Sunday morning coffee

It's been a while since I woke up well before anyone else in the household on a weekend morning, for no particular reason. It's one thing when I'm up early because of work, and just focused on getting my go cup of coffee and getting out the door; it's another thing entirely, and far more pleasant, to be up early with nothing to do but enjoy the quiet. It's a gift to be given the job of filling the house with the first good smell of the day, coffee, and maybe an hour or so later the smell of pancakes or french toast, and then to let that be the way the people you love wake up.

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Two hopeful signs: I left work the other day well after five o'clock, and was halfway across the parking lot to my car when I realized something was different. It was still light outside! Then, this morning, looking out the back window, I saw a single red cardinal hopping along the phone line at the back of the yard. He was only there a few moments, but it was enough for me.

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The best treat, for me, was when I came home yesterday and saw this:

Donuts!

Well, power rings are always welcome at my table, but what made me happy was to see the table full of jewelry-making stuff, and my bride and our daughters all around the table working away. Turns out they spent the whole day like that, working and talking.

MizBubs is working on a necklace featuring a piece of fossilized ammonite and tiger eye beads:



Our eldest put together this necklace, using some pieces that she had:

Our youngest, who collects random antique keys and machine parts, did these:



Then she fashioned this primitive and funky-looking (but very comfortable) bracelet:



Finally she worked on a more involved necklace. The center piece was a locket that she bought from a gutter punk girl on Decatur Street last March. It consisted of a bottle cap containing a picture of a bug, sealed in some type of urethane, and fastened to a strip of lace. She added some items that have been given to her by friends and family, and made this:

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My attendance at a Superbowl Party today marks the end of a 5-day stretch during which I've gone out drinking and eating every single night. First came a training dinner Wednesday night sponsored by the local FBI National Academy alumni association. On Thursday the detective division had our annual in-service training day and spent the entire day shooting, grappling and watching training videos, followed by beer and pizza. There was another work-related cocktail session with MizBubs on Friday, and then a wonderful visit to the Grafton Pub last night.

My stomach hurts.

Along the way this week I attended the wake of an acquaintance who killed himself. It turned out it was held in the same funeral home where my friend who died that way was waked a couple of years ago. I didn't really make the connection until I pulled into the parking lot. Once I got inside I found out the wake was being held in the same chapel, and with the coffin set up in the exact same spot. Unnerving.

I just need to get through this last round of draft beer from plastic pitchers, baked mostaccioli and Italian beef, and then I'm done. The new diet and training regime starts tomorrow. Then it is onward and upward for 2009.

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"There was no point in looking back, fuck no, not today thank you kindly. My heart was filled with joy. I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Alger; a man on the move, and just sick enough to be totally confident."

--Hunter S. Thompson

The little canoe that...couldn't

I just sold the little canoe that could. There. It's done.

We bought the skeleton of a 1937 Old Town HW canoe back in July last year. I planned to spend this summer, and most of 2008, restoring it to its former glory. The goal was to have this beauty ready for water by Labor Day 2008.

Well, things change. I called the Chicagoland Canoe Base to see if they had a bulletin board and ended up selling it to the guy who answered the phone. He came out and picked it up today. At least I know it's going to a good home.

The old me of 5-10 years ago would have left this canoe husk sitting in the garage for years, feeling bad about not restoring it at the same time I let it deteriorate year after year. The new, grown up, version of me recognized that I couldn't possibly start working on this for at least another 2 years and promptly found a home for it. Recognizing the problem and quickly removing it makes me feel almost as good as if I'd actually restored the thing.

Oh, I also made a small profit, and the new owner seemed really happy to have it, so I'm sure I sold it at a very fair price.

Life moves on.