Little did I know then that these cows would play such a significant role in my very immediate future.

I hate cows.  Unless of course, they are carved up moderately thick, marinated in Dales and seared to medium rare perfection on an open flame.

In that scenario, I think I could say that cows are pretty cool.

I have just returned from merry old England having walked its width.  The width being roughly 89 miles from Newcastle Upon Tyne (at the North Sea) to Bowness on Solway just past Carlisle to the west and the waters of the Irish Sea.

It hurt.

I followed the path of Hadrian’s Wall or, as it shall be forever remembered by me, The Trail of Poo.  (It could have just as easily, and appropriately so, been renamed the Great Hadrian’s Pub Crawl.)  For six days I trudged the pathways that followed the wall built by the Romans in AD 122 through some of the most beautiful countryside I had seen in quite some time.  And by countryside I specifically mean cow and sheep pastures.  Do not be fooled by lush images of green landscapes and gentle rolling hills.  There’s poo out there and lots of it!

It took me all of two days to say, “Fuck it! I’m not walking around this shit any more!” and just plow straight through.  Yes, I walked in poo.

All bullshitting aside — see how I did that — the experience was magnificent and one I shall keep dear to me for quite some time.  Here’s a brief recap (and I’ll try to leave out the poo):

The North Sea

A smaller group of us met at the castle — or remnants thereof — on the shores of the North Sea at Tynemouth.  Dan seemed surprised to see me.  “Oh, you actually came.”  I expressed concern that this did not bode well for my accommodation and eating plans for the remainder of the week but he assured me that this was the only list in which he had neglected to include me.

Who in their right mind eats curry before emarking on a long walk!!

The official walk began the following morning.  The entire group met at the Wallsend Metro Station in Newcastle and set off.

And They're Off

I soon realized that this would be one of the few times that the group would actually walk as, well — as a group.  35 people do not walk at the same pace.  The crowd thinned quickly.

The first day had us walking about 15 miles to a place called Heddon on the Wall.  It should have been named Heddon Atop a Ridiculously High Hill.  The terrain had been fairly easy until the last mile and a half which happened to be straight up a hill.  The climb was well worth the effort though as our evening meal was at a place called the Swan.

Best carvery ever!  Oh, and I had Yorkshire pudding.  You put gravy on Yorkshire pudding.  It sounds disgusting but it’s not really pudding.  For all I know it was not really invented in Yorkshire.  But it was good.

The next day had us trudging some 16 miles (could have been 30) to a farm in the middle of nowhere.  Again, the last 2 or so (probably 15) miles were straight uphill.  I was a middle-of-the-packer pace-wise for most of the day.  Painfully so.  But the thought of trudging 16 miles the last 30 of which were straight up a hill only to have to climb into the top bunk of a bunk bed kept me going.  I arrived with my partner in pain, Michael, to claim the last bottom bunk available and promptly passed out!

Literally bunks in a barn!

Poor Martin arrived several hours later to claim the last remaining bed — a cot which he immediately tossed out of the window opting for the much more comfortable, spider infested floor.  I almost felt sorry for him.  Not enough to give up my bed — I’m not that nice.

Day three was, as Dan called it, an easy day.  Only 12 miles.  What Dan really meant was that it was a shorter distance day because easy never came into play!  Day three introduced us to the hills.  I think it was probably 12 miles as the crow flies but closer to 24 with all of the up and down.

It was also gorgeous.  The 360 degree views were amazing.  It was also on this day that I started to grasp the enormity of what we were doing.  From the tops of the hills I would look out and ahead of me, following the line of the wall and ridges for as far as my eyes would take me.

Then walk there.

Follow the ridge as far as you can see -- then walk there.

The details of distances grows a bit fuzzy after day three as fatigue began to take hold of me.  One day we walked a bit less than was originally planned as we had a scheduled arrival to catch a bus that would bring us to our sleeping facility.  Normally, a shorter walking distance would have made for a fairly easy day.

Normally.

The difficulty factor was upped a notch or two due to the fact that the previous night had been spent in a tent.  On the hard, cold ground.  Next to a sheep pasture.  Sheep do not sleep.  And as they do not sleep they somehow feel that no one within at least a five mile radius should sleep either.

I hate sheep!

They also tend to poo all over the walking trail, but I’ve said I’m not going to talk about that anymore.

They’re also stupid!

