Litter Patrol

Finally returned to the gym. Chest and triceps. A three week separation. Probably put on the five or six pounds that took me six weeks to shed. But it felt good. Tried to run on the treadmill. But didn't have my music. Just cannot summon the proper spirit without loud, angry tunes distracting me from the fact that I'm lumbering along like a six foot version of Winnie The Pooh who would much rather be at home, eating honey and pondering philosophy.

Another beautiful day. Mid (or low?) sixties. Lots of sun. No rain. A kiss of breeze coming in from the Gulf. Meg and Liam decided to walk around the block, picking up trash. Litter patrol. So, off we went. Bags in hand. We'd stop and check out the debris. Talk about how paper breaks down over time, but plastic and styrofoam doesn't. We'd find cans and put them in recycling bins. Nothing too nasty appeared. Surprisingly little trash, actually. An odd chew toy. A plastic Snoopy figure. A great day to wander with the kids and try to make our own little dent on the world.

Cindy went to a wedding. I stayed home. She had a good time and took her neice, Darby. I didn't want to risk a vertigo attack and disrupt the festivities. My &@$!ing ear is beginning to ring. (Insert worried sigh.)

Instead, I ordered some pizza online and we watched the online status bar slowly glide from red to green as "Max" prepared it, put in the oven, then performed a "quality check," on our pizza before letting me know it was ready for pickup. God bless the interwebs! And then I met Max. Nice kid. Told me all about the system and how they're trying to eliminate half their calls but keep their same number of orders. Gotta love technology. Because now we've determined that calling in an order is for old people.

Good luck, Max. And good luck, newlyweds. We all need it. These days.