Tennis is not the only place where Serve is Important

A lot of people, myself included, are watching the French Open, which is an annual tennis tournament in France. Voila!

As you watch the competitors you notice many things, that they towel their face a great deal, there are a lot of judges watching closely, the grass is not grass, it’s clay and the speed of the serve by the players.

snoopy 1Women players get serves of 180 or more kilometres, and men over 220 kilometres.  After 150 KM I think a tennis ball is referred to as a missile.

But they do it not by virtue of muscle not nearly as much as fullness of swing and coordination,  as in technique bolstered by strength.

My serve is important to, but not on the tennis court.  How I serve my family, my friends, and whomever is counting on me in various organizations I support.

But is mostly how I serve as a father, and husband that is important to me.

I was touched recently as a new toastmaster who is a friend of mine, offered to give the toast as the meeting.  He gave real attention to the toast, and the aforethought was evident from the structure, and the words, including the repetition of certain phrases. What touched me was that he used me as the example of a good friend. I didn’t feel worthy honestly but graciously accepted the kind words, and we all toasted friendship.

I would love to think such kind words would be said when I pass on but unlike Tom Sawyer I will not have that opportunity.  It was nice to hear them now.

I urge you to not wait to say nice things, to
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remember to say kind words while we can to the people we care about, being positive builds on itself, so let’s start a wave of recognition, and appreciation,  take a page from toastmasters and toast them today.

Thank you for reading, comments and suggestions are always appreciated ! 

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Wisdom comes from many sources, and so does inspiration

What is wisdom? I’m not sure I have any but I know I have loads of experience, some of it mistakes, hopefully not too many repeats in there.

But I have learned, and I have observed and I probably know more good habits than I practice, but I try to practice a few consistently.

One of the sources of wisdom I think we have is from our family, and friends. If we listen, they will gladly share their experiences, if we are wise enough to hear.

I think that wisdom begots inspiration in many instances.  I think A.A. Milne must have been listening and observing closely when in 1926 he wrote Winnie-The-Pooh, his first inspiring story.

Inspiring, endearing, the stories were written by this Dad for his son, Christopher Robin, and the main character was teddy bear owned by his son.  The stories are sincere, and have been translated into many languages and even made into film.

The stories are about friendship, encouragement, and written indelibly between the lines, the love of a father. Don’t you think?

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I am, but I’m not

It’s nice when you can get them, meals that is. I am only part Hobbit I suspect, the part that likes second breakfasts.

When you get up early like I tend to do,  and eat about 7 AM, on and about 9:30 you start thinking about your second breakfast.

hobbit feetNow if you look at my feet, you’d say that’s no hobbit feet, and you’d be correct because there’s no fur plus I wear shoes, and I like slippers too.

But hobbits are relatives of the race of men you know, and as a result there could traits men and hobbits share, why not?

For example, like most hobbits, I am a bit stout, but my ears aren’t pointed like a hobbit, and what fur on me that I have seems to be less brown now than grey, correction, silver 🙂

Plus the average life expectancy of a hobbit is 100, but some live to 130 or beyond, and don’t come of age  until their 33 birthday so a hobbit is only middle aged at 50. Just like me!

They like to wear bright colours, particularly yellow and green – and who can argue with that? Not I.

So I am, and I’m not, hobbit that is but I can’t write any more because while I’ve had my second breakfast, I’m late for my elevenses. Got to go!

Hobbits like six (or more) meals a day, here’s the schedule. I think that the supper kind of runs into dinner making you only count it as one. Of course.

  • 7:00am – Breakfast
  • 9:00am – Second Breakfast
  • 11:00am – Elevenses
  • 1:00pm – Luncheon
  • 4:00pm – Afternoon Tea
  • 6:00pm – Dinner
  • 8:00pm – Supper
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Yet our useless fascination goes on

Food for thought, I think you will agree.

Live & Learn's avatarLive & Learn

eyeball,black and white
In this age of the quantified self, we measure how many hours we slept, steps we took, calories we burned. Yet we know nothing about ourselves. We spend more time checking-in to our stats than our souls. Our experience is mined for data but not depth. We have all these numbers to improve now, but no idea how to dial back the numbness.

Life doesn’t have to be a spreadsheet, yet our useless fascination goes on. We spend more time shopping, in considering the thread-count of our sheets before purchase, than we do soul-searching, that beautiful art of thinking about the quality and purpose of our lives.

We are addicted to the constant digital stream, often peering gape-mouthed into the sordid details of other people’s lives; in the process we have checked-out of reality, neglecting our own life so pregnant with potential and meaning.

If we are to measure and…

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Pets, the critters get under the skin, lucky us

When I was a young tyke, my family lived in a small town, Quesnel, BC.  It seems a kind of Mayberry and that would make me Opie I suppose.  (are you whistling the theme song “the fishing hole yet? )

Quesnel was a little boys dream. Wild blueberries just outside of town, as a boy I remember playing marbles in the school yard. I tobagganed on the hill beside my house, and there was a creek close by that had wide pools you could cool off in during the summer months. In the summer there was lots of bush near by my house for playing imaginary games of the young boy type. In the winter my Dad made me my own ice rink in the yard, and the snow was deep enough to tunnel under, yes under!

 

Of course, life for a small boy in a utopia like this includes a dog. My dog was named Tiger, a german shepherd. A good dog,  his thumping tail in the middle of the night scared away the monsters under the bed.

Pets, they get under the skin, and into the hearts of us mortals who love them.  My growing up memories include Tiger, my dog. My kids had their pets, also – Errol Flynn (our cat who swashbuckled his way into our hearts), and Houdini (the bunny who was so soft).

We love them, pets, and they are there for us, God bless them all.

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Parents: Lung capacity is key when choosing an inflatable toy

Clever writing, love the humor in this post. I will checking out other posts for more invaluable advice!

Ned's Blog's avatarNed's Blog

(Because I am still off the grid and out of air from inflating water toys over the weekend, I am offering this re-post from the archives as a warning to parents as they kick off the summer inflatable-toy-buying season. In the meantime, Skippy the Rabid Blindfolded Squirrel and I hope to see all of you tomorrow for the next edition of The Box! Assuming, of course, that Skippy gets his blindfold off…)

Inflated whale We live less than 15 minutes from our favorite lake. The problem is, it also happens to be everyone else’s favorite lake, which means in order to get a spot within the vicinity of actual water, you have to be there when the gates open at noon and participate in something similar to the Oklahoma Land Rush. It’s not uncommon to see small children strapped to inflatable toys and tossed ahead of the crowd in order to claim…

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