Where every you are, that is where you are at.

What a great day! I have been perusing Facebook this morning, checking in on my peeps back in Illinois. I even called back to the local power company to check on a piece of mail and was able to talk to Mrs. Brown back there. She and the others told me that the cold, windy, rainy, snowy, truly miserable season is beginning back there. I paused for a second, gave thanks, and then smiled from ear to ear.

I know, I tend to gloat over the fact that I am rarely cold anymore. We have our air conditioning on until the temperature drops to below 90, which is usually near mid-October. Heat? We seem to store it up. Last year, we had our heat on in the house a total of one day. We use it in 10-15 minute spurts to take the chill out, then once the sun comes up, it goes off for the rest of the day. Sleeping is fantastic.

I made a comment a few blogs ago about how bad I felt for those who live in Denver, CO. Denver got SNOW on the next to last day of SUMMER. I am sorry, that is just not right. Justin Kingston emailed me and told that he would take the weather, the views, and the people of Denver any day of the year, and it was worth doing some shoveling. Denver averages sixty-one inches of snow, and that is a great deal of shoveling. Me? I feel it is easy to shovel sunshine.

Sure, Denver has snow-capped mountains, but there is nothing better than the Sonoran Desert at sunset with its majestic Saguaro Cactus opening its arms to the sky surrounded by a background of mountains. Did I mention that we get sunshine? Arizona, not Florida, is the true Sunshine State. With over 300 days of the golden rays, the state is a winter refuge for many snowbirds.

I have begun to get a glow, not a tan. It is kind of like that doughnut that is in the hot grease, gets that perfect color, and is still soft on the inside. Out here, I have a tough time sleeping. Not because I have some sleep disorder, but because I am excited to awaken and see the sun come up.

Where ever you are, though, is where you’re at. And that place is the current place for you. Enjoy.

Doughnut

The Toy

This morning, I had an epiphany. You know, one of those sudden ideas where the world and its meaning becomes infinitely clearer. I am a toy, a pawn, something that is worth nothing more than amusement to someone or something. I am an object that the Fates seem intent on using as a means to teach others.

How and when did I come to this sudden realization of my life? At breakfast, as I was looking through the sports page while eating my high fiber toast and low cholesterol eggs. Life became infinitely more succinct when I looked at the National League Central Standings. The Cubs are nine (9) games out of first place, and seven (7) games from being a wild card. It is almost September, and unless I have time traveled to 1969 and they are the “Miracle Mets”, it is over. Bob Brenly and Len Casper are bemoaning next year already. Once again, my hopes and dreams were elevated with talk of “the best pitching staff” in baseball, with conversations about great hitters and golden glove fielders. I went out and bought a new hat and the MLB television package so I would never miss a game.

And now, as usual, they are foundering. My dreams are shattered like a girl whose prom date does not show up to her door, but goes with another girl to the dance. The pitching has gone down the tubes AGAIN! And the hitters have struggled, the fielding has been awful and decisions made on the field are terrible. I would have been better off getting the Little League TV pass. At least then, there is drama, and the kids are trying their best without egos. I would just have had to listen to the parents whine there.

Who do I blame? Alfonso Soriano with that little hop….Milton Bradley who has trouble keeping track of outs…Fukodome who has trouble swinging while in the batter’s box…Kevin Gregg who has thrown more homerun balls than outs…Larry Rothschild who has once again sent more pitchers to the disabled list than any other pitching coach in baseball…Lou Pinella who can’t make a decision… WHO? Who do I blame…

The Bears are now beginning to play with me as we move to football season. That team finally went out and got what they believe to be a quarterback. They couldn’t coax Bret out into the orange and blue, huh? NO, but I helped fund the NFL package on my kids satellite dish so I could watch every miserable game on Sunday. I am hopeful, yet I know my heart will be broken by midseason.

All of these teams that I adore and live for (including the Illini) are like Lucy, and I am Charlie Brown. “Come on, Don, Kick the ball!” Then I know it will be pulled out from in front of me and I will be left gazing into the heavens as I lay on my back. Like Charlie, I am too trusting, and I still kick at the ball….The Big Dipper is pretty this time of year, you know…

But, who am I going to root for out here in Arizona, the Coyotes? They will soon be gone. The Diamondbacks? Lately, they have been an average Triple A team. The Cardinals? No, sounds too much like that heartbreaker from St. Louis. (Wait, they did start out in Chicago, moved to St.Louis, then to here.) The Suns? Amare, show me the way! The only team worth rooting for out here right now is the Phoenix Mercury. But stories on them are buried on page eight of the sports section of the Arizona Republic. I barely get my the first page…

No, I have always been a Cubs fan, so unless they move to Florida for Spring training like I hear they might, I will remain a Cubs fan. BUT…if they move to Florida, all bets are off.

I will no longer be their toy.

Doughnut