When I was a teenager we would all go after church on Wednesday nights to “Mr. Jack’s” house and shoot pool. I’m ashamed to say that it’s been so long I can’t remember which friend was the son of Mr. Jack. Mr. Jack never came to church but he always welcomed all us teenagers into his home and he usually played a round or two with me on his team. I considered it a big honor to shoot pool with him. He was really good. And no-nonsense. And willing to teach little ‘ol Andrea a thing or two about the game of pool and the skills needed to be a desirable teammate. For the rest of my life I don’t think I picked up a pool stick without thinking about him and wanting every shot to make him proud. One of the things that stand out in my memory of Mr. Jack was that anytime I made a mistake he wouldn’t be mad, or even disappointed, he would simply say “that coulda been a good shot”. This simple statement would immediately snap my emotions into accepting the failure of the moment, shaking it off, and then snap my brain into recognizing what “coulda” made it the good shot that it had the potential to be. It’s a great memory. Fun times. A great life lesson learned (what seems like) a lifetime ago.
I’ve missed blogging the past few days. It really has made a difference this winter. I guess today would actually be day 77. And I won’t be saying that it “coulda been a good winter”. It has been a good winter. We made it one. Together. Thanks!
Sunrise 7:10
Sunset 6:28
Wake up temp 46