tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-146672262024-03-07T17:04:24.462-05:00rekkidbloggarekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.comBlogger220125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-3958764261649107662018-10-15T14:37:00.002-04:002018-10-15T14:38:36.608-04:00Somebody's babyThe next time you find yourself saying that something is unfair, think about the number of people in this country who go missing each day, are murdered or who commit suicide. Those people are suddenly just gone -- they're out of the lives of the people who love them most and most of them will only live on in memories that fade over time.
That's the definition of what's unfair in life. Thank God rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-7263910598355595042018-09-28T14:05:00.000-04:002018-09-28T15:50:06.760-04:00This conversation is going nowhereIt's fitting, perhaps, that current national attention is generally focused on the debate over whether what we do at 17 defines us as adults. Judging by the discourse on social media, there are plenty of folks out there who certainly write like they're stuck in the teen years. Or maybe pre-school.
If you're going to start viewing the Adult Me as Me At 17, you may as well know the hard, cold rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-43219704793465639362018-09-26T17:33:00.000-04:002018-09-26T18:44:53.445-04:00When you grow upMaybe you don't believe, when you're 17, that the kid sitting next to you in high school English class won't always be a clown or the pretty girl or Most Popular Boy. You may think he or she will always make snide or stupid remarks about you or your friends or, really, just anyone not in their own little clique. It might not seem possible that someday, you'll be the one wishing that you were morerekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-30479075294737931592008-09-24T19:04:00.003-04:002008-09-24T19:19:09.895-04:00Pan, risingMy neighbor kid, Lance, is 13. He's a thoughtful kid, bright and friendly. He's in seventh grade and it's clear, from our intermittent chats outside over the fence that separates our yards, that he gives real consideration to the things he's interested in and I really respect that about him.Lance is in band and was telling me that this year he's moved on from saxophone, which he played in 6th rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-33294624069888175092008-07-29T12:30:00.002-04:002008-07-29T12:39:56.514-04:00And the strange thing is, I should careFor the past month, I've gone swimming nearly every weekend and, lately, on weekdays when I get off from work. I'm doing it because the truth is that I have nothing else going on, no other way to fill my afternoons, so I may as well go to the pool at the park. Nobody knows me there - not really - and for a couple of hours each day I can find a way to enjoy the intruding solitude and quiet that isrekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-58501362286978333482008-06-03T17:41:00.009-04:002008-06-07T12:28:43.509-04:00The bitch is backTechnically, summer doesn't start until June 21 but in my world it's officially summertime once the first flying insect invades the inner sanctum of my home. Wasps, bees, hornets -- they all have a place in nature but not in my guest bedroom. Got wings, stingers and flit or buzz about? Forget lunch. We're doing battle. When my father was alive, the unsavory task of killing icky things in our rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-15912508305654165152008-05-26T17:58:00.002-04:002008-05-26T18:19:14.330-04:00Rebel, RebelYesterday it hit me just how old I really am now. When I seriously considered calling 911 on the guy in the park who was tooling around on his dirtbike, giving rides to little kids, I knew I was a card-carrying member of the Old, In The Way And No Fun No More club. To be fair, the law was totally on my side. He was breaking a slew of rules. First, there's a big yellow sign at all four park rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-36353407901249700162008-03-29T16:14:00.003-04:002008-03-29T16:16:22.989-04:00Death be not proudMy favorite little pizza joint closed, quietly and unceremoniously, after 15 years. They made the best pizza around this area, the finest salads, desserts, pastas, etc., and were friendly to everyone who walked in the door.I miss my friends.rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-65676612267585967512008-03-15T12:56:00.003-04:002008-03-15T13:26:02.211-04:00In like a lionI found out today that a distant cousin's eight-year-old son died this week. "He got hung up in his treehouse." That's the cause of death, I was told.It's not the way childhood should end.rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-5528857354901264782008-03-11T15:48:00.003-04:002008-03-15T12:56:38.067-04:00Got your backStanding in line at the Post Office Sunday*, I noticed the lady in front of me continually turning to look behind us at the doors. At first I reckoned she was, like everyone else, glancing back to see how long the line - which stretched past the entrance - was getting. But she kept turning every minute or so, like clockwork, her brow knitted. She was sending a brightly-colored box, the "From" rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-42575228096632755862008-02-22T11:46:00.002-05:002008-02-22T11:56:37.586-05:00Yes I amIf you weren't already suspecting it, I'll put it out there for public consumption now.I'm conservative. I vote Republican. That doesn't mean I blindly agree with all right side of the aisle issues and thoughts, though. I think for myself on issues. I believe what I believe. Most of my friends are liberal folks who vote Democrat and disagree with me on many issues. Hey, it's all good.I think rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-75853678431207370272008-02-17T11:28:00.005-05:002008-02-17T12:00:11.782-05:00Final runEd from the Sports copy desk died this week. Another guy ran a red light and slammed into Ed's car. That was that -- the end of a life.Our newspaper offered buyouts to a number of newsroom employees last summer and Ed was among the group who left. He enjoyed six months of