tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23927572989862175642024-03-19T01:08:50.900-07:00What's up in the CosmosJoe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.comBlogger266125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-35019107489244059132024-03-13T07:01:00.000-07:002024-03-13T07:01:58.141-07:00Off Script <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfo_hQ1Dhex4IPZYujybrdz8-HReRzErhWpHCiK6iA_8c2ZpL0WUuEIJ8htJ4k3P1gLMSm7NFp868fTVXKA7Y7_DY_Z4l7fjv1JLp_mwRzbVQEYyZQXW_D0rP_OylRHIjdmZ_8lYnq2LdqCQRt15JSrBqXFwWfywIfTwynNvgIP1uCply0hmKMAedmSzI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfo_hQ1Dhex4IPZYujybrdz8-HReRzErhWpHCiK6iA_8c2ZpL0WUuEIJ8htJ4k3P1gLMSm7NFp868fTVXKA7Y7_DY_Z4l7fjv1JLp_mwRzbVQEYyZQXW_D0rP_OylRHIjdmZ_8lYnq2LdqCQRt15JSrBqXFwWfywIfTwynNvgIP1uCply0hmKMAedmSzI" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div>When Robert Downey Jr. went off script in "Iron Man" in 2008 with the immortal words "I am Iron Man," it changed the trajectory of the Marvel universe from that point forward. It became an iconic part of the story, even up until the very end. </div><div><br /></div><div>Once again...art imitates life. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is no script to life. It is the largest improv theatre you will ever see. </div><div><br /></div><div>You expect a right turn on the horizon and you go left. You expect the roller coaster to turn back up but it plummets back down towards the earth. You think it's your happily ever after moment but then a sequel appears. </div><div><br /></div><div>Off script. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's similar to the scene in "Pleasantville" when Tobey Maguire tells Jane Kaczmarek, "There is no right house. There is no right car...it's not supposed to be anything." </div><div><br /></div><div>Life isn't supposed to be anything. It just is. Life isn't supposed to be lived on script. It just happens.</div><div><br /></div><div>You can't stage your life...but your life is a stage. </div><div><br /></div><div>Action. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-8946136661205982442024-02-29T20:10:00.000-08:002024-02-29T20:10:56.485-08:00Random Red Thoughts <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68qNGDDjGn2jUF5qVOOAMBaohFliL5h3OCPwTl2qx2gTKFPLon-YXUS2w2roIPT4Dt0KYEj1LhL4PCTkx_uyzOMEr4WS4czvAVdyAeiuLw9sWxtAhc4uDh-hM8dhRz9xMvu0L0rL7DXHr0_xfmBscl5dqPsmwRke-Xf4EQhUpJWusTPY89qnTurLV89U/s640/Red%20Wine.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68qNGDDjGn2jUF5qVOOAMBaohFliL5h3OCPwTl2qx2gTKFPLon-YXUS2w2roIPT4Dt0KYEj1LhL4PCTkx_uyzOMEr4WS4czvAVdyAeiuLw9sWxtAhc4uDh-hM8dhRz9xMvu0L0rL7DXHr0_xfmBscl5dqPsmwRke-Xf4EQhUpJWusTPY89qnTurLV89U/s320/Red%20Wine.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />"...random thoughts, an overflow of gazing at the unseen." <div><br /></div><div>Love that quote from Michael Bassey Johnson, a brilliant writer and poet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Random thoughts give you permission to daydream a bit. Experience a Walter Mitty moment every once in a while. Just gaze at the unseen and see what happens. </div><div><br /></div><div>I tip my glass in the direction of randomness. <div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">A good bartender is just as valuable as a good doctor or lawyer. </span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes, you just need to go and have sex with your wife in a hotel. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am envious of people born on February 29th but feel bad for those who lost someone on that same day. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">February really is a long month despite the actual number of days. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sunrise or sunset? I can't choose. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">You are never too old to hug. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone should have five go-to restaurants; Italian, Bar-be-que, Hole in the Wall, Steak joint, and Mexican. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">It really does feel good being nice. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">There is no better bite than the first bite of buttered toast dipped into the yoke of a sunny-side-up egg. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div>Light a fire in a real fireplace...often. </div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't want to live past 90. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div>Stemmed wine glasses for dinner. Stem-less for lunch or happy hour. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers to randomness. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>'Clink'</i></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-72520662803907615112024-02-19T04:25:00.000-08:002024-02-19T04:25:12.860-08:00Life at an Unsquared 90 Degrees <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYxQtWDIfSu50HlsRlH1EACCUecnOMLEhvNWolKwe0y3z16UKnJj4pPZjFsPtDkMM_geFLExXqZtGqUwWvZ8LE2Lo5L7ZEjq0BUnuWZ2zNTYTTkikceSFOv2PMM4kPppBY5cJ2lSy1ve2NDd2DUga0ubCntdNhddNTTLG7wQ8Da0sfUSGgVWGGTI60ts8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="1500" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiYxQtWDIfSu50HlsRlH1EACCUecnOMLEhvNWolKwe0y3z16UKnJj4pPZjFsPtDkMM_geFLExXqZtGqUwWvZ8LE2Lo5L7ZEjq0BUnuWZ2zNTYTTkikceSFOv2PMM4kPppBY5cJ2lSy1ve2NDd2DUga0ubCntdNhddNTTLG7wQ8Da0sfUSGgVWGGTI60ts8" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">My wife and I went to see famed jazz trumpeter, Wayne Bergeron the other night. It was wild and beautiful. As we were getting into the syncopated beat and delighted by the range of his magical trumpet, we asked ourselves if our architect friend, Dave would be into jazz. We thought "There's no way someone with an exact mind would be into the un-exactedness of jazz."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Remember...close enough for jazz. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">But then we remembered, Dave was totally into Dave Brubeck. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Brubeck...the father of cool jazz; the unlikely matrimony of bebop and big band combining frenetic chaos with silky smooth undertones. Brubeck's music had a random exactness to it. Coordinated spontaneity. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Unsquare dance. A delightful morsel of his music, which combined blues, jazz, and country western, was edgy, cool, and undefined. But there were precise corners to the piece too. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As my wife and I broke down our evening, we started talking about our friend again and realized his delicate balance of structure and bedlam was a microcosm of life. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Life has wide bumpers, baby, and use every inch of them. Draw outside the lines and not off the paper. Be adventurous and humble. Ride the teeter-totter between falling off and balance. Experience everything life has to offer and be selective. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Life is jazz. Fun, unexpected, and crazy, with notes to live by. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"Jazz is about freedom within discipline." </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jazz and life. It's a gas. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dig it? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><div><div><br /></div></div><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-92159643998031922302024-01-30T16:34:00.000-08:002024-01-30T16:34:58.149-08:00Random Thoughts from the Road <p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefttSfF0OOh15rKPdIlC4BIChtWUJVG9_znyDlzqapDcG6hri0UyjcriSx8WAAVAeKe4ZHAvycvPETy7qdaeF3IYrnI33IL9Nc-dbjjYo5s3IJaWqIPU229GzZn3AB7QEGAhj7KMlUoxqKg31K0h_3kIVQ-yNA7v8xa_Dxkkw2tq5zl9IbMIfWdmZg6o/s640/Basil%20Hayden%20and%20Candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefttSfF0OOh15rKPdIlC4BIChtWUJVG9_znyDlzqapDcG6hri0UyjcriSx8WAAVAeKe4ZHAvycvPETy7qdaeF3IYrnI33IL9Nc-dbjjYo5s3IJaWqIPU229GzZn3AB7QEGAhj7KMlUoxqKg31K0h_3kIVQ-yNA7v8xa_Dxkkw2tq5zl9IbMIfWdmZg6o/s320/Basil%20Hayden%20and%20Candle.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the ice melts and the wick burns...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Randomness rules. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tobacco candles are sublime...especially in hotel rooms. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a middle infielder, you need to trust your first baseman...unless he sleeps with your wife. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There is still nothing quite like turning the pages of a real book. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's no better brotherhood than a tight-knit coaching staff. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Basil Hayden is delicious. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Those who are critical of talent that executes "dog and pony" flawlessly don't know a dog's ass from a pony's. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Quarterbacks and Tight Ends...the linchpins of a successful offense. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">M*A*S*H was brilliant. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Lust is better when married to love. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Enjoy every sunset and sunrise you can. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Spooning is a lost art. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Dave Brubeck is still cool. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Those who are truly wealthy, don't show their wallet. Those who are truly smart, think quietly. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'll take another...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">...just put it on my tab. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-11013555606762900832024-01-12T05:42:00.000-08:002024-01-12T05:42:01.196-08:00Let's Just Call it a Ghost Cat <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjO4r9TigFqjE53mb79sQlXAN11si_DGggVvli3imicmYuCnzKmALV3fwNPd48dJrAjV3XLyq924oan6aVu8Id7Ryl-TFugC32ujeVXg_emJh27l1FJtlaui61FKzkFm0PWOEPRNd0IePPZ2GHLDoXKP_SU_Tb-iN9sRgmJfWy6t0aqTI73Bd2pn4YZkcs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="640" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjO4r9TigFqjE53mb79sQlXAN11si_DGggVvli3imicmYuCnzKmALV3fwNPd48dJrAjV3XLyq924oan6aVu8Id7Ryl-TFugC32ujeVXg_emJh27l1FJtlaui61FKzkFm0PWOEPRNd0IePPZ2GHLDoXKP_SU_Tb-iN9sRgmJfWy6t0aqTI73Bd2pn4YZkcs" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Walter Mitty: When are you going to take it? </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Sean O'Connell: Sometimes I don't. If I like a moment, for me, personally, I don't like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Walter Mitty: Stay in it? </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Sean O'Connell: Yeah. Right there. Right here. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is the exchange between Ben Stiller's character, Walter Mitty, and Sean Penn's character, Sean O'Connell in <i>The Secret Life of Walter Mitty </i>where O'Connell is a world-renowned photographer and Mitty is a Negative Assets Manager at <i>Life Magazine</i>. O'Connell passes on capturing a picture of a beautiful Snow Leopard in favor of capturing the moment. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We all are guilty of missing the moment sometimes. We drift away from the moment because of the past. We dream away the moment because of the future. Our commitment to the moment is destroyed because of some other distraction and it's lost forever. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Alan Watts, an English writer, speaker, and self-styled "philosophical entertainer" said it best, <i>"I have realized that the past and the future are real illusions, that they exist in the present, which is what there is and all there is." </i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The Pike Place Fish Market was the impetus for <i>The Fish Philosophy, </i>training that inspires workplaces and individuals to choose to create the kind of life they desire. One of their pillars is to "<i>Be there</i>." Be emotionally present for people in the moment. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Enjoying the moment. Living the moment. Savoring the moment as you would your last bite of your favorite meal. This is the key to life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Put down the phone. Stop over-thinking the past and hopelessly waiting for the future. And just be right there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Right here. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-44963426388196668082024-01-03T04:42:00.000-08:002024-01-03T04:42:32.768-08:00I Resolve <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivBU39hlpkOhvEzeBkyAleTVvHyD3SU-yYwJWagJzTf9eX2wrDaHioUiaD_5JSUZj_j1UMrCzZfIkfa1D8_Nz4V92y3P7WeOIIgjCP9HsYzSOqn2rpLEbqVDh3zZX4WAtoQrMdMsTGrgsbmXGFTAB7fIxAXDAI5fNvE6UKzHUwNOL1lolTnbuyV2J8goc" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEivBU39hlpkOhvEzeBkyAleTVvHyD3SU-yYwJWagJzTf9eX2wrDaHioUiaD_5JSUZj_j1UMrCzZfIkfa1D8_Nz4V92y3P7WeOIIgjCP9HsYzSOqn2rpLEbqVDh3zZX4WAtoQrMdMsTGrgsbmXGFTAB7fIxAXDAI5fNvE6UKzHUwNOL1lolTnbuyV2J8goc" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It's January 3rd. I've yet to make a New Year's Resolution. </p><p>It's tradition, right? You can already see the weight loss, cottage cheese, and Pelaton ads screaming at you letting you know "This is the year." </p><p>Here's the thing...</p><p>Your resolution should not be an annual ritual that comes around every 365 days. It should be a monthly resolution...a weekly resolution...a daily resolution (Hell, make it an hourly resolution if you can). </p><p>Wake up and resolve. </p><p>I resolve...to be "there" more. To stay in the moment. </p><p>I resolve...to read more. To feel the pages in my hands and absorb the fiction and non. </p><p>I resolve...to get back into Yoga. It's a wonderful physical and mental stretch. </p><p>I resolve...to tell people I love them more. </p><p>I resolve...to try to not worry about making moments 'perfect.' </p><p>I resolve...to drink more water. </p><p>I resolve...to eliminate debt.</p><p>I resolve...to walk more. </p><p>I resolve...to learn from the past, but not live in it. </p><p>I resolve...to forgive (maybe, not forget). </p><p>I resolve...to exhale. </p><p>I resolve...</p><p>...to continue to try to resolve. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-74543199062157185702023-12-27T04:52:00.000-08:002023-12-27T14:29:12.191-08:00Under The Tuscan Neon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY88rnDCeGSQ86PUFMFY9YhMf_Mx0hLeSc92qYaK-Zs9e3ujJ2Z7OZaT9BApRcV7FvvFJ-mWtByYKD1MHLleOH6XqmDnuprflfTY4I1DTLQvLStFyzQ4RWVCa7MPeV3E2chTLaMnq3Okc9rzzKiN-yA78xjm_sqvDINFz-jmFw5LhUupU4IIaKM_CrFS8/s512/IMG_9494.JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="512" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY88rnDCeGSQ86PUFMFY9YhMf_Mx0hLeSc92qYaK-Zs9e3ujJ2Z7OZaT9BApRcV7FvvFJ-mWtByYKD1MHLleOH6XqmDnuprflfTY4I1DTLQvLStFyzQ4RWVCa7MPeV3E2chTLaMnq3Okc9rzzKiN-yA78xjm_sqvDINFz-jmFw5LhUupU4IIaKM_CrFS8/s320/IMG_9494.JPEG" width="320" /></a></div><br />Have you ever seen "Under The Tuscan Sun" with Diane Lane? <p></p><p>It's a beautiful film about a woman who is lost and finds herself again in golden Tuscany. </p><p>As we watch her slowly regain her footing in life, she continues to look out her window and catches a glimpse of an older man who also appears lost as he sadly puts flowers out on a pedestal. </p><p>He was mourning the loss of his wife. </p><p>Last night, at our favorite watering hole, my wife noticed an older man at the bar and said "That's the man from Under the Tuscan Sun." Not literally, but figurately. My wife said he was looking for something. There was a sadness in him. My wife noticed his book and engaged in conversation. It turns out his wife was in the hospital in critical care after open heart surgery. </p><p>My wife was so right. The random stranger in the bar was hurting. As we talked to him into the night, he talked about his architecture career, his love of trains, and life with his wife Helen. His sadness ceased growing for a moment in time. </p><p>Once again, art imitated life. </p><p>Once Diane Lane's character starts to really find herself, she finally catches the eye of the old man and he doffs his cap in acknowledgment as if to say "I see you and I know you have hurt too." </p><p>I've often talked about human connections and how important they are. However random they appear, they serve a purpose. </p><p>Bar neon or a Tuscan sun.</p><p>Both shine light into darkness. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-87338067699070130262023-12-02T06:53:00.000-08:002023-12-02T06:53:59.684-08:00Scar Tissue<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZee7DgIxVQ2Al-i9hF9bkhlW6o66ZI4iScqCInHuoyBTSOK5NZY4cF6IKE32S8bOEvjV3GD0QcFufqfIM51L7Bue4XRxN1vjNN3-zWRrX-6mqBDsj8ACxII8F0jqDk31Euli3a31Y7_zjyaM6QgJzwGKTlX-yHPJa5Wrr4kc3kXNeRBRALM71G7VXzfg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhZee7DgIxVQ2Al-i9hF9bkhlW6o66ZI4iScqCInHuoyBTSOK5NZY4cF6IKE32S8bOEvjV3GD0QcFufqfIM51L7Bue4XRxN1vjNN3-zWRrX-6mqBDsj8ACxII8F0jqDk31Euli3a31Y7_zjyaM6QgJzwGKTlX-yHPJa5Wrr4kc3kXNeRBRALM71G7VXzfg" width="320" /></a></div><br />You aren't sure how it happened. You aren't sure where it happened. But, nevertheless, it indeed happened. <p></p><p>The pain was real. And in the moment, in the actual heat of the moment, you couldn't fathom how long you could endure. </p><p>But then, without warning, and seemingly without origin, the pain lessened. The clouds moved away and the sun, indeed, did come up again. </p><p>Minutes turn into hours and hours turn into days and before you know it, the wound is healed. Except one thing lingered; a scar. A simple, yet complex reminder of what was and what you had to do to get to what will be. </p><p>A scar is not a defect. A scar is not a blemish. A scar is a beautiful symbol of endurance, strength, of challenges, won and lost from days gone by. It's the outward-facing reminder of what is inside of us. It's what allows us to remember the past, not live in it and it propels us forward. </p><p>Don't look down on your scars. Don't cover up your scars. Celebrate them and take pride in the healing that you have created. </p><p>Sometimes they do fade, sometimes not. </p><p>All good either way. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-27732648339049667622023-11-10T08:46:00.001-08:002023-11-10T08:46:33.899-08:00Two Roads Diverged...