The Great Sheep Rescue by Rajiv, Alex and Craig

That little guy had become trapped in a little fenced area and then actually got stuck in the style.  For the record, Rajiv was not stabbing the sheep and no animals were harmed in the taking of this photograph.

Days three and four combined, however, did provide us with some of the greatest portions of intact wall and historical sites.  It really was impressive.

I'm told a scene from Robin Hood was filmed at this spot

And I was truly glad for having made the effort to get there.

Ed and the Wall

Day five had us trekking about 15 miles into the city of Carlisle.  I think that by this point everyone in the group could sense the end and the mood was quite lively.  Our spirits were lifted by the fact that we had but 15 miles to go.  We also had the opportunity to meet Neil Salmon at a little pub down the street from the hostel where we were staying.  It was a pleasure and an honor to meet such an extraordinary guy.

Neil and Dan, who quite obviously had not realized the merits of sun screen.

I found out that Neil and I also share something in common.  We both celebrate our birthdays on July the 10th which incidentally, is actually our birthday.  It also happened to be the final day of our trek.

It rained.

All day long.

Fifteen miles worth.

I got wet.

Soaked, really.

On my birthday!!!

But I finished the walk.

The End.

Just six days earlier I stood on the banks of the North Sea on the far east side of England.  I was now staring out at the waters of the Irish Sea 89 miles to the west.  Soaked to the core, aching from head to toe and thrilled beyond belief at what I had been able to accomplish.

The Old Man and the Irish Sea

Many thanks to Dan for inviting me to participate in such a tremendous event.  I survived just a little worse from the wear.  No significant blisters to speak of but I fear I may lose a couple of toenails.  (I have no idea how I did it or why but they don’t look good.)  It’s a small price to pay for the experience of a lifetime as well as the opportunity to do something good for a very worthwhile cause, The Joseph Salmon Trust.

A world of thanks to all of you who sponsored me on this walk (you know who you are).  For those of you who didn’t (you know who you are) there is still time to throw a few coins into the pot.  You can make a donation by going here or here.

And if you’d like to see more pictures from my trip and have a few hours to spare (I took a lot of pictures) you can follow this link to my Flickr page.  Dan has also set up a Flickr page for the Hadrian’s Walk and I’ll try to post some photos there as well when I can get them sorted.

“Well, Zander.  You have to sound out the letters and put them together.  Ask your brother Zane how he learned to read.”

“Zane, how did you read?” he asked in his most innocent little boy voice.

“Uhm.  Well.. you just…”

It’s hard to explain dogged tenacity to a four year old.  That’s how Zane learned.  The kid literally willed himself to read.  He pushed harder than either Maura or I could have imagined pushing a kid to learn.  He flat out wanted it and refused to believe that it was beyond him.  He never became frustrated over long or difficult words.  He plowed ahead.

His work has payed off in spades.  At the ripe old age of not yet 8 here’s a smattering:  Harry Potter (the series), Percy Jackson (the series), Lemony Snickets — books 1 and 2 (he kind of lost interest), some series about a martial arts kid, The Mysterious Benedict Society (books one and two) and the list goes on.

“Zander,” I stepped in, “first you have to sound out all of the letters.  Let’s try this one.  What sound does m make?”

“mmmm,” we said together.

“And a?”

“a, a, a” (make the sound of the short a.  I don’t know how to write it.)

“And what about t?  What sound does t make?”

“t, t, t”  (Again, how do you write a t sound?  Just work with me here.)

“And then you put them all together to make a word.  mmm–aaa–ttt, mm–aa–tt, m-a-t, mat.  And there you have it.”

“I got it,” he said.  “I’m going to get a book.”

He came back into the room with a short story book ready to read.

“Well, Zander.  That’s not all there is.  You’ve still got your blends and digraphs.”

“Yeah, Zander,”  Zane chimed in.  “Blends like s and h ….

I know you’ve heard that one a lot!!”

Karmic Hi-Five

We went to ComFest yesterday.  Set up camp under a nice shady tree and chilled with about 10 or 12 thousand other people looking to do the same.  About 30 yards from us a small band of merry parked themselves by the sidewalk, a main corridor to all places Fest, and simply hi-fived every single person that passed them by.  For over 2 hours!  It was one of the coolest things I saw all day.

As ComFest stories go, that would have been a sufficient one to bring back with us.  The take-home message being that being good to other people is a good thing to do.  It makes them happy.

The story, however,  will forever pale in comparison to the reason we will always remember this year’s ComFest.

