no injuries, and a little determination.  

The stars lined up and, sure enough, this morning, on Christmas Eve, I ran three miles in Harlinsdale Farm in Franklin, then followed that up with a cup of coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters in the Factory.  As I listen to Christmas music and the hum of conversation in the background, I am happy and content.  

Happy that I've been blessed by God with the ability and desire to continue to run at age 58.  Content that, on Christmas Eve, I reached the modest goal I set for myself back in the fall.  

Once a runner, always a runner.