Monday Morning Mistake

There's Uncle Joe, he's a movin' kind of slow at the Junction. Petticoat Junction (for you youngsters, that's a 60s-era TV theme song)

That was my theme song this morning as I stumbled into our office break room and fumbled for a cup of coffee. This was a 'cuppa joe' morning . . . don't care what it tastes like, just pour over my head.

But one should never sacrifice sharpness for the desperation of a caffeine boost, and this morning I did.

My friend and co-worker Clay, the near-professional triathlete and a REALLY nice guy, asked me, 'how's it going?' and I muttered (in a friendly sort of way) something like, 'same ol' same ol'.'

Never say 'same ol' same ol' to a triathlete . . . people who are focused enough and disciplined enough and have enough energy and enthusiasm and attitude and strength and the wherewithall to be a triathlete NEVER have a 'same ol' same ol' kind of day. In the running vernacular, every day should be a shot at a new PR (personal record).

I usually consider myself kind of Pollyanna-ish, but Clay is Pollyanna on . . . well, whatever combination of herbs and proper diet that makes people mega-Pollyannas (he's definitely not a steroids kind of guy). By the time I'm able to pour the coffee over my head, he's bounced out of the room, HUGE smile on his face and has moved on to whatever young, overachieving engineers do on Monday mornings.

And I'd like to say that Clay's energy and enthusiasm for life was infectious . . . but sometimes, when Uncle Joe's a movin' kind of slow, it's best to save that shot at a PR for another day.

By the way, here's Clay finishing his most recent triathlon in Florida. That nine hours on the clock is how long he's been swimming, bicycling and running.

A Red River Rush Hour

Rush hour . . . through the bedroom door, across the living room, grabbing a cup of coffee, and out to the porch. That's the morning rush hour that's been on my mind the last couple of days as I've researched an article for our employee newsletter. Our firm owns a couple of cabins in Red River, New Mexico, and for the last 2-3 days, I've been reading through the notebooks left in the cabins for the last 30+ years for guests to sign and make comments (I'll post some later).

We stayed in Red River a couple of years ago and have requested one of the cabins for a week this summer. If I read one more page of fire-in-the-fireplace-30-degrees-in-the-morning-hiking-up-to-the-lake-touring-Taos-and-Santa-Fe-feeding-the-chipmunks-watching-the-hummingbirds-fishing-in-the-creek-behind-the-cabin-snow-in-the-mountains-Jeep-tours-horseback-rides-tops-of-mountains-ski-lifts-wildflowers-cutting-wood-sleeping-soundly-in-mountain-air-doing-nothing, I'm heading west tomorrow.

Here's Kim and me on the front porch of the newer cabin in 2006: