Ernest Hemingway was born today...

so in that vain I will write the following blog in Hemingway style.

The gym was new and clean. Much unlike the gyms in which I spent my youth: musty, old edifices that could have survived winds of the hurricane type. Madison was enthusiastically practicing soccer with the other offspring. All was well. Until the "coach" decided to use his unusurpable power to play a game that can only be described as the prelude to anarchy. The participants were lined up along each side of the gym while the plethora of balls was placed in the middle. The eager children were told that they had to run to the middle of the gym and bring as many balls back to their side of the gym as possible. On the "Go", they rushed to the covey of balls with unbridled avarice. All the while reminding one of a stampede of the buffalo type. As you would expect, someone was run over by one of the opposing buffalo. She hit hard. Although the gym floor was made of the new space-age rubber polymer, it might as well have been made of concrete of the air hanger type.

I picked Madison up and brought her to the bleachers. Madison wept the tears of defeat, much like the Spaniards in The Battle of Cartagena. After a while, she said she felt better. I then proceeded to give her the speech of the "When you fall off the horse you must get back on" type. She made a go of it. I was as proud as a red-blooded American man could be. Her bravery was rewarded with a refreshing swim with water so clear and clean it felt as if you were in a mountain stream unmolested by human intervention.

The rest of the weekend was relaxing. Swimming. Hiking, Sport playing of the baseball type. One image of Madison wearing her new pink leotard for her dance camp while practicing swinging a baseball bat brought visions of a well-rounded individual who will ultimately succeed in life because she takes on life's challenges head first much like the bald eagle of Alaska who, as a bird of prey, know they're cool.

Ian has turned a corner. His days of perpetual unhappiness of the tantrum type are over. He still has his moments of testosterone filled outbursts but his skills of the reasoning type have increased proportionally to his height. Despite his outward ruggedness, Ian is a sensitive soul. Always with a hug for Madison or Reagan as needed.

Reagan is joining the throngs of the toothed. The white dots are appearing on her gum line as the glaciers of the Arctic appear on the horizon while waking up in the crows nest after a night of drinking single malt scotch and wondering how I actually ended up in the crows nest. She is constantly jovial. Which endears her to this weather worn heart even more.

To say I am lucky would be an understatement the likes of which have never been witnessed.