Fathers Day, Maggots, Quick Sand, and Hugs
“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”
— Mark Twain
Happy Fathers Day, Wayne Luther Thompson; I’m delighted you and Mom had that one night of passion for creating this creative. For those of you that don’t know, I have the best father in the history of humanity, and it’s not even close. So cheers to my dad and all fathers across the land; today is our day.
We left the house yesterday at about 9:30; we headed to meet our friends Anna and Dave and their puppy Molly. Parker Van Halen was excited to join us; we drove through Evergreen to find out most roads were closed due to a Rodeo, so we had to reanalyze our planned route. Finally, after a 20 minute reroute, we found our destination.
We started on our 2-hour hike, moderate in altitude change, an excellent return hike for our first significant trek of the season. We had plenty of water for ourselves and our fur friends. As we walked, we caught up with each other, how was life, how was business. Both Dave and Anna are doing the positive intelligence program; we start next week, they are juiced beyond measure at their results.
As we were walking, we began talking about the lack of bugs out here. Very few flies, bugs are not a big thing where we live in Colorado. Dave questioned where flies moved in the winter, and it prompted me to think about maggots. I shared maggots were a pretty big part of my childhood. Back in the day, we did not have garbage disposals; all extra food would be put in a cardboard milk container, and sometimes overnight flies would lay their eggs. I remember a few times throwing away trash and seeing a mass amount of larvae on top of the discarded food.
Time passed, garbage disposals became a household item, and my interaction with maggots became a memory. I can’t tell you the last time I saw larva, I’m sure it’s still out there, but it was a childhood horror. The other childhood horror was quicksand. I watched Gilligans Island and thought every character found themselves in quicksand at one point or another. I was petrified of the stuff, but like maggots, quicksand has never been a part of my young adult and older adult life.
We got back to our cars and knew Evergreen was closed, so we looped back to 70 to pick up 470 and 285 to arrive at our next stop. We had planned to go to our favorite watering hole BPT to see our friend Ian play some live music. When we arrived, we got great seats, and the owners are friends and always take great care of us. Then, our friends began to arrive.
First up was Peter and George; we had not seen them since the pandemic; I think we shared 20 hugs between our group. Then, another friend David showed up, another long hug. Kate and her wife Diane were next, hugs and more hugs. Finally, a new couple we had not met from our hood joined us, she was a pastor, and he was a photographer for Rolling Stone. Great people, I’m sure our paths will cross again. Finally, our new buddy Allie showed up, hugs, as well as our neighbor Adrian.
We sat for a couple of hours, ate lunch, and listened to Ian jam out some Dave Matthews, Matchbox 20, and other old people hits. Ian’s wife and son were there; they also had their dog. Molly and PVHT behaved well at the restaurant; she’s ready to begin joining us when we go out for our weekly dose of live music. I’m coming to the realization we are nothing more than an old married couple with a dog, and I can’t say I’m disappointed in our life choice.
We got home, were a little tired from the hike, we laid down for an hour nap. Then, we jumped up and showered and headed to meet our business coach and his beautiful wife, Lynn. I was in charge of making reservations, but since we were doing the blue plate special meeting at 5:00, I was confident we would be fine. But I called and was told that they were booked until 8:00. Oh no!
I called Bob; his phone was going straight to voice mail. So we found an alternative restaurant, made reservations, and I kept texting and calling my friend. Finally, as we were on our way to the new place, Bob called and said they were at our original location, had secured a table, and would have a drink and wait as we were now 10 minutes away. But, unfortunately, he had done a phone update and not restarted his phone! But, no worries, as usual, it always works out!
We arrived; I ordered a Lindsey Lohan Martini, and my wife got her standard Cosmo. We began talking about the last five years, how things had changed, and it was great to fill Lynn in on our new life. We shared about our granddaughter, our kids all wed or getting married, how they were doing; it was a lovely conversation. We talked about religion, politics, and I think we even made it to abortion. As a child, my father said there were three things never to discuss; see above for the list of taboo topics.
We left the restaurant, arrived home by 7:45, put on our comfortable clothes, and began watching a new series. We stayed up until 10:00; I slept in until 8:00; I must have needed that extra sleep. Today we will have brunch with our friends Kate and Diane and then head home to clear our furnishings off our deck; there is a company coming out to stain it tomorrow. We recently purchased a couple of pieces of furniture; they too will be delivered today; both are pretty amazing.
I understand I am lucky and blessed beyond measure. I had a great childhood which allowed me to make some good choices, and here I sit, the happiest man you will encounter today. In addition to my shout-out to my father, here’s to all fathers, my son included. Fatherhood is the first thing I tell people what I do when asked about “what I do.” If you don’t know me, I’m a father, lover, writer, teacher, and small business owner—cheers to life, liberty, and the pursuit of your best self.
“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”
— Mark Twain
Create your profile
Only paid subscribers can comment on this post
Check your email
For your security, we need to re-authenticate you.
Click the link we sent to , or click here to sign in.