The Andy Shaw Band was performing on the Gazebo Stage in a pretty decent time slot.  We had hung around to see them as my wife is related — cousin?, uncle? — something like that.  Anyway, towards the end of the set Maura and her sister took Zoë and Zane down to the stage for a closer look.  I hung back with my brother-in-law and the rest of my brood.

When the set finished (about 2 songs later) Maura and the kids made their way back to our little camp and Zoë and Zane began regaling us with terms like cool and awesome.  Somewhere in the distance over the PA we heard, maybe a bit muffled, “We’ve got a little boy named Sam and he’s looking for his mommy.  Can Maura please return to the stage.”

I looked at Maura and said, “they just called your name.”  I hadn’t really caught the beginning of the message and thought that maybe her cousin was calling her back to the stage to talk.

Maura responded, “Not me.  Some other idiot has lost their kid.  Mine are all accounted for.  Zoë… Zane… Zella… Zia… —–WHERE’S ZANDER!!!”

The message on the PA repeated quite more clearly this time, “Could Maura please return to the stage to get ZANDER.”

Holy crap, I lost my son!!!!

He literally must have followed Maura to the stage when they left earlier because I never noticed him gone.  I counted Zella and Zia several times but never missed Zander.

I quickly ran through the crowds to the stage where Zander was stood in the middle of about 12 volunteers with the biggest grin I have ever seen on his face, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.  He waved and pointed at me when he saw me and simply said, “hey Dad.”

He was mum on how and when he had actually slipped away revealing only that he was looking for mom.  I’d like to say I was panic stricken and frantic, sick at the thought of my child having vanished during those minutes he was missing.  I’d like to, but the sad reality is that I hadn’t even realized he was gone.  (Those points for Parent of the Year keep piling up, people and I think with this one I’ve clearly outdistanced myself from the rest of the pack.)

As I made my way back through the crowds another announcement was made on the PA.  “It’s OK everyone, Zander’s dad got him.”  I waved as the crowd cheered.

I thought back to earlier in the afternoon, to a hi-five from a hippie and how grateful I now was for the good karma he had spread my way.

Thanks, Man. I Needed That!

Zander.

He sings Incessantly.  Little tunes he makes up in his head or a phrase he might pick up from a song on the radio that he puts on an endless loop.  He’ll sing, content in his own little world, completely oblivious to what’s going on around him .  Often times he will sing as he’s engaged in other activities completely unaware that he’s doing it.

It’s an endearing trait.  When it’s not totally grating on my nerves, that is.  But mostly, it’s endearing.

This afternoon as I was straightening up in the living room Zander entered singing one of his little songs.  I couldn’t quite make out what he was singing — nothing unusual — but the tune was catchy.  This one was a bit different though as it seemed a tad forced and he kept stopping and starting over again.

He let out an exasperated little huff and I asked, “What’s wrong, Buddy?”

“I can’t sing it in Spanish,” he replied the frustration clear in his voice.

“Zander,” I said.  “You don’t know Spanish!”

“Oh…,” he said his eyes opening wide with the realization.  “That’s why!”

The Adventurers

Father’s day.

Dad’s all across the country will be heading out to golf courses and ball parks, lakes and rivers, or just to the living room to veg out in the Lazy Boy (well, the lucky ones have Lazy Boys.  My wife has deemed the chair a God-awful eyesore and refuses to allow one in the house.) with a frosty adult beverage sporting that new paisley necktie because–well it’s dad’s day and that’s what dads get to do on their day, right?

Me?  I’ve got other things that need tendin’ cause well, I just do.  Actually, my slate is pretty clear today.  I’ve got nothing to do and all day to do it.   Either way, I can’t be bothered with being creative.  So I thought I’d repost from last year (or the year before, or the year before ….) my thoughts on Father’s Day.  I think it still rings pretty true and it captures what I really feel about this splendid holiday.

Happy Father’s Day.  (originally posted June 16, 2007–Thanks for the Warning, Andy)

Warhol once said, “In the future, everyone will be world famous for 15 minutes.”  I’ve spent my entire life trying to figure out how I was going to leave my mark, my signature.  How will the world know that I was here?  What will be the Legacy of Ed?  I’m nominal, at best when it comes to sports. I can barely hold a tune in a bucket. I don’t play an instrument. I don’t have a best selling novel floating around in my head. Forget business ideas, and I’m not really all that altruistic, so servitude is out.  My wife scoffs at the notion that I could make it as a contemplative monk — though I’d still like to try that one.

