Boston

April 15th was already going to be a hard day. After a couple of months of long hours, and the last two weeks stretching into the 70-80 hour arena, I was beat. Though I wasn't working my body at all, I was fatigued to the core. My heart actually felt tired.

And then the news came. My friend sent me a text, which sent me to the web to see the story. Two bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. I couldn't spend more than a few minutes away from the ticking clock of tax form deadlines, so the horror and questions lay pushed to a corner of my mind. I didn't have time to let it sink in.

It did on the drive home. Sorrow, anger, determination, all the shit that runs through your heart and mind in times of tragedy. Almost out of reflex, I queued up the finishing songs of my marathon mix and tried to comprehend what had happened. How it could have happened. What kind of “human” being could do such a thing? And to what end?

I had already planned on a run the next morning. I hadn't run in weeks, and the reward for all those hours was going to be time outside, time to myself, time on my feet. I punched up the marathon mix again and headed out. It wasn't long before the tears were flowing. For the dead, for the wounded, for Sierra, for the fatigue of soul I was experiencing. It was all so wrong. There could be no explanation, but we are all left searching for answers in the madness. I had felt such anger on the drive home the night before, but this morning it was only sorrow and release.

I have written many times about how special the marathon is. The start line is a great mix of all that is right with humanity – dedication and camaraderie, the glow of health and inspiration, the thousands of different reasons and paths that brought all these people to the same place, to achieve a similar goal in different ways, to challenge themselves to be better.

All along the journey, far beyond the 26.2 miles of race day, there are people at your side making it all possible. But on race day in particular, they have sacrificed their own plans to stand on the sidelines to cheer you on. Strangers and loved ones to bear witness to a parade of transformation. Even if they don’t entirely understand the motivation to do what we do, they are there to help us make it happen. For hours and miles, carrying us to the next corner and over the next hill, and then to carry us even further when we don’t think we can go on.

And the finish line – the finish line is a celebration like no other. The triumph over adversity, the unbending will to carry on, the release of joy and the vanquishing of demons. In the past, one of the few things that would make me tear up was watching someone cross their own finish line. It is a life changing event for many, and there is no mistaking that when you see it.

And then the two bombs went off and violently ripped it all away. Ranking of tragedies is a perverse exercise, but we seem to do it anyway. The killing of children at Sandy Hook hit us harder than the other killings that have grown all too common. The youth and innocence of the children made that much more offensive. The bombings in Boston have struck a different chord, with such mindless hatred and violence at a moment of joy and triumph for so many.

I will be on the start line of another major American marathon in October. I won't be standing on the start line to prove anything to the terrorists. I don't want to give them any place on that day or any other. I will be there to celebrate a friend's "last" stab at the distance, and I will be there for all the normal reasons - to celebrate life, my good fortune of health, and the kinship of good friends taking on a challenge. Every marathon, every challenge, has meaning all to its own.

Again, I won't be running to prove anything to anyone else, much less to the worst of mankind. The ones I will carry with me for those 26.2 miles are the ones who stood on the sidelines, cheering on friends and strangers alike. Who only intended to sacrifice their morning, their day off, but ended up sacrificing their life. All to be there to support the everyman in their struggle to break through to a better version of themselves. Wonderful people, supporting the quest to find extraordinary in the average.

As another person wrote in the article If you are losing faith in humanity, go out and watch a marathon, "the finish line at a marathon is a small marvel of fellowship." That is what I celebrate. That is what run for. Like every other early morning, or any other evening slogging through the rain, I am trying to make a better version of me, and by proxy a better world. F the people who want to destroy that.

Time

Time is a funny thing. It is absolute, unavoidable, yet pliable to our perception.

That last week was very difficult. Probably not the worst of my life, but definitely up there. I don't recall the exact moment when it became clear that the end was near, but once the decision took root in my head, the clock started.

As I mentioned earlier, I spent the last five nights sleeping on the couch. Sierra was only three feet away. The decision had basically been made that first night, but I had not uttered it aloud. There was still time to back out, to get a reprieve, to pray for a Governor's pardon.