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVZIgSaHLMIERbrpXQgJ-HpnNLb0254SxfhNuVxJmUPyleeF2JQONqKYAM-o_CZKaCQz4wRN-M4Fp1KoWOTugPsalCSmGlrVsm7Sy2NgMGoHWozOr25djH-HNhIeuKK4L-v8QzPkKwZMZycArXrDrCEMzyzlXBGtGjWhqLKrNf3t09pqJvhZVOYPxXi0/s640/Sunset%20with%20Power%20lines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVZIgSaHLMIERbrpXQgJ-HpnNLb0254SxfhNuVxJmUPyleeF2JQONqKYAM-o_CZKaCQz4wRN-M4Fp1KoWOTugPsalCSmGlrVsm7Sy2NgMGoHWozOr25djH-HNhIeuKK4L-v8QzPkKwZMZycArXrDrCEMzyzlXBGtGjWhqLKrNf3t09pqJvhZVOYPxXi0/s320/Sunset%20with%20Power%20lines.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, <br /></i><i>And sorry I could not travel both <br /></i><i>And be one traveler, long I stood <br /></i><i>And looked down one as far as I could <br /></i><i>To where it bent in the undergrowth</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Of course, that is the beginning of Robert Frost's beautiful versification "The Road Not Taken." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've always related to Frost and this specific piece of poetry because of the final stage of the verse...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>"two roads diverged in a wood, and I...I took the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference."</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I sit in the Autumn of the year and look back at how I got here, I realize...I have taken the one less traveled. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whether it be a choice made for me or a choice made on my own, there haven't been a lot of passersby on this trail. Every once in a while, a random straggler shows up but for the most part, I have been Sal Paradise sans Dean Moriarty. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And that has made all the difference. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Regrets? I've had a few. But, overall, not a bad trip at all. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The road is life. Enjoy the ride. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro, Garamond, Baskerville, "Baskerville Old Face", "Hoefler Text", "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 20px; text-indent: -1em;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-14203161668871997572023-10-24T11:21:00.000-07:002023-10-24T11:21:09.038-07:00Too Many Mutha'uckas<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1xGzVfMr8AsC9F3P1R_dHf9Ymjf26Dr9NcpSES79rUPd33G0UPb9KpO86SQQjkgYhajkF1WXUmB1oJatZasyJWI_ZmjBA3-6wgdqOyLz_dMM7kQWBPq7zsDEyoyU7DMOzgVu7LGi5RdjaCHaU5ENWpeBkk3Wqok7FCR9_zcQ8DFCjJ9hEPpl2YnbaJac" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="621" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1xGzVfMr8AsC9F3P1R_dHf9Ymjf26Dr9NcpSES79rUPd33G0UPb9KpO86SQQjkgYhajkF1WXUmB1oJatZasyJWI_ZmjBA3-6wgdqOyLz_dMM7kQWBPq7zsDEyoyU7DMOzgVu7LGi5RdjaCHaU5ENWpeBkk3Wqok7FCR9_zcQ8DFCjJ9hEPpl2YnbaJac" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Too many Mutha'uckas 'uckin' with my shi-</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Bret McKenzie and Jermaine Clement, otherwise known as the Flight of the Conchords, created this quintessential anthem in 2008, which resonates with us all. "Too Many Mutha'uckas" takes us through a day in the life of Bret and Jermaine, who are just trying to get by but there are way too many passer-by personalities that try to "uck with their shi-."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We've all been there. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We are just rolling along on the carousel of life, moving things forward, getting stuff done, when all of a sudden, someone comes in and hits the emergency stop button on the ride. All momentum is lost, time is wasted, and you can't pass Go until you pay your toll to those with other agendas. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">They could be jealousy-driven agendas, insecure agendas, imaginary agendas, or just plain stupid agendas (naive agendas are a totally different animal and certainly allowed). </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But in the end, it's just way too many Mutha'uckas 'uckin' with our shi- and there is nothing we can do about it but plug in another quarter and wait for the ride to start back up. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The inevitability of life...way too many Mutha'uckas. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Side note; a really good way to forget about Mutha'uckas is to schedule some much-needed business time. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-83203671568788992552023-10-09T04:14:00.003-07:002023-10-11T05:22:51.376-07:00Is Anyone Sitting Here? <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ZhSEgtMQ_flJrfMz4lwVhNTcvUQlWjSBz9WWQjUpNyJ6gZiFkg4dqKDEn6ow_QcJfazCWM7aKknHGj5azHL84cOXGJe-ynb7Uw_HuxvBW37vNT4owbUQ4uileZUaejc51RZDja9XrY0SmelT8FaARIb1rYeSVIdJ-EfMTVPlmY3G6eUvNp6BtuLGJ8Y/s800/IMG_0039.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="800" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ZhSEgtMQ_flJrfMz4lwVhNTcvUQlWjSBz9WWQjUpNyJ6gZiFkg4dqKDEn6ow_QcJfazCWM7aKknHGj5azHL84cOXGJe-ynb7Uw_HuxvBW37vNT4owbUQ4uileZUaejc51RZDja9XrY0SmelT8FaARIb1rYeSVIdJ-EfMTVPlmY3G6eUvNp6BtuLGJ8Y/s320/IMG_0039.webp" width="320" /></a></div><p>Damnit. </p><p>The call. </p><p>The heart exploded. </p><p>The head tried to repair. </p><p><br /></p><p>I’ve been here. </p><p><br /></p><p>The moving memory. </p><p>The threats. </p><p>Camelot saved. </p><p>The forever loving bond. </p><p>The collateral. </p><p>Radio silence. </p><p>Damnit. </p><p>I’m here. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-43062625986713100712023-09-27T03:03:00.002-07:002023-09-27T03:03:38.772-07:00Why You Play The Game <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NjFCxzLfjDdX2x2CCIt653C18vtt7rtNl8orxLevdV5rokBAbyIxXvzUQeTXEixsSVxlfjEbvsD5ycFWklehbxxDFO3pAFe2DqZIIsnMh2h7M_GLF9gnwMcpcOTu6WVUCvO8fgh4sWyklX_Xo6gjUgI9M4JbnhgRdCbgJ0EPyUZxXWEUb38uUZUwN2g/s640/EC%20-%20AJ%20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9NjFCxzLfjDdX2x2CCIt653C18vtt7rtNl8orxLevdV5rokBAbyIxXvzUQeTXEixsSVxlfjEbvsD5ycFWklehbxxDFO3pAFe2DqZIIsnMh2h7M_GLF9gnwMcpcOTu6WVUCvO8fgh4sWyklX_Xo6gjUgI9M4JbnhgRdCbgJ0EPyUZxXWEUb38uUZUwN2g/s320/EC%20-%20AJ%20.