retirement before he died at 3 p.m. on a busy stretch of suburban Atlanta road. He was in his early 60s but didn't look it. Edrekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-34155225430730885222008-02-16T19:24:00.003-05:002008-02-16T19:33:50.729-05:00Saturday in the ParkThis is the second straight Saturday I've been lucky enough to meet my friend Deanna and her sweet dog Roxy for a Piedmont Park playdate. It's great to get out of my house, on one hand, just for a little break. Because I need the time off, no matter how short it is. One thing that I can't help thinking, whenever I'm walking through the park, is that I'm not doing anything all that special. rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-51325813732008448132007-11-25T00:32:00.000-05:002007-11-25T00:39:29.988-05:00You leadYesterday I spent a couple of hours raking the front yard. It felt good doing honest work outside. The air was crisp and I wanted to be out of the house, just for a short while. Most of the time, my weekends aren't my own. But this -- raking leaves, of all things -- was my choice. I wasn't told to do it. It wasn't pushed on me. It was relaxing, sort of like dancing in its own way with a silent, rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-73695050315624806932007-11-23T17:47:00.000-05:002007-11-23T17:50:35.187-05:00One to 10 and back againNo, I haven't forgotten this blog. Or the two folks who read it. (Hey y'all.) I've been crazy busy with work, Mama, etc. It never ends.Just a quick note to promise this: I'll try blogging here more often because I miss writing down all my nothingness.I hope everyone had a Happy Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for just being here a day at a time, doing the best I can.rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-52781823657732722772007-08-11T11:11:00.001-04:002007-08-11T12:10:35.067-04:00Heard you missed me, I'm backFirst things first: Why I've been away for two months, just about.My mom had emergency surgery July 12 to remove a small intestinal blockage (a bezoar -- Google that, y'all) and that turned out fine. No issues, really. But she's still in rehab (please, no Amy Winehouse jokes) to get strong enough to come home. Once she does come home, she'll require some sort of care during the day when I'm rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-83497889867833484052007-06-12T15:14:00.000-04:002007-06-12T15:16:27.435-04:00And I couldn't understand her, besidesThis, from my first-ever blog, written in summer 2001:I want to thank you for giving me the best day of my lifeToday at 2:20 p.m. EST, I am doing a "Three Questions With Dido" phone-in interview with Her Didoness. Yep. She of "Here With Me" and "Thank You" pop-lite Top 40 singles hits and Eminem samples. My co-workers think this is a great development in my "career" and that I should be happy. rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-12437000493512535372007-06-10T10:35:00.001-04:002008-06-15T15:08:29.903-04:00How do I love thee? Let me count the clicksMy friend D. is e-dating. Sort of. Well, the process of finding e-love and e-happiness with her e-soulmate has begun, anyway. She signed up for the most recent eHarmony.com "Free Communication Weekend" promotion and now she can't beat the e-boys off with a virtual stick. Since submitting her personality profile, D. is like the prom queen of eHarmony High. Swarthy e-dudes looking for That Special rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-26218240670544060122007-06-07T08:30:00.000-04:002007-06-07T08:36:02.187-04:00Stop snitchin'At 5:30 a.m. today I woke myself up when I yelled out "IT'S BECAUSE HE ASKED, SO SHUT UP!"I'd pointed out two girls who'd ripped off our teacher's 1940s-era radio microphone as he'd been giving us details for a really important upcoming test. He'd already been interrupted numerous times and finally, when the mike was nicked, he said "OK, WHO took the mike?" The girls were putting the earpods of rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-22896372656582451232007-06-01T13:47:00.000-04:002007-06-01T13:48:33.158-04:00JoyeuxJanna's back!rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-22843838107358446162007-05-31T20:03:00.000-04:002007-05-31T20:12:01.702-04:00Last Taps for DaddyVanessa's Daddy passed away Monday after fighting emphysema and pneumonia. Her Mommy passed on last year at this time, June 2 to be exact. When I talked to Vanessa this morning, I told her how sorry I was but that now Daddy and Mommy were together again. She agreed. Daddy was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army for almost 30 years. Like my own daddy, he was a career military man who wore the uniformrekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-10047182435803066122007-05-28T11:22:00.000-04:002007-05-28T11:25:08.172-04:00Thanks, y'allTo all our servicemen and women, past and present, and their families: Thank you for your courage, honor, dignity and sacrifice. We appreciate and love you. We do.All the best to you this Memorial Day.rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-12364763609384375512007-05-24T18:52:00.000-04:002007-05-24T18:55:05.547-04:00It goes onPeople have been asking themselves why we are here long before I was born. But shouldn't the question really be "Does it even matter?"rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-66673838243523040592007-05-15T20:23:00.000-04:002007-05-15T20:27:42.171-04:00DisconsolationThis week, I just don't like people. Next week it could be okay again but this week, no.rekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14667226.post-42095220441528291652007-05-13T19:50:00.000-04:002007-05-13T19:55:23.362-04:00D.I.Y.One of my former bosses had it right on: If you want something done, and done right, you don't ask for help. You do it yourself. You count on you because you know that when it comes right down to it, you can depend on yourself. You can never really know that other people are going to come through in the clutch, even if you thought they were the type.She did tell me that I was the exception to herrekkidbrakahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05614376904992515914noreply@blogger.com0