and deeper in debt. Hmmm, actually, no. Turned 41 this Tuesday without a financial debt in the world… Oh, sure, we’ve still got our monthly bills and all, but everything we own, we own free and clear. I can’t suggest it highly enough to anyone. If you’re struggling with the money thing, Dave has some good ideas to get you on that path.

Anyway, now that I’m officially a year older, any words of advice to you young ‘uns? Sure:

• Unless taking a risk is likely to physically harm you or others, lean towards taking it. My personal ratio of regrets for things undone versus those done is heavily tilted towards the undone side of the ledger. Someone feel free to remind me of this every time you see me!
• What gets measured, gets improved. Have something you’re coming short on? Measure it. In early June, despite half efforts to counter my expansion, I tipped the scales at just shy of 230 pounds. I started an online Weight Watchers membership June 15th, just used their handy dandy mobile app – in other words, no meetings or cardboard tasting food – and weighed myself yesterday at 202 and change. Missed my goal of sub-200 by my birthday, but not by much…
• Play a little every day. I don’t care if you’re 8 or 88. Life is too short, no matter how much time you have left…
• Oh, and as always, wear sunscreen…

Every night, when I tuck my little boy in bed, we go over the rules for the next day. Things like ‘raise your hand before you ask a question…‘ Or ‘during recess, sticks belong on the ground…‘ That sort o’ thing.

The last rule I give him, the one I rightfully call The Most Important Rule, is ‘Have some fun, every day!‘ I get the impression that he thinks Dad’s a little weird with that one, but it still brings a smile to his face almost every time. Plus, I believe it’s one that many people seem to forget about.

Including, apparently, his dad. I’m not having fun every day. In fact, I’ve got a couple things in my life that suck the fun right out of it. That has got to be changing very soon…

Earlier this month, my 95-year-old Grandpa Jim drew his last breath, and in the days following the funeral, I planted the task in my mind to come up with a defining memory I had of the grand ol’ man, and I believe it’s finally come to me. While catching a bit of Pulp Fiction, of all things…

I’m not sure of my age, but I’ll hazard a guess I was somewhere in the 8 to 10 range. In those days, thanks to time spent with both of my grandpas, I had a particular, well, infatuation for all things fishing. My tackle box was absolutely stuffed with every lure I could get me hands on. The entry for the term for fishing in our encyclopedia at home was tattered. I knew far too many details on every piece of fishing gear at our local hardware store. That sort of infatuation.

During one of our many trips back to my parents’ home range, Grandpa Jim thought feeding my infatuation was the order of the day, and off we went to some local fishing hole for the afternoon. Excited to catch as many fish as I could, I grabbed my aforementioned tacklebox, borrowed one of grandpa’s rods out of his garage, and loaded up what little gear one needs for such a trip into the back of his old pipe tobacco scented station wagon.

For whatever reason, that day the fish just weren’t being agreeable. A couple hours in, and with many a lure change gone by, not even a nibble. Sensing my growing frustrations, grandpa reeled in my rod, cut off whatever monstrosity I had attached to my line, put on a simple bobber, sinker, and a worm-threaded hook, and handed me back my rod along with an orange soda. And said to me,

‘Son, the point of fishing isn’t really to catch the fish…’

The rest of the afternoon was spent quietly watching a bobber bob, drinking orange soda, eating bologna sandwiches, with but a few words spoken in between.

I couldn’t tell you whether the actual catching of fish got any better that day. But, it was my best day fishing.

‘That’s when you know you’ve found somebody really special: you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share silence.’
– from Mia in Pulp Fiction

RIP Grandpa… I’ll miss you!

Just returned from the post office where I dropped off a bill containing our final mortgage payment, a full week in front of the date stated on our payoff statement. Even spent a few extra bucks, sent it Priority Mail with Signature Confirmation, ’cause I don’t want to see a bill claiming we still owe 42¢ in interest or some such nonsense next month.

Once I see that signature confirmation clear, the little yellow house in the country turns into our little house in the country. And with that, we become wholly and entirely Debt Free!