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><i><span style="background-color: white;">When </span>I feel that chill...smell that fresh cut grass. Back in my helmet, cleats, and shoulder pads. Standing in the huddle, listening to the call. Fans going crazy for the Boys of Fall. </i><div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Kenny Chesney described what it's like to be one of the boys of Fall to a T. </div><div><br /></div><div>The emotions during the game. The brotherhood of the team. The cachet of wearing your jersey down the school hall. The glow of Friday night lights. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is so much more that comes with it though. Being a role model. Being able to ignite a smile. Being able to help kids dream. Being able to show others a path. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you do wear that jersey on Friday nights, Saturdays, or even Sundays, realize the impact you can make off the field. </div><div><br /></div><div>Life is a mix of a two-minute offense and a four-minute offense all at once. </div><div><br /></div><div>Touchdown. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><p></p><div><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div></div></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-47387307356509587512023-09-03T14:20:00.000-07:002023-09-03T14:20:10.328-07:00Lester<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVt6m3S2Nt2eTnIqVdLl0z_Bq1J9UmkhI7jUAujcIjbZu_99HUunAImO8Tn2yog6aWY-dDUK-9aEu48vVYGthjPyV65JHq00UU4c9AChlXqQn8QN31cdJhLcKnNzxpkwlHtGfWaYLYJEskRbPCCqtAf3eN5Z1-WJK3NkN1-3pybhS7W58WdXtmgxa6X4/s640/Joe%20and%20Lester.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="640" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVt6m3S2Nt2eTnIqVdLl0z_Bq1J9UmkhI7jUAujcIjbZu_99HUunAImO8Tn2yog6aWY-dDUK-9aEu48vVYGthjPyV65JHq00UU4c9AChlXqQn8QN31cdJhLcKnNzxpkwlHtGfWaYLYJEskRbPCCqtAf3eN5Z1-WJK3NkN1-3pybhS7W58WdXtmgxa6X4/s320/Joe%20and%20Lester.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>You meet all kinds of people on the road of life when the road is your path. </div><div><br /></div><div>About 10 years ago, Lester serendipitously entered my life (I have no idea of his last name). It was as if he got into the car and sat in the passenger seat from that point forward. Lester wasn't Dean Moriarty to my Sal Paradise but the road was different because of him. </div><div><br /></div><div>I was staying at a hotel and was spending my morn at the complimentary breakfast eating the usual fare of cold scrambled eggs and coffee, and needed some water (if memory serves me, I might have been up late the night before). There was no water to be found and I was struggling a bit. Lester was working at the hotel and I queried him for some hydration. He bemoaned the fact that he had told the powers that be that they should have a pitcher of water handy but they never listened to him. Several minutes later, Lester appeared with a pitcher and handed it to me and my morning fogginess started to dissipate.</div><div><br /></div><div>I would see Lester every now and then and he would impart such lessons as; </div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Don't overthink things. </li><li>Don't be outworked. </li><li>Find pleasure in the little things. </li><li>Find a hobby that satisfies your creative side. </li><li>Don't look in too many corners for advice.</li></ul><div>Recently, my wife and I saw Lester walking home. He invited us into his house to see his woodworking projects. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>We stayed and visited for quite a while. Lester told us about growing up in a foster home. He talked about his disabilities and how he tried to not let them stop him from doing what he enjoyed. He also shared that his new landlord has told him to find a new home after being there for 28 years (the new landlord didn't like the fact he did woodworking in his basement) I shared with him how much my visits with him impacted my life. As we were about to leave, Lester started tearing up. We told him we would check on him again soon. </div><div><br /></div><div>We most definitely will. </div><div><br /></div><div>You never know who you will meet on the road and what conversations and lessons get sparked. And you never know how life can change because of human touchpoints. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes, those who don't look the part, impart the most wisdom. </div><div><br /></div><div>Lester thinks of himself as a simple man. I think of Lester as one of the smartest people I know. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for the water, Lester. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> <br /><p></p><div><br /></div></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-61582126681816321152023-08-30T12:18:00.002-07:002023-08-30T12:18:28.683-07:00What Stirs You? <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsB3N4FcWOLYfvKQmlRxT1bBxOL--BRp-yZ486aWMHrbiFXdlusGcK9uPFxbOTrs1oDv7GF2ApRwYKAN-qfOVPnaRmLE6a98kMf2LWFHB8tI5ikITYCr6EiY-lEiV3x9Q955MINcP92Z3I8EYHrLbBHq7VuLkwlfZdTNf7lMGZ7vNM9UcH_xEiw-_QMSs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsB3N4FcWOLYfvKQmlRxT1bBxOL--BRp-yZ486aWMHrbiFXdlusGcK9uPFxbOTrs1oDv7GF2ApRwYKAN-qfOVPnaRmLE6a98kMf2LWFHB8tI5ikITYCr6EiY-lEiV3x9Q955MINcP92Z3I8EYHrLbBHq7VuLkwlfZdTNf7lMGZ7vNM9UcH_xEiw-_QMSs" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div>Margaritas, Daiquris, and Mojitos. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just a smattering of drinks that use a stir stick (affectionately known as a Swizzle stick). </div><div><br /></div><div>The stir stick is used to make the ingredients in a cocktail come to life. It brings the flavors to the forefront. It leads to the climax of the taste. </div><div><br /></div><div>Straight up or on the rocks, the Swizzle makes it all work. It's not the cocktail you want without this finishing touch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Life is one big cocktail. Bring it to life. </div><div><br /></div><div>Make it what you want and swizzle the hell out of it. Take the individual ingredients and make it life's double bubble. </div><div><br /></div><div>Belly up to the bar, don't wait for the last call, and make it the best effin Happy Hour you can. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-16662790666747981612023-08-14T05:06:00.000-07:002023-08-14T05:06:56.455-07:00The Power of Vulnerability<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjK_Eg0aq1ieJwSimLI3r_RyJDhRr6kEKdFQYrJYcaObW9BdHL8L-hBnRwvons57nF_0ngxArDYsdWjlPvUCatqJmMvy6X8aUBHbjsTns0xCi7XHw680WqhZf2KGL_jcyfj9Z3mfBcBqtMtVNFV9DPYQcKFWnazoxy4ZBjN9fsHvrsxLQX8w8HZiuuuq-M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1920" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjK_Eg0aq1ieJwSimLI3r_RyJDhRr6kEKdFQYrJYcaObW9BdHL8L-hBnRwvons57nF_0ngxArDYsdWjlPvUCatqJmMvy6X8aUBHbjsTns0xCi7XHw680WqhZf2KGL_jcyfj9Z3mfBcBqtMtVNFV9DPYQcKFWnazoxy4ZBjN9fsHvrsxLQX8w8HZiuuuq-M" width="320" /></a></div><br />Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. <p></p><p>Yes, the favorite son of Krypton, it's Superman. </p><p>Superman had several powers. One of the mightiest of heroes. Invulnerability was one of the more prominent tools in Supe's tool belt; <i>being immune or highly resistant to damage, hurt, injury, or disease. </i></p><p>Since it is highly doubtful that a tiny spacecraft carrying a mighty Kryptonian infant is going to make its way into our solar system anytime soon, finding someone with invulnerability is going to be a tall task. </p><p>So, let's look at the power of vulnerability. </p><p>To be vulnerable is inherently human but it's not a weakness. It's not an Achilles' heel. It's not kryptonite. </p><p>It's a gift and it's so powerful. </p><p>To be vulnerable to others is the ultimate trust fall. When you care about someone...when you love someone so powerfully that you can be vulnerable to them, you can drink the elixir that can lead to healing and growth. </p><p>Open up. Let it out. Be human and show your power of vulnerability. You will be ok. </p><p>It's kinda super...to be Clark Kent. </p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-43466495309969477342023-07-23T18:39:00.005-07:002023-07-23T18:56:50.213-07:00Blank Walls, Cleaning, and Cleansing <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDxpdNj1-Y-gfuOxciMm04U8o-WOfYQa5tHDTlS7qfdGerCob_OuMQqXmcvUiA6P_ni3_2esnbwjRBo31s5gdmlotUWD6RR79ZlzFhunUy1uJebwpqIMyBIgI2zJ_-KytK0k4O7kP8QZl3DWrtiINvtF7aXuHrrP7VGXM526d4LQJ7Wu4sDw0nHqfww0/s640/IMG_4366.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGDxpdNj1-Y-gfuOxciMm04U8o-WOfYQa5tHDTlS7qfdGerCob_OuMQqXmcvUiA6P_ni3_2esnbwjRBo31s5gdmlotUWD6RR79ZlzFhunUy1uJebwpqIMyBIgI2zJ_-KytK0k4O7kP8QZl3DWrtiINvtF7aXuHrrP7VGXM526d4LQJ7Wu4sDw0nHqfww0/s320/IMG_4366.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Beers for the buds. </p><p>Towels and blankets. </p><p>Goodwill trips. </p><p><i>When was the last time you used that Openfly vegetable corer tool anyway? </i></p><p>Yup...it's time to move again. </p><p>The stroll down memory lane is part nostalgic, part closure, and part life-loofah. </p><p>We've all been there. What was familiar, isn't anymore. What was home, is just an address. Even your Google Maps are confused. </p><p>Exhilarating, exhausting, exhaling. </p><p>Door closing...door opening kind of stuff. </p><p>It's change, baby. Roll with it. Onto the next step. </p><p>As Alan Watts once said...</p><p> <i>"The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it and join the dance."</i></p><p>May I have this dance? </p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>PS; It sure does help coaching football. Players and coaches usually know how to move! </i></p><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><p><span face=""Google Sans", Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-21469766182282497142023-07-07T07:44:00.001-07:002023-07-07T07:44:07.824-07:00What'll You Have?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8z4kbIBRWFOChvFxcsTiCpCgj8ByZ4Ii2Z_pOJfPPihZQp27At51yt3AP6rW-wlbwtL3LFXifZJMtkHtF4m6-GLniFru8e1lKBCtI4VdLkA_szaWg2fBCVhZ89zvyPE0vWqg3m16gJQT7-oiXXp54aJzjUbgImQaVQPj3i-XIP61DNuVVmwxORCuh3PU/s640/Martini%20for%20blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8z4kbIBRWFOChvFxcsTiCpCgj8ByZ4Ii2Z_pOJfPPihZQp27At51yt3AP6rW-wlbwtL3LFXifZJMtkHtF4m6-GLniFru8e1lKBCtI4VdLkA_szaWg2fBCVhZ89zvyPE0vWqg3m16gJQT7-oiXXp54aJzjUbgImQaVQPj3i-XIP61DNuVVmwxORCuh3PU/s320/Martini%20for%20blog.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />One part therapist. <p></p><p>One part advisor. </p><p>One part chemist. </p><p>One part best friend. </p><p>All the parts add up to constitute your local barkeep. </p><p>Truth be told, a good bartender makes the bar. </p><p>I've spent time on both sides of the bar in my life and I've come up with the perfect concoction for what makes the best mixologist. </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Good listener</li><li>Smart </li><li>Attentive</li></ul><div>And for F-sake...read the room. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are times when one needs to be alone to read, work, or contemplate life while peering into the depths of his whisky. And, then there are times when companionship, advice, and fellowship are required. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a tip...hone that Spidey sense of what is needed and when. More tips will follow. </div><div><br /></div><div>What'll you have? </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-18144716462366196272023-06-20T17:41:00.004-07:002023-06-20T17:42:13.929-07:00Chapters <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg--GbbO3Am5QpaMI5oCDbF94QX4subVBfeZvuC3hXaGB1kHWS8kUNa8OkeI2J_yRDHfX6naf1BXVRfn-7ZT4f7GjVEyD3VJ2hX-MRxJ6LzAIq3gG4sPtdB_lKssAPZSLfE-LOlESIBn_wj2g4qY88tTaxgXnrq-kNZ0Un-Gj3abtqeKoHSAFf4AvuOKFI/s540/Book%20page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="540" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg--GbbO3Am5QpaMI5oCDbF94QX4subVBfeZvuC3hXaGB1kHWS8kUNa8OkeI2J_yRDHfX6naf1BXVRfn-7ZT4f7GjVEyD3VJ2hX-MRxJ6LzAIq3gG4sPtdB_lKssAPZSLfE-LOlESIBn_wj2g4qY88tTaxgXnrq-kNZ0Un-Gj3abtqeKoHSAFf4AvuOKFI/s320/Book%20page.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Roller Coasters. </div><div><br /></div><div>Music. </div><div><br /></div><div>Dancing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Carousels. </div><div><br /></div><div>All intelligent and intuitive analogies for life. </div><div><br /></div><div>Time to hit the library...