Nine years ago this January, I finally got it.  I realized in a single moment on a snowy winter day, how I would be shaping the future, changing the world around me.  My epiphany.

January 18, 2001 at 3:54pm I became a father.

“And the clouds parted to cast a true shadow.”  My idiotic quest for personal glorification died that day as I then came to realize it’s no longer about me.  My life now has purpose, focus and meaning.  My children are my world, they mean everything to me.  And I know now that my legacy, my signature, is them.

Father’s Day is supposed to be about honoring dad, recognizing his sacrifices and his greatness.  I think it should be about the kids.  You guys are my reason, my purpose and my joy.  And let’s face it, without you, Father’s Day would really be just another Sunday in June.

Happy Father’s Day, guys.  I love you.

Happy Father's Day

That kind of funny.

Loving life!

I had the pleasure of swimming in such memories this evening. 

The summer’s first watermelon did not disappoint.  It was red like you would expect a watermelon to be, sweet and juicy.  I should add delicious in there as well because it was, well — delicious!

Zella tackles the melon with abandon.

We took to the deck after dinner because I knew it was going to get messy and I didn’t need the stress in my clean kitchen.

The kids had a blast chomping and spitting seeds.  And generally making the mess I knew they were going to make.

He says he got some in his mouth -- I'm not sure.

I soaked up the cool waters of memories distant but not so far that they were without the warmth of emotion that pleasant memories tend to hold.

My mother was able to visit our home just once before she passed.  We had just moved into our  house (5 days just moved) when she came to stay with us for a week.

Justification for taking it outside.

I don’t remember the chaos of packing boxes or the utter fatigue I surely felt at having to ready the house for her arrival.

I remember the watermelon.

I stopped him at 3 pieces. He could have had more.

One evening after dinner, we sat out on the deck and enjoyed some fresh, juicy watermelon.  About halfway through my mom looked up from her slice, hands dripping with fresh juice and grinning ear to ear.

Happy.

She smiled, sighed heavily the heavy sigh of contentment and then she stated almost rhetorically, “I wonder what all the poor people are doing tonight?”

To which I replied, “Mom, they’re sitting on the deck eating watermelon.”

It’s disturbing.

Actually, it wasn’t the future.

It was the present.

The now.

Today.

The thing about it, it wasn’t even my present.  It certainly was close, though.  It essentially shattered the visions I held within my mind of how the present appears.  At least how I interpret it to appear.  Put a pretty big spin on the past as well.

And now, I’ve got an image stuck in my head and it’s eating away at my insides.  Gnawing at me.  Peeling away the person I perceive myself to be and leaving me feeling a bit exposed.  Worried that I am as starkly changed.

And feeling a bit helpless regardless.

Zander:  Ooh, that’s a pretty ring!

LG:  Thank you, Zander.

Zander:  Does that mean you’re getting married?

LG:  Yes I am.

Zander:  My mom and dad got married.  My dad gave my mom a ring.  Then my mom gave my dad a ring.  Then they kissed.

LG:  Really!

Zander:  Yeah, and when they kissed my egg wiggled.      And here I am!

From the mouths of babes.

But I get to keep the remote.

Today’s uninvited guests, however, have pretty much crapped all over my proverbial welcome mat.  They are no longer welcome here and I swear as God is my witness if I they don’t leave — and soon — there’s gonna be a killin’.

I Don’t Know has stopped by and he brought his annoying little buddy, Not Me.  I despise them both!!

In the short span of a few hours, I Don’t Know and Not Me have completely destroyed my living room, they have overturned every chair in the dining room — the ones they left in the dining room, that is.  For some reason almost every chair in my dining room has been relocated.  I think the only reason the table is still there is because it’s too damn big to move!

One of them, and I can’t get a straight story from either, used a blue sharpie to paint a mural on one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchen.  When I asked who had done it I Don’t Know said, “Not Me.”  Not Me quickly countered with, “I Don’t Know.”

Both of them were more than willing to give up the other, neither willing to accept full responsibility.

I suppose the final straw — hell, it’s 3:30 in the afternoon and we’ve already made it to the final straw!! — was when I heard the distinctive sound that glass makes as it shatters on a bare wood floor.  Seems that I Don’t Know, or Not Me (again, no one seems to want to give me a definitive answer) used one of the dining chairs, a dining chair that was in the entry hallway instead of it’s rightful home in the, yeah, dining room, to climb upon and play with glass wall sconce.