While the days seemed to hurry by, time slowed in the evenings as we stared at each other in the quiet of the night. I had so many moments, pictures, stories running through my head. Each night I would write a little, and spend time going through the various hard drives looking for photos. Each picture would call up a memory and make me wish I could say, "Remember that time..." As the turmoil of emotions ran roughshod through the week, I would get each night this hour of silence. Time where I could just be. Time where I could stare into those trusting eyes, and be completely present.

The last night, time stretched out even further. Sierra was up at 3:00am, probably looking for a really early breakfast, but we went outside for a pee and poop instead. As I stood outside in the middle of the night, I realized there was just 12 hours left. I tried not to read too much into it, but it did keep me from falling back to sleep for a while. It seemed that I had just closed my eyes and she was pacing at 4:30. Then again at 5:30. Each time, I would usher her back to her bed, scrub her ears, and alternately worry about missing sleep and be thankful for the hourly wake up call. At 6:30am, it was finally time to get up and have breakfast.

I tried to make those last hours go slowly as possible. Outside of quick three mile run, and a trip to the store, I spent the whole weekend at the house. We went outside more times than normal, not wanting to turn her down even though we had been out an hour ago. With nowhere to be, I just let her wander around, sniffing the air and the grass. Nice and easy, nice and slow.

After the vet left, and I was alone once again, I packed up most of her things before I had time to think about it. I sent up the post to let everyone know what had happened, and then I went outside again. Not sure where I was headed, I turned right instead of left. I exchanged messages with Kristy along the way, but mostly I was there with my thoughts and memories.

I ended up walking the same three mile route I had run earlier in the morning, only in the opposite direction. Moving more slowly, and seeing things from the other side, my eyes were carried to the trees and trails running through them. To the paper-thin bark was peeling away from the trunk of the tree, even as someone had wrapped it to keep it secure. How the bits of spring growth lurked in the background of winter bare trees. My perception moved out of my mind and into the world. More slowness and time to really see.

My heart felt a bit lighter when I returned from my walk. The anguish leading up to that day no longer weighed on my soul. There was a void, and emptiness, but I too felt a certain amount of amount of release, a place of peace.

I am thankful for all the time I had with Sierra, and strangely blessed by moments in her last week. She is in my heart always, along with the lesson to take it slow, to take the time to just check out your surroundings, to be present and wait for the peace to come.

Sierra

And some things are over.
Some things go on.
And part of me you carry,
part of me is gone.
But you've got a heart so big it could crush this town.
And I can't hold out forever,
even walls fall down.
~ Tom Petty

Today I have to say goodbye to a very dear friend. The best, really.

Sierra has had a tough road these past few years. Already slowing down, showing her age and the strain of two bad knees, she seemed to age rather rapidly after our move to San Diego. In fact, she had her first episode on the road south, falling over that first night in Newport. It frightened me and made me question what the hell I had done.

She was diagnosed with diabetes not long after our arrival, and once she began treatment, she bounced back. Though adjustment is never easy, I am sure she enjoyed the sunshine over the rain of Seattle, like a retiree headed to Arizona in the twilight years.

But in the past three years, there were moments of pain, days of struggle, and then the episode where I didn't think I would get her back. But then she returned, not quite the same, but she was back. She had more time. I had more time.

We moved back in November, and somehow it seemed to accelerate the aging process once again. She seemed to adjust to the surroundings pretty quickly, but soon there were more dips that she never quite came all the way back from. Trips to the vet, pills and shots, a closer eye on every move and moment.

This week, there was a noticeable change. Her eyesight has all but disappeared, and she is bumping into walls she used to have memorized. She is unstable on her feet, and now she seems afraid to walk across the wood floors. Stairs have been a problem for a while, but now I have to carry her up a single step half the time. She can’t see or hear me coming, so she lurches awake in a panic when I just place my hand on her.

I was with a friend when he had to put his dog down. He had asked me over to help him with some part of it, but then left to the vet on his own. He forgot his credit card, so I ended up being there in the end. He had tortured himself with the decision, not wanting it to come from a place of inconvenience. His dog had been ill for a long time, and it was clear that it was time. It didn't make it any easier for him, and now I am torturing myself in the same way.

