Journal : OpenRoadWorks

It was a long week. Travel, non-stop continuous motion on meetings, discussions, phone calls, conversations, and teleconferences. Even a Southwest flight could not offer respite from the commotion that surrounded this week, chattering with a sweet man 56 years into his marriage with a just-as-sweet wife joining him for a trip to celebrate his godson's college graduation. All wonderful activities and occurrences. Magical in their own right. But when I finally turned down the street towards my home, all that motion and commotion fell away. It is a feeling we have all experienced at some point, that feeling of belonging somewhere, where you belong. It can be a condo, apartment, mansion, split-level, single-family, rowhome, townhome, cityhome, or mobile home. The place does not matter, as long as it evokes that feeling of peace that you have arrived. So there I am, with a beautiful wife to boot. Just enough to put my feet up and enjoy being home.

My wife does not like frogs. Neither do I exactly, but I can tolerate them if they mind their own business - and they don't multiply. So imagine the surprised call I received from my wife in the upstairs bedroom when she was three frogs sitting around our pond this afternoon, enjoying the steamy weather that is DC after some hot sticky days and hard morning rains. I was OK with one, then somehow he picked up a friend, and now a third has tagged along. They outnumber our fish - only one, Mickey, is left, a big fish in a little pond - and they are coming from nowhere... seemingly. Frogs - should I be worried? (photo courtesy of the National Wildlife Foundation 2006 photo contest )

Once upon a time, when I was four feet tall, I would wake up on mornings just like this and charge down the stairs towards a television set. In those days, you had to pull the knob - the remote was fantasy. And when you pulled the knob at a magical hour such as this, you would find The Smurfs, The Flintstones, Muppet Babies, Pink Panther, and other classics dancing across the screen. It was a time suspended from reality, chores, and fraternal badgering; it was a time of joy and good overcoming evil. And it was all available at the pull of a knob. Fast forward