If I were a diarist, I'd barely exist, Part 2

Returning to Seattle from Florida on the eve of my 51st birthday was arduous in that flying was uncomfortable for me, oh ye of short legs. Airplane seats, like most, are just off-positioned for my stature that they put quite a bit of strain on my knees.  Even my newly minted mechanical knee was a bit unhappy.  But having my son as a traveling companion more than made up for that discomfort.  I would do it a ten-thousand days in a row for him.

The passage of my birthday, once so looked-forward to as a child, is not the milestone for me anymore.  And not just because it signifies aging, which has its own sucky earmarks.  No, living in Seattle, my birthday passing means the imminence of Fall.  When I played rugby, the arrival of Fall meant an outlet, camaraderie, and my best physical shape of the year.  Now, passing that date just means the obvious shortening of daylight, absence of sunshine, and a mix of yardwork that used to occupy me deep into November.  Here's hoping the loss of two very mature backyard trees this changes that schedule a bit.

August also means a complete change in baseball activity.  Most teams in the region hold their tryouts and seek to fill rosters for the following spring and summer.  As does Arbolito's club.  But them, August also means 16-days of the best baseball camp in the area.  Arbolito's coach loves his teaching function, and although these camps are also money-makers and recruiting tools, he flourishes in a teaching environment. He maintains a work rate and structure to behold. Arbolito attended every day of camp, save the final three which we blocked out for a family trip to the beach.

Big Red

At the beach, we did what we do.  Walk the dogs.  Shop for seafood and organize beautiful meals. Sit dazed in our comfy furniture with the fireplace stoked.  And then develop our own stoke paddling out and surfing the bounty of wind, fetch, and ocean.  This trip was truly beautiful in that Arbolito and his best friend are now completely self-sufficient in the water, paddling for and catching their own waves and reforms.  Their abilities freed me to hit the outside line-up with big red, a 10 foot, single fin longboard, and show that I still charge.  I do.

Returning home from the beach was, as always, a mild bummer, but welcome nonetheless.  The shock of Arbolito returning to school was softened this year, as it was last year, by activities that have him and his classmates present at school before classes start.  I believe theirs is a great system.  And although the homework hit hard, at least in a couple of classes, right off the bat, the kid is settling into that scholastic rhythym and tempo that includes the reopening of his social life via the Friday Night Lights and Dances with Girls.  If he's happy then so am I.