Sierra has taken a great deal of care these past few years, care that I was willing to give, but care I depended on others to help me provide. Matt, Holly, Kristy and now my parents have kept watch on her, administering shots when I couldn't be there, taking her outside because she couldn't do it on her own. I am forever in their debt for helping me, helping her, giving us more time.

People have asked when I would know it was time, and I have always answered that it would be when I saw that she was no longer happy. Like my friend before, I didn't want there to be any question in my mind that it was just too difficult. That is not what love is.

In the end, it was not the lack of happiness, but the presence of fear. She was still happy when I came down to see her in the morning, even if she couldn't see or hear me coming. Her tail would wag and she gave as much bounce as her body would allow. When I came home after too long an absence, I could sense the relief, even though she had been in the house with caring people and another friendly dog.

She is my dog, and without stretching the truth much, I am her world. But outside of those brief bits of morning and evening recognition, there wasn't much for her. And it is just so hard to see the fear and confusion in her cloudy eyes. As much as I am struggling with this, it would be selfish at this point to move her again and make her learn a whole new house. To be alone all day while I am at work, just to have those brief moments of joy for each of us.

So it is time. As much as I have been her world, she has been mine. My divorce shattered me into a million little pieces. Doubt and self-loathing, pain and confusion, the need for comfort and the inability to reach out for it. In that time, there was one constant. One place I could go without fear, without shame. One soul I could pour mine out to. As I wrote elsewhere, she was not only there to give me love, but to receive it when I so desperately wanted to give it. She was the furry zen in the sea of chaos.

She was the rock that I lashed my tether to, the anchor when I was drifting and flailing. I couldn't fall completely apart. I couldn't get too self-destructive. She was counting on me. As I sat on the floor as my friend said goodbye to his dog, we were both comforted by the vet who was there to ease the passing. She said that the dogs don't know what is coming, that it is only the humans that are anguished over what is about to happen. They are at peace as they so often are, about to go to sleep for the last time.

Another friend when she was about to lose her dog to a relentless tumor, took her dog on a tour of her favorite places. A trip to the dog park, a trip to the beach, windows rolled down and her fur blowing in the wind. Sierra and I are not making the trip. She doesn't have the strength to walk across the road, much less dip her toes in the surf.

She has always been more of a homebody anyway, preferring the company of people over other dogs. Our place was always the backyard. Where she couldn't care less about chasing a ball or other dogs at the dog park, she loved motoring after the hurl-a-squirrel frisbee in the privacy of our backyard. I would come home and we would step out back together. I could wind down as she wound up, and we would both walk away with our minds clear and a smile on our faces.

Those are the moments I will remember. Her tearing off across the lawn until I made her stop. Her sitting in that chair by the window waiting for one of us to come home. Her tail not just wagging in greeting, but arcing in great circles to express her joy. The bouncing dance she had at mealtime where all four feet would leave the floor. How she would bow her head and sigh contentedly when I rubbed her ears. Her patiently letting me unquestioningly bare my soul. The certainty that there was no place she would rather be.

And I will remember these past few years when the dynamic changed. When she needed me more than she had before. All the shots, all the sleepless nights, and each and every time I picked her up when she was too tired to move. Because that is what she has done for me. My sweet puppy.

I spent the last five days sleeping on the couch so she would have me nearby. Neither of us slept very well this week. There are so few moments where we sit still and be present for any length of time, so I just watched her as the hours clicked by. That first night I saw that much more clearly how disoriented she was. But as the nights went by, she seemed to be more comfortable. Though she couldn't always see me, I think she knew I was there.

Someone is coming over to the house on Sunday to ease her into the next world. I couldn't bring myself to take her anywhere clinical. Even in better times, she always panicked at the vet, and I just didn't want there to be any fear or slippery tile floors on her last day. I want her to be comfortable, to be at home, to be at peace.

I will want to turn the ship around a thousand times on Sunday, but in my heart I know that this is the right thing to do. During those nights of staring at each other, I wished she would give me a knowing nod to let me know I had made the right decision. But all I saw was unwavering trust that I would do the right thing, that I would take care of her.