The same glass wall sconce that had made the distinctive and unmistakable breaking sound that coincided with the final straw.  I suppose on the bright side it was just as well.  I mean, those sconces were what 95, 100 years old??  They were getting pretty dated.  I suppose I should be thanking I Don’t Know and Not Me for providing the impetus for me to go out and purchase new wall sconces.  (Yeah, it was one of a pair.)

I should, but I’m not quite there yet.

As it is, I Don’t Know and Not Me are in a serious bad way with my good graces.  And since they seem to scatter when disaster strikes I’ve got Zander and Zella looking for them now.  Each one with very explicit instructions to look in one very specific corner of their room.

They are supposed to let me know when they have located I Don’t Know and Not Me so that true justice can be meted out.

I don’t hold much hope.

Rocking the Shades

To make matters worse, I turned the alarm off rather than hitting the snooze.  I hadn’t even made it out of bed and was already an hour behind schedule!

My super senses kicked in, however, and I fortunately was able to get the kids up in time for school.  School such as it is these last few days.  Zoë and Zane were actually instructed to bring board games today as essentially they were going to be doing nothing that would in any way, shape or form resemble education.  They’ve been playing games all week!!

Zia is the only one that will be receiving any benefit from having gone to school today and that is only because she’s going on a field trip to the zoo!!  (I volunteered to chaperone that one but so did about 40 other parents so I got bumped.  Still kind of bummed about it.)

I ushered the kids out of the door and diligently began addressing the list.

Certainly, there was nothing on my list that was extraordinary or unmanageable.  Well, except for maybe the first item.  Rusty and Abbey do not like to go to their pen.  At all.  Abbey is a master escape artist and will stop at nothing to get out.  Keeping Abbey in her pen is not unlike trying to bail water from a sinking boat with a colander.

I was making pretty good progress.

• cars moved — check
• driveway cleared — check
• gate open — check
• cord moved — check
• basketball goal moved — check  (take 5 minutes to shoot a few jumpers — check)

A quick glance at my watch and I was pretty confident I would have my tasks completed before 8:00 am.

So why 8:00 am?

Well, because at 8:00 am a top notch crew of highly overpaid men (but not too high) were scheduled to arrive at Casa de Ed and turn this –

The Bane of My Existence

Into this –

Well, I don’t really have a picture of the after.  And, it seems that I’m not going to for a bit longer.  Seems I have done something to upset God because he is literally raining on my parade.  My parade being a brand new driveway.  The raining being — rain!!

Seven years of this dilapidated, crumbling eyesore of a driveway and the kids were finally going to have a smooth surface to ride their bikes.  And ride their skateboards.  And play basketball.  (And by the kids I mean ME!!)

Your Days are Numbered!

I was finishing up the last couple of items on my list when the concrete guy showed up.  Alone.  No workers or equipment.

“I’ve got some bad news,” he began.  “I’ve been looking at the radar all morning.  I just don’t see it happening.”

And so my driveway will have to wait.  It’s been seven years.  I suppose I can hold out for a few more days.

I will NOT miss this!!

Oh, and the to-do list.  Unfortunately, my after 8:00 am list is just as long or longer.  It’s only 9:00 am and already I need a nap!

Parenting fail?  Parenting success?  Oh dear Lord what have I done?  Another reason I should not be fully entrusted with the care and supervision of my children?  Or simply, a proud father moment?

I suppose you could find arguments for all of them.  It warmed my cockles whatever the case.  (And whatever cockles are.)

I mentioned Zia’s Poetry Slam earlier this week.  Well, as per the norm I attended with the raccoons in tow.  Zander and Zella were actually behaving pretty nicely for a change.  We were seated in the school commons area at a table.  Zander to my left and Zella across the table in front of us, her back to us and facing the stage where Zia and her classmates were doing their thing.

They clapped appropriately in the appropriate places and sat quietly in the places where it was appropriate to sit quietly.

About half way through one of the poems Zander leaned toward me and completely out of the blue whispered, “BLUKA!”

I’ll be damned if Zella didn’t immediately turn around and whinny!

BLUKA!!

Zia’s?

I know what you’re thinking, but no.

Zia’s certificate stated that she was receiving the Aim for the Sky Award for always working hard and trying your best.

It fits.

Aim for the Sky!

