A voicemail message I received this afternoon transformed into a screenplay. The primary players are my daughter Nia and my wife, a.k.a Mom.

[Open Scene]

Nia: Hey, father guess what…I got a…I got a book at the library called Monsters Eat Whiny Children (giggles loudly)

Mom: She’s silly. Tell daddy the book you got from the library

Nia: It’s called Monsters Eat Whiny Children!

Mom: No it’s not.

Nia: (gigles even louder)

Mom: Alright say “bye, bye” to daddy. You’re being silly

Nia: (speaking into the phone) Well, well, today, I had a fun week and, so “ha, ha, ha.”

Mom: Ok, hang up the phone because it’s going to hang up on you

Nia: …and I love you.

Mom: Did you hang up?

Nia: Bah-bye. Hugs and kisses. (hanges up the phone)

[End Scene]

Remember when you were a kid…when a box of crayola crayons and some construction paper were the medium of choice?

Drawing stick figures of people, dogs, flowers or cars rolling down the street were done without batteries or pulses of light illuminating an LCD screen. Now with the stroke of an index finger, digitized lines form images scribed by your imagination. Since she was 3, my daughter (now 4) draws with an iPad. When she is feeling retro, she will break out a box crayons and render her images the old fashioned way, but then if she did that too often, why would I ever check my email. Yes, after she scribes her iPad image, her next step is to forward the file to daddy. Sometimes she gets the “to” address right. Other times, one of my wife’s friends gets a surprise.

The image below did make its way to me.

She created it a few months ago. It’s a portrait of Mom. Take note of the squiggly hair on top, welcoming open arms and a smile. I do love how she sees her.

I drop my daughter off to nursery school every morning, then swing over to my parent’s house to drop off my daughter’s car seat. (My parents pick up my daughter from nursery school so they need it). This morning, I am at my parents house, and there is a mid-sized bulldog in front of my parent’s house. My parents don’t own a dog, and I don’t know the dog. I get out the car, begin to unfasten the car seat, and Mr. Bulldog, who is only five feet from me, decides to trot quickly to me. By the time he reaches my car, I am gone, standing at the back steps of the house. The last thing I want to do is risk a bite from a stranger.

Well, Mr. Bulldog decides to jump into my car. (yeah, didn’t have time to close the back passenger door), My parents come out the house, and we are all laughing hysterically, now. Then, enters the neighbor across the street, looking for her bulldog, Murphy. I guess Murphy wanted a ride to work in search of a discount brokerage provider. Didn’t someone say something about our industry going to the dogs?

Anyhow, that was the start to my bizarre morning. So, as strange things happen, remember, at least there are no bulldogs looking for you…or are I drop my daughter off to nursery school every morning, then swing over to my parent’s house to drop off my daughter’s car seat. (My parents pick up my daughter from nursery school so they need it). This morning, I am at my parents house, and there is a mid-sized bulldog in front of my parent’s house. My parents don’t own a dog, and I don’t know the dog. I get out the car, begin to unfasten the car seat, and Mr. Bulldog, who is only five feet from me, decides to trot quickly to me. By the time he reaches my car, I am gone, standing at the back steps of the house. The last thing I want to do is risk a bite from a stranger. Well, Mr. Bulldog decides to jump into my car. (yeah, didn’t have time to close the back passenger door), My parents come out the house, and we are all laughing hysterically, now. Then, enters the neighbor across the street, looking for her bulldog, Murphy. I guess Murphy wanted a ride to Smithfield in search of a discount brokerage provider. Didn’t the chairman say something about our industry going to the dogs? Anyhow, that Colleen, was the start to my bizarre morning. So, as strange things happen, remember, at least there are no bulldogs looking for you…or are there? (Woof)

(Not exactly Murphy, but you get the point.)

(via jazzchannel)

I am a recreation runner. That means I run for results over enjoyment. Actually as a kid the only place you would find me running is to the refrigerator for soda or the toaster oven for a two Pop Tarts (yum!).

(how can you not love this!)

Why two? How could anyone resist the frosted fruity goodness (with sprinkles) of a Pop Tart? They come two in a package, so you just have to eat them both right? My mom would feel otherwise, but I ate them nonetheless. Years and dietary adjustment have changed all of that. I haven’t touched a Pop Tart in many years and I quit the sugary bubbly juice (soda), once I started running regularly.

 (sugary bubbly juice—-keep far away)

Why running? I have no frickin’ idea! It really doesn’t make sense. I am sure there is some science behind the endorphins you generate or flow of adrenaline. All I know is that if I can keep my legs moving for 10 minutes, the next 20 minutes hurt a lot less. And if I don’t let too many days past between running sessions, I hardly feel any pain. It actually feels pretty good. But let me be clear. I DO NOT ENJOY RUNNING. What I do enjoy is the process, preparation and results of running…more to come on that later. Gotta run!