She has been much more than a dog for me, as if that wasn't enough. She has been my home for the last four years. There is going to be a tremendous void where that loving heart used to be. Time and distance will do their thing, but there will never be another one like her.

I have been blessed by this light, this pure love, this simple but beautiful creature. My companion of ten years. My fuzzy buddy. My sweet puppy. My Sierra.

Adoption day - January 2003

The first Christmas together

The chair where she would wait for us to come home

peeking through another window

caramel ears

camping

surveying her backyard

Best gift ever

road tripping to California

at Dog beach

"suffering" through California winter with the Beeze

weekends with Nike

waiting for me to come home

chillin' with Annie

 a little off kilter after her episode, but still smiling

riding shotgun on the way back to Seattle

are we there yet?

sleeping peacefully a couple of days ago

Dinner time in younger days.

Romping around in the snow, January 2009

At the beach in her retirement years

Oh, I will miss you so.

A darkness of the mind

I shouldn't make even the smallest decisions, much less operate heavy machinery first thing in the morning. This is nothing new, but it has been even worse lately. I am up to about fifty-five hours a week at work now, and with the commute, I am gone for twelve hours at a time. The minimal watts of brain power I usually operate on before the sun rises has dimmed even further. 

The hours of sunlight are getting longer, but the hours at work are matching the increase, so I am still heading out and coming home in the dark. Sierra and I wander the yard pre-dawn and post-dusk, so her already cloudy navigation skills are further limited. However, there is a light on the corner of the house to lead her to the yard, and the porch light to lead her back. When she wandered aimlessly one morning as I was late for work, I said, "c'mon puppy, just head toward the light." No, wait, don't head toward the light!

Since I can't seem to get home in time to get in a run, I have been heading out on my lunch hour a couple times a week. Steve has encouraged this to keep sane during the crazy season. I only have time for a couple of miles, but heading outside and getting the blood pumping does help clear the head. Unfortunately, not quite enough. 

A morning routine has more or less fallen into place. Wake up, feed the dog, prep the shot, take her out, shower, eat, give the shot, take the dog out once more, scoop poop, drive away - all in about 45 minutes. Even with repetition, there are hiccups. Tuesday I forgot my running shirt, so no run at lunch time. This morning I remembered the shirt, but forgot the lunch I had packed the night before, so no run again. I was sitting in my car feeling like banging my head against the steering wheel when our Admin Tamara drove in. I explained my moronitude as we rode up in the elevator. 

Under the strain of the longer hours, shorter nights, and trying to figure out what the heck I am doing, my brain is breaking. I am feeling a whole lot dumber lately. A couple of hours later, I was at the copier "making copies". I made some sort of error, and said (I thought) under my breath, "dumbass". Without missing a beat, Tamara said from across the room, "No you're not." 

It was a nice reminder that I am not as dumb as I am feeling right now. Also, that I need to avoid falling back into the habit of knocking myself down over stupid mistakes. It is a terrible habit, and it certainly doesn't make me any smarter. 

I swear I am going to remember my lunch tomorrow.

The 20 year path to where I started

"There's not a word yet
for old friends who've just met."

~ lyric from "I'm Going To Go Back There Someday", The Muppet Movie

It sort of feels like I've returned to someplace I have never been. Returning to a job that I have never had.

I studied business and accounting in college, but I have barely worked in the industry. Before I graduated, I went through a series of interviews at school, but did not snag an accounting job. After graduation, I took a review course and studied to take the CPA exam. If memory serves (and it has been a long time) there were four parts to the exam stretched out over two days. If you passed at least two of the sections, you could keep those successes and only have to pass the remaining two parts on your next attempt. The wrinkle is that the exam is only held twice a year.

I managed to pass all four parts on the first try, something only 7% of CPAs accomplished at the time. With the passed test in my hip pocket, I thought it would help set myself apart from other recent graduates. More typically, beginning staff accountants have to split their time between learning the job, and studying to pass the exam. I returned to my college to go through the interviewing process again, and with that successful CPA exam highlighted on my resume, I got even fewer interviews.

