And so it goes…

I started my Sunday morning the way most 57 year olds hope to start their Sunday mornings.  By falling down in the bathroom.

Now 14 days into whatever the hell this illness is morphing into, I felt the need to cough something up, had nothing available, walked into the bath, and in a coughing fit, stepped on the floor mat which began sliding underneath me.  The next thing I know I’m sitting on the floor and my darling wife is freaking out.

Okay, so it was technically not a fall.  It was more of a slide, and a sit.  I think it took me about 3.3 seconds to make it to the floor.  Longer than it took me to stand up, so I have than to be thankful for.

Then we are greeted on this first Sunday of the Spring by cold and snow.

Look, even Doris Day would be cracking about now.

But I am warmed by the events of yesterday.  By the millions of young (and old) people across the country marching for the future of our country, and hoping, hoping, this is finally the time that things change.

It seems so simple a thing it’s almost idiotic that we have to keep discussing it.  We could not get it done, so it is in the hands of the young.  People like my daughter, Jessica.  With will and determination like hers I do believe it will get done.  Not just this but the other important issues as well.

I was wrong, dead wrong.  The under 30 generation is not just Nitwit Nation.  They, like many of us, have had enough.

As you go about your day today, if you see a young person, even someone you don’t know, walk up to them and tell them, “We’re counting on you”.  Similar to when you see a veteran and say, “Thank you for your service”.  Because thanks to our generation sitting on our hands (and wallets), it’s going to fall squarely upon their shoulders to change this world.

So let’s look past the coughing and the falling and the cold and the snow.  It’s the first Sunday of Spring.  The season of change.  And with this thought, the snow  is, “starting to stop”, as I would say to my old boss, Thom.  It always made him laugh.

I’ll leave you with this thought.  My mom was concerned about reading this blog because she was concerned about the potential for bad language.  Here it is, mom.  Chickenshit.  Two kinds of foul/fowl language in one word.  You were right.

I’m going to find some Lava and wash my mouth out with soap.