I spent yesterday morning at a Kindergarten Poetry Slam.  Or Throwdown.  I actually think it was simply called the end of year Poetry Buzz.  Whatever it’s name,  it was kind of cool and hep — and by cool and hep I mean it was cute in the way that 20 some odd 6 year old kids wearing yellow construction paper hats with cut-out bumblebees buzzing above their heads reciting a year’s worth of poems in unison is cool and hep.

As parents, we got to clap our appreciation instead of snapping our fingers which I think would have been lost on the performers anyway.

The kids took us through the school year one poem at a time, Zia quite often leading the charge.  (I had more than one parent comment afterward that Zia really seemed to be leading the group.  I will say that you could definitely hear her above the rest.)

We listened and they recited.  Clapped and they waved.  Repeat as necessary.  It was overall, a pretty cool program.  And the poetry — inspiring!

After the readings the kids lined up to receive their awards and a big hug from the principle.  Some of the parents had brought snacks — interpreted to mean that I did not.  We chatted for a bit and called it an early day.

I stopped on my way out to ask Zia’s teacher, “Just to be sure, we do have school tomorrow, right?”

“Yes,” I was assured.  “It’s not over yet.”

4 more days!!!

That’s where I am.

Except I’m not in school.

The kids have one more week — five days really.  I stopped caring last week.  Who am I kidding?!  I stopped caring sometime after the Easter break.  It’s been a long school year and I seriously lost focus.  This past weekend did not help.

Summer May Commence!

The swimming pool opened this past Saturday!  The kids usually start asking when the pool will open sometime in February.  That’s about the time I start longing for it, too.  The weekend gave us perfect weather and we availed ourselves.  Maybe a bit too much my sunburned shoulders are reminding me but it was a blast none the less.

Any concerns about whether the kids would need to readjust to the life aquatic vanished quickly for they took to the water like, well, ducks to a pond.  The twins may have been initially tentative but were out and about in a matter of minutes.  We left exhausted six hours later, everyone begging to stay.

We went back Sunday.

As so often is the case in America’s Heartland, the weather turned on us and Monday pool plans were kebashed.  It didn’t turn enough so that we were without options.  The brainchild that built our deck around the  tree neglected to leave enough room for the tree to grow.  The tree, however, did not care and continued to grow causing some of the decking to split.  Yesterday was as good as any to fix that problem.

And since I had plenty of help …

Deck Hands

A closer look  and you will notice that both Zoë and Zane are about to hammer those nails in sideways.

Oops!

I didn’t say I had good help!

It actually turned out pretty nicely and I was grateful for the assistance.  Zane stayed with me for the duration, never complaining and ended up helping out quite a bit.

So summer is about to begin.  I’m ready — but not.

It’s all good.

Oh, and it’s about a month before I’ll be heading across the Atlantic to join Dan and his Lunatic Fringe (I’m fringe) to walk across England.  There’s still plenty of time to sponsor me.  Or sympathize.

But yesterday’s Thursday is gone.

Most days I’ll remember for the things I did.  Accomplishments.  Yesterday will more likely be remembered for what I did not.

I forgot to take a picture!  It never even crossed my mind.  132 consecutive days I’ve taken a photograph.  132 days into Project 365.

And yesterday I just forgot! I dawned on me this morning.  I tried to recall the picture I had taken yesterday and was drawing a blank.  Understandably so as I had not taken a picture.  Not even with my crappy cell phone camera.

Nothing.

Just two days ago I had this little exchange with Kerry Hughes.  She’s been doing a similar project but using her iPhone for the photos.  Some of them — the overwhelming majority of them are quite amazing.  It’s given me phone envy though I think the quality of her work has a bit more to do with her talents than the equipment she’s been using.

Comments

Kerry Hughes says:

I missed my first one this week. Really annoying. Nice focus
Posted 2 days ago.

Ed Lamaze says:

Man, that bites.

This morning, those two little words are echoing in the big empty that is slot #133 of my project 365.

And so I find myself in a quandary.  Do I just toss in the towel and scrap the whole photo a day thing?  It would certainly be the easiest alternative.  Or do I start over?  Today is once again day 1.  I’m not quite sure I’m up to that.  I don’t have the energy.  Or (and this is the route I think I’m going to take) do I just pick right back up where I left off?  Resume as it, were the project.  Aptly renamed, of course.

Three Six Five minus One

Not one given to strict adherence to rules, I think I’m going to go with option C.  I’ll keep on shooting and posting (in blocks because I’m too lazy to post every day) and with luck will finish the year at 365 – 1.  Because Project Three Six Five minus Two Thirty Three just doesn’t have the same ring.