I was pretty discouraged. I kept looking, but eventually gave up. I kept working at the restaurant, not sure what was next. Then I got a call. I had left my resume on file with the local CPA association, and was brought in for an interview. It wasn't a typical firm, and they dealt exclusively with clients in trouble with the IRS. Soon I had 350 clients, and I was putting out fires and trying to prevent seizures of property. There simply wasn't enough time to take care of our clients properly. It was chaotic, combative, and unmanageable.

In the end, it wasn't for me. I ended up going back to the restaurant full time. Not much later, I had the opportunity to work for a buddy in construction. It was great learning a new skill, working with my hands, and actually finishing a project. Instead of continually putting out fires and scrambling to cover other people's mistakes, at the end of each day, I was able to point to something I built. Something tangible that would last.

After about five years, I moved on to running the office, managing the jobs and crews, and yes filing the business returns. It was a great mix of the business skills I had learned in school, and the things I had picked up in construction. Construction being what it is, there were up and down times, and when the owner and I decided to move on to something different, I went into real estate and mortgage lending. I enjoyed the work and the finance part was another step closer to actually using my degree.

Of course I got into the industry just before the market crash. I tried to weather the storm, but clients disappeared and my broker closed up shop. When my marriage suffered the same fate, I moved down to San Diego and I returned to construction. I was back to working with my hands, on my feet and outside in the sunshine. I enjoyed it, but as before, the work wasn't consistent. When I decided to move back to Seattle, I really wanted to find something with steady hours and a steady paycheck.

But what sort of job? On paper, I wasn't really tailored for a particular job. I haven't exactly job-hopped, with jobs lasting between three and eleven years on my resume, but the changes of industry along the way wasn't helping my case. In a better economy, I could probably work my way in the door, but with so many out of work, there are lots of resumes out there with great experience for nearly every job opening.

I went through a couple of unsuccessful job searches while I was in San Diego. Initially, I was looking for a foot-in-the-door sort of job, a beginning position that could lead somewhere. Even with my accounting degree and experience in lending, I couldn't get a job as a bank teller. After failing to get a nine-to-five job of some sort, I decided to go back to restaurants. With eleven years of restaurant experience, I couldn't get a job as a waiter. It was pretty discouraging.

When I decided to move back, I didn't have a job lined up. After the failed job search in San Diego, I was open to most anything. I couldn't be too choosy. I just wanted something with a steady paycheck, and maybe some benefits. If I couldn't get a job that might start me on a career path, I wanted to at least shoot for a company that I believed in.

As I was drawing up a list of good northwest companies, I sent out an email blast to my family, and friends I had stayed in close contact with. Though I had little to back it up, I figured it would be easier to find work back in Seattle, where I had more long-term work connections. I also threw out a message on Facebook. I told everyone that I was moving back, and that if anyone knew a company that was hiring...

I have mentioned before, I have found myself defending Facebook lately. For the past three years, it has kept me in touch with friends both near and far. Now I have one more reason to appreciate it. I found my new job there.

A friend I went to college with has a CPA firm, and he needed a staff accountant. I was completely honest with Steve, and told him that I was 15 years gone from my last accounting position, and even that one didn't translate many applicable skills to his firm. He understood, but believed that those accounting lessons we had learned together so long ago would come forth, and more importantly he trusted me as a person, and that is hard to quantify on a resume. Steve and I actually come from the same, "If there's time to lean, there's time to clean" school of work ethic, picked up during our mutual stint at McDonald's in high school.

As a side note, I have always wanted to answer the interview question of what sets me apart by simply saying, "I actually give a shit." I have worked with so many people who just don't care. Whether I am flipping burgers, digging holes, or representing a client, I take my job seriously and want to do the best I can. I won't tell you I am going to give a 110%, but I am always shooting for a hundred.

So here I am, back in Seattle, returning to a job I never really had. There have definitely been challenges these past months, scraping 20 year's worth of rust off those old lessons, but  I am excited for this opportunity. As suspected, who you know can trump what you know, and I feel very fortunate to have the door opened so I could get my foot in. Now that it is open, I want to kick enough ass to show that this trust was well deserved.

However

I was listening to the Grammar Girl podcast on the way home today. The subject was the word "however", and whether or not it is acceptable to start a sentence with it (spoiler alert, it is).