</div><div><br /></div><div>Several pages of my life are turning over in the wind. Pages turn into chapters. Chapters turn into books. The wind howls. </div><div><br /></div><div>I took some time to seek shelter from the gale. And, realized, this is life. Words blur and pages turn and before you know it, you are there...at the conclusion. </div><div><br /></div><div>But this book has many volumes. The epilogue and prologue are on rinse and repeat. </div><div><br /></div><div>But the point of the book is the same as the roller coaster, the song, the dance, or the carousel. It's not the end, but the process that's the real adventure. Enjoy it. Read it. Soak it in. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don't worry about the overdue fines. Just, dig in. <br /><br /></div><div><i>PS; there is nothing better than turning the page of a real book, while on a beach. Nothing like a little sand between your pages. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-79213059400319471712023-05-26T05:31:00.000-07:002023-05-26T05:31:09.911-07:00Trond and Enuc <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmrVwPk1PIfxMNyQUVQu7tH9VJs-PVu_QtZSu6m91O2d4_2F3vpyOHNZegReSvHC45krrQaKq1XfHp2FRR0x1dje1vCwzJ3R2sfAzdVpd3TtBcG3Is_zH8gXAu2ezGRb_txexC69s__xlFkx60-0MH6op2qoNORQJstNkDlB1aeaX0xyucwPjyJTV/s640/Iceland%20Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmrVwPk1PIfxMNyQUVQu7tH9VJs-PVu_QtZSu6m91O2d4_2F3vpyOHNZegReSvHC45krrQaKq1XfHp2FRR0x1dje1vCwzJ3R2sfAzdVpd3TtBcG3Is_zH8gXAu2ezGRb_txexC69s__xlFkx60-0MH6op2qoNORQJstNkDlB1aeaX0xyucwPjyJTV/s320/Iceland%20Mountains.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>They sound like characters in a Marvel movie or the next iteration of Lord of the Rings. But rest assured, they are very real people.<p></p><p>One is a tour guide in Iceland. The other is a tour guide in Costa Rica. One is a large Norseman who resembles a long-lost brother of Thor. And the other, a standing member of Menudo. </p><p>So different, yet also so alike. </p><p>Both had a sense of adventure but took great care of their guests. Both were extremely knowledgeable but did not have an ounce of patronization. </p><p>You sensed both suffered through their own trials, pains, and loss. You sensed both spent time searching for their answers. Searching for their own guides. </p><p>You also sensed an inner peace while on their own trails. An inner peace with their human connections with those that start as strangers but end as teammates or partners in adventures. </p><p>Life itself is the greatest adventure or tour ever created. So, allow yourself to be led by trusted guides but also explore, so that one day, you become the guide and can lead others. </p><p>Watch your step. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-72539713948922652902023-05-16T06:35:00.000-07:002023-05-16T06:35:13.038-07:00X's and O's and XOXO<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcyXkxdI4RQ8TWfFfCfmOUqKbuK3pe8q2cd_8EHjvfXevwFijJZaHhzb0ShT8QfV9Q3jA9YV_aTr3TDxagxDoi2jT2GGlsJy-CTLOurhmVRvJ0y3np-CEFieul30vozq50rereYWA5cFI8Mins9Dfkw5CSyF3gwKVIGXWrRJEVtb46KrxYIBKQ-nG/s640/Charlie,%20Cam,%20and%20Me%20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcyXkxdI4RQ8TWfFfCfmOUqKbuK3pe8q2cd_8EHjvfXevwFijJZaHhzb0ShT8QfV9Q3jA9YV_aTr3TDxagxDoi2jT2GGlsJy-CTLOurhmVRvJ0y3np-CEFieul30vozq50rereYWA5cFI8Mins9Dfkw5CSyF3gwKVIGXWrRJEVtb46KrxYIBKQ-nG/s320/Charlie,%20Cam,%20and%20Me%20.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><i>"A good coach can change a game. A great coach can change a life." </i></p><p>The great John Wooden. </p><p>Simply put. Eloquently said. </p><p>The job of a coach transcends the work on the field or court. The lessons apply to the game of life. Everyday day living and learning. </p><p>A good coach certainly knows the fundamentals of the sport. The X's and O's. A great coach though, knows the fundamentals of the player. At the very core, one has to show they care. Truly care about the individual as a person. Genuine love. </p><p>Once you combine these, you can't lose. The final score will ring true. In sports, and in life. </p><p>Scoreboard. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-84367739676625952892023-05-05T18:17:00.001-07:002023-05-05T18:17:43.971-07:00AI? Aye-Yi-Yi <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvulksbftIfxEcNsAgnsqD_9ktiHHEcTCBwROFDw3k0_jZyUoKHA7KBCkwlRfVWp4j3TZ9wfhx1U6GtorWDlT4ju-TIvEadzCIKuw2Bd82vl4p9I8027L_GxbEMvMxpny0tA9u-YWHYfcOTTqZVmsyv0fpM8xdoaPSzQO1W161JAwDdtnzNPvTdvhY/s976/AI.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="976" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvulksbftIfxEcNsAgnsqD_9ktiHHEcTCBwROFDw3k0_jZyUoKHA7KBCkwlRfVWp4j3TZ9wfhx1U6GtorWDlT4ju-TIvEadzCIKuw2Bd82vl4p9I8027L_GxbEMvMxpny0tA9u-YWHYfcOTTqZVmsyv0fpM8xdoaPSzQO1W161JAwDdtnzNPvTdvhY/s320/AI.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">AI </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Artificial intelligence. No matter where you are or what you do in life, AI is buzzing around our Broca and Wernicke areas like gnats around the eerie blue light of the bug zapper in our backyard. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We hear about how it will affect everything. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Redefine the game. Change the rules. Rewire the hard drive of life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div>No doubt. </div><div><br /></div><div>But just like the grainy feeling of sand on an actual paperback novel page as you read on the beach, AI is no substitute for the real thing. </div><div><br /></div><div>It seems the further we push the envelope with technology, the further away we get from the actual feeling of an envelope. </div><div><br /></div><div>No matter how we progress, there is no higher bar than; </div><div><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>A caress</li><li>A hug</li><li>A whisper</li><li>A kiss </li><li>A tear </li><li>A smile </li><li>A glance</li><li>A touch...</li><li>A thought</li></ul></div><div>Advance, but don't forget, EI is always stronger than AI. </div><div><br /></div><div>Feel. Always, feel. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><br /><p></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-41242842498541325212023-04-21T06:29:00.000-07:002023-04-21T06:29:36.187-07:00Clear the Mechanism <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUZPCYaC0zbPHoT96sAKr2IaMbveCc7WTFU7APZo5Mov_Sp47PV9cd9j5amhlF87yKCkMwzCl0uoRPCENUBA5iZYFyfPbJq9Ihm4DLfKvUvEbV_E_EKIUKACS1Qm4TQXMUwOkPv8tqFDLscthfmnAkTlR1VZKGi15e_5kjGN9vWinzA-5Z8JY_-HN-" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhUZPCYaC0zbPHoT96sAKr2IaMbveCc7WTFU7APZo5Mov_Sp47PV9cd9j5amhlF87yKCkMwzCl0uoRPCENUBA5iZYFyfPbJq9Ihm4DLfKvUvEbV_E_EKIUKACS1Qm4TQXMUwOkPv8tqFDLscthfmnAkTlR1VZKGi15e_5kjGN9vWinzA-5Z8JY_-HN-" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Billy Chapel. </p><p>The iconic character in "For Love of the Game." </p><p>As he prepares to dig in for his starting assignment against the Yankees, you get a peek behind his mental curtain on the mound. </p><p><i>"Clear the mechanism." </i></p><p>Chapel says this to himself to block out the noise so he can focus on the task at hand. </p><p>It's a powerful mindset. Not easy to do, but when successful, it's gold. </p><p>We have so much noise in our lives. Coming from outside and inside. To insulate oneself from it all is the key to the kingdom. </p><p>Find your own path to clear the mechanism. When the noise is deadened, it's well-oiled. When the noise overflows, we no longer can prosper. </p><p>"Clear the mechanism."</p><p>Strike three! </p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-13431606736486738112023-04-15T13:11:00.000-07:002023-04-15T17:42:34.548-07:00The Circle of Mistakes <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3sePyHN1HUwQ0GHhsppNbc_Q5g8lWQN2qqxO8YMjJosPfkBoIOU2n-RcDQk_Qn_GvImb3BJDzAfEl2FJcMOZTDmHnjcdKX1A6fgMgc-KMuEXuI7zTuMsC-Nnmds4ptcZxSNeSgVL94li_BjlSaFAyuFNJVGKY1j4tkl6X3CFzJyr3gSoTrFkNAytW" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3sePyHN1HUwQ0GHhsppNbc_Q5g8lWQN2qqxO8YMjJosPfkBoIOU2n-RcDQk_Qn_GvImb3BJDzAfEl2FJcMOZTDmHnjcdKX1A6fgMgc-KMuEXuI7zTuMsC-Nnmds4ptcZxSNeSgVL94li_BjlSaFAyuFNJVGKY1j4tkl6X3CFzJyr3gSoTrFkNAytW" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div>Several years ago, I made a big mistake. Not my only one mind you, but a memorable one that I learned from. <p></p><p>A younger friend of mine made the same mistake. He admitted it to our group because it was better for him to share than for us to find out. I gave him the headline at the time that I made the same mistake and that we understood. </p><p>He reached out recently to talk about the mistake again. His was still fresh. Mine was much older. Mine already had cobwebs growing on it and you could see a tinge of rust but nevertheless, still clear in my mind. </p><p>That's the thing about mistakes. We all make them. Hopefully, we learn from them and move on. </p><p>But more importantly, maybe we can help someone weather the eye of the storm of their mistake. </p><p>I was able to bring perspective and experience to my conversation with my younger friend. Hopefully, my post-storm, rearview mirror look helped him through his front windshield view. </p><p>If my mistake became his GPS on how to get through his, then the circle of life worked. </p><p>Circle of life. Circle of mistakes. </p><p>Same thing. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-11113344130277850222023-04-04T06:19:00.001-07:002023-04-04T06:19:18.547-07:00The Tiniest of Slivers <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigs12gMktk2BctoaYOlrYmuMLpQHcFT_dU5WY1eD67sJzHNEB1biYV5F-POzLIdoxW0nIVLp9mZ8PzCOZNUhenVud-ss6YFRvKURMT5ZubhF1KBN6XgN6cX4-9oo84zJc8IqkBtHfvVLbNdBrwxb4OOii1HFJ1-_HqvP3Z814aIHKAQyKUcCPXaQxV" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="626" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigs12gMktk2BctoaYOlrYmuMLpQHcFT_dU5WY1eD67sJzHNEB1biYV5F-POzLIdoxW0nIVLp9mZ8PzCOZNUhenVud-ss6YFRvKURMT5ZubhF1KBN6XgN6cX4-9oo84zJc8IqkBtHfvVLbNdBrwxb4OOii1HFJ1-_HqvP3Z814aIHKAQyKUcCPXaQxV" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>We only need a sliver. </p><p>A hairline barely visible to the naked eye. </p><p>Strain if need be to see it. </p><p>During the darkest of times, focus on that small crack of light. </p><p>It can guide you through the clouds. </p><p>But, the clouds do serve a purpose. Without the blanket of pain or adversity, the comforting hand of hope is powerless. The beauty of the light doesn't shine. </p><p>Know the clouds will come. But, also know the flickering will ignite. </p><p>Death and life. Tears and smiles. </p><p>Feel. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2392757298986217564.post-91882618336223190562023-03-26T06:40:00.001-07:002023-03-26T06:40:39.828-07:00The Lost and Found <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNTAXDCgja4v1ey4X186-kqNYAOIvXjHXlsPGwlbiVqctKu22PfGn3m6oOFIExXoYCRCcaOIaIoyFuj3ZJNoO3kSjSzJJFpyHHOzvtTqGcv3LMT5iGbB-k5iRb24Hujcdz4Y8aBAohcgKPsaDKzDRMsAxikg8eablvF1mUHYkvWlUD7P4__aRw4Tga" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="238" data-original-width="656" height="116" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNTAXDCgja4v1ey4X186-kqNYAOIvXjHXlsPGwlbiVqctKu22PfGn3m6oOFIExXoYCRCcaOIaIoyFuj3ZJNoO3kSjSzJJFpyHHOzvtTqGcv3LMT5iGbB-k5iRb24Hujcdz4Y8aBAohcgKPsaDKzDRMsAxikg8eablvF1mUHYkvWlUD7P4__aRw4Tga" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>A virtual potpourri of nostalgia. </p><p>Some of it is not even remembered by anyone. </p><p>Some of it is remembered by a few. </p><p>The random box in the corner you would find at a multitude of public destinations. Stores, hotels, venues, etc. </p><p><i>The lost and found. </i></p><p>For the purpose of this narrative though, we'll look at the lost and found that matters most. Not the one full of stuff. The one that's full of life. </p><p>Life is about the lost and found. </p><p>We've all lost and have felt lost. Most of us eventually find and have felt found. </p><p>When you are lost, keep searching for the found. It's there. Sometimes, in the most unlikely corners of the world but it's there. <i>"When one door closes..."</i></p><p>Gary Clark and John Carney created a beautiful song entitled, "The Lost and Found." Give it a listen...</p><p><i>There's a light. You never get back. Once it dies. </i></p><p><i>And it's alive. And it's waiting for us. At the lost and found. </i></p><p>At the lost and found. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Joe Daguannohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087841245723517360noreply@blogger.com0