She started with a couple of examples where there is little dispute, instances where the word is not used as a connector with a meaning of  "nevertheless" or "but". The times you can use "however" to start a sentence without causing a ruckus is when it means “to whatever extent,” or “no matter how.”

For some reason, the two examples she gave made me pause the recording and write them down.

“However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results."
~ Winston Churchill

“However bad you think you’re going to be in that room, not being there is worse.”
~ Dr. Foreman from the TV show House

Strangely familiar roads

Much remains the same, but things have changed.

I will be driving along, headed on a random errand, and I will turn a familiar corner and not recognize it. What was a low group of stores with one of the last remaining bagel shops, is now a three story mix of retail and condominium  A large garage has replaced the park and ride lot, hopefully implying more people are hopping on the bus these days. 

There are places with more meaningful connection that I haven't made time to visit yet, but I still stumble upon memories small and large just the same. I went out for another bike ride this past Sunday. We started along the Burke-Gilman path, a place I have biked and run a hundred times, but since we are training for the Chilly Hilly, we veered off and headed to the hills. We tackled Norway hill first, one of the eight hills on the S.O.B. ride from 2007. I am still several rides from good form, but my legs haven't entirely lost their muscle memory. 

Joe was in charge of the route, so after enjoying zipping down the other side of Norway, I wasn't sure where we were headed. We rode south toward Kirkland past a Juanita neighborhood more built-up than I remembered. We resisted the pull of the new coffee shop and made the right turn toward the next hill. 

I can't remember the last time I had been up this road, but I wasn't more than a few hundred feet before some random memories pushed forward. There was a parking lot where my car wouldn't start some 20 years ago. There was an apartment that I could completely visualize the interior, without remembering why I knew the place. A mile farther up the hill was a turn off to where a friend used to live, a place that seemed so remote when I visited it a single time 25 years ago. 

The hill was longer than I remembered. Of course that's no surprise with how random and suspect my memory seems to be. We rode past a wooded area with trees that looked like they hadn't seen full sunlight in those two decades. There wasn't much traffic out on Super Bowl Sunday, and the three of us climbed alone at our own pace, adding to the feeling I was farther away from civilization than I really was. 

As Hemingway said, “It is by riding a bicycle that you learn the contours of a country best, since you have to sweat up the hills and coast down them.” The physical effort tends to bring you into focus, and into the moment. The slower speed, and not being wrapped in steel and glass, also puts you into closer contact with your surroundings. And of course without the radio playing, you are left alone with your thoughts. 

And the random memories oddly tethered to the different, but strangely familiar landscape.

Frozen

I got nothing. My brain is fried.

Well that isn't exactly true. I have things, it is just that my brain is sort of full trying to learn on the fly at work. I am getting up earlier than my body is built for, and only see sunlight (what little there is) through the window at my office. When I get home each evening, I just don't have the mental space to write.

It feels a bit like an endless loop, this dark to dark routine, like the treadmill so hated by the runner. Much better to get outside where the random twists and turns keep your head up. With the days so short, I haven't been able to get out for a run during the week, and that isn't helping.

Each morning there is a new layer of frost on the windows. I had forgotten the many different textures of ice. Some days it slides right off like a light dusting, others I am going at it with an ax. A few mornings there was black ice, and the hill from the house was shut down. Luckily I remembered a back way out from my time running around with UPS.

Sierra wanders around the front yard while I thaw out the truck. With her fading sight, she jerks back when she moves from light to shadow, assuming the shadow means something is coming right at her. The other morning, the garbage truck pulled up, and the spinning yellow siren light had her flinching repeatedly. Some mornings are rougher than others.

I keep trying to tweak the routine to shave a minute here and there, but I think it will take longer days for me to get back out on the road. I did get out for a bike ride last weekend, though. I barely rode when I had endless sunshine and far more hours, but there I was pedaling in 30 degree weather. The tighter schedule may force me to make the time for a ride where I didn't before.

Weekends are going to start filling up with work as well, but I am going to do my best to grab the daylight when I can.

And write.

Ice scraper multi-tool

It has been cold. Not a Minnesota kinda cold, but still the kind of cold that makes you want to stay curled up in bed. There is a thermometer by the front door, and it read 26 degrees this morning. The grass crunched under Sierra's feet as she wandered around looking for her spot, and the truck was a block of ice.

The sheen of ice on all the windows adds ten minutes to my departure each morning, so I bought a cover for the windshield, and a plug-in heater to defrost the inside (my truck heater is terrible). The windshield cover is a shiny aluminum color, much like the cover I used to keep out the San Diego sun. So similar, and yet not at all the same.

The cover worked well, but the additional heater was pretty week. I would do better to plug in a cheap hair dryer, but the combination did save a little time and effort. I was headed off to watch the Seahawk game at a friend's house,and stopped by the library to drop off a book. When I went to leave, I didn't.

The key would not turn in the ignition. I had been worried about the engine turning over in the cold, but I couldn't even get to that point. I tried rocking the steering wheel back and forth, pulling the key out slightly to see if the tumblers would engage, staring angrily and gnashing my teeth, all to no avail.

After getting a ride home, and while watching the Seahawks fall tantalizingly short of winning, I searched for auto shops online. Before my drive from San Diego to Seattle, I joined AAA for a little automotive peace of mind. They would come tow my truck, but I needed to find a shop to tow it to. I found a couple close by, but of course none were open on a Sunday (much less playoff Sunday).

While I had the internet tubes up, I did a little surfing around to see if replacing a ignition cylinder was within my skill set. Previously, the internet has taught me how to fix a washer, take apart a dryer, replace a lock, snake a drain, and many other random projects around the house. From what I found, the first step in removing the lock cylinder is to turn it to the on position. That was out.

I kept surfing and found this video. It is only a minute long, but the gist of it is to put the key in the ignition, and then tap on the end of the key ten times with a rubber mallet, driving the key into the ignition. I didn't have a rubber mallet, so I used the ice scraper that has become all too handy lately. I hit it several times, tried the key, and nothing. I wasn't surprised, it did seem too simple.

So, I hit it a few more times just to be thorough, and I'll be damned, the key turned and the engine fired up. When people ask me to take a look at something that isn't working, I usually ask, "have you tried swearing or hitting it with a hammer?" Sometimes a hammer is the answer.

What a night for a sunrise

New Year's Eve was a quiet one as anticipated. I wasn't even sure I was going to stay up until midnight, but then the local coverage came on, and I stayed up to watch the Space Needle erupt in fireworks. It was a good show, but I was happy to watch it from the comfort of my couch.

This morning, there was an air of hangover in the house, but strangely it was the pets having a rough go of it. One had pooped the bed, and the other one hurled on the deck. Not sure what sort of partying they did after we went to bed, but they are getting too old to bounce back the next morning.

After feeding her breakfast, I let Sierra out front. The air was clean, and the sky clear of any clouds to blanket in any heat. The temperature gauge read 28 degrees, and rooftops and windshields were covered in a layer of clean, white frost. The grass crunched under the pooch's feet as she wandered around looking for the right place to mark her spot. The cold air knocked away the cobwebs of a short night of sleep, but it was nice not to wake up with a headache like so many past first day's of the year.

I waited until mid-day, and a temperature bump to 39 degrees, before lacing up my shoes for the first run of the year. It was still chilly, and I found myself running on the sunny side of the street to avoid the colder shade. I haven't been running much since the big weekend in November, and it was nice to be back out on the roads this morning.

Work is going to get much busier in the coming weeks. My boss joked that we should enjoy our last day off for the next four months (at least I hope he was joking). It is going to be harder to get out for a run, but I am going to try my best to sneak out when I can. It will likely mean running in the dark, on more nights of short sleep, so I am doubly glad I took it easy last night to enjoy the sunshine today.

What a night for a sunrise...

New Year's Eve

It is funny how much focus there is in flipping the calendar page from December to January. Such an arbitrary line, but adding a digit to the year seems to imply massive change. We vow to do things differently, and change our lives for the better.

Of course this year's calendar flip might have some national significance. It is no fabricated, Mayan end-of-the-world situation, but the "fiscal cliff" is certainly getting its own hype. I haven't heard the latest, but my guess is that our legislators will slap on a small band aid before the clock strikes midnight, and kick the can of hard decisions down the road a bit. Not sure that things will be made "better" anytime soon.

That said, each year (hell, each day) has significance. There are some that went well, and some we would like to leave permanently in the rear-view-mirror. Most of us didn't take the time to relish the good times while they happened, and they can get buried in the awful news of the day. The last 365 days can become a blur, though those that put out a Christmas letter each year have at least gone through the exercise of reviewing the highlights.

As I have mentioned before, for a decade I spent New Year's Eve working at restaurant, followed by a celebration with a bunch of friends in the bar as the calendar made its flip. The last few years, it has been a quieter celebration with Matt, Holly and Kristy in San Diego, followed by breakfast and a day at Dog Beach to start the new year.

2009 was a tough year, and as we clicked over into 2010, I made the decision to move down to San Diego to start over. The time down there was a period of recovery and growth, and for 2011 I actually made some specific resolutions. The 30 day rotation was an interesting experiment, and proved that even moving from month to month can bring improvement. 2011 also brought someone special into my life, and that was the best turn in the road.

Now I am back in Seattle, and as we move on into 2013, I am starting over once again. Life 3.0, or whatever number I am up to now. I have a new job back in my home state (which I really need to write about), and I am getting my feet back on solid ground. I haven't made any resolutions for the new year just yet, but like most, fitness, friends and finances will be major themes.

Though 2013 will likely be a year of change, the actual night of New Year's Eve is sort of a non-event this year. Just another Monday this time around. Maybe with all the hype about the Mayans and the cliff, I just wanted to ignore the end of a calendar page, or tablet.

Some of the best parts of any year are the times spent with friends, and New Year's Eve was always a good excuse. Part of me misses the party atmosphere of the Keg celebrations, and another part the quiet gathering with friends of more recent years. And of course I'll miss the kiss at midnight.

Merry Christmas

Christmas Eve

I can't believe Christmas is only an hour away. December always flies by, but this year it felt like the fastest one yet. It seems universal, like some alternate theory of relativity, that time speeds up as we grow older. Where Christmas couldn't get here soon enough when we were children, now there never seems to be enough time to get it all done.

As a kid, there wasn't much to do other than wait for gifts to arrive magically, but of course as an adult, you have a hand in making that magic happen. Though I am busier with work this year, the season rushing by has less to do with lack of time, and more about fewer markers on the path to the big day.

There are a thousand little parts of the season that add up to the whole. An afternoon spent picking out, or even cutting down the perfect tree. Listening to Christmas music while you decorate it with all the ornaments that bring back memories of places and faces in your life. Stringing up lights on the house, and hooking them up to a timer so you come home each night to a house aglow. Pulling out your favorite Christmas movies, films you seen dozens of times, but that still pluck at your heartstrings each time. Mulling some wine, baking cookies, or making and breaking a gingerbread house. Carving out a spare moment to meet a friend for coffee, or just give them a call to let them know you are thinking about them.

Tomorrow will be wonderful. The morning will be spent at my parent's home with my brother, and of course the traditional coffee cake for breakfast. In the evening, we will head to my cousin's for dinner with my ever-expanding extended family. Thirty or so people I dearly love, most of whom I haven't seen since last Christmas.

As wonderful as the day will be, it stills feels like I let the season slip by almost unnoticed this year. The anticipation of the day is part of the joy, like a child wondering all month what will appear under the tree Christmas morning. This year, without all those small traditions leading up to the big day, it feels like Christmas arrived more like a surprise party.

The magic of Christmas doesn't just happen like it did when we were kids. More than gifts, those hundred little traditions bring even more texture and joy to the holiday, turning an already beautiful day into a wonderful season. I dropped the ball this year, and truth be told, for the last few. I hope you all were able to make time for whatever traditions make this holiday special, and that you are blessed with friends and family to share it with tomorrow.

Merry Christmas.

...and first day of winter.

Happy 13th baktun everybody!

Lyrics of the day

And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know.
This weakness I feel I must finally show.

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die.
Where you invest your love, you invest your life.

~"Awake My Soul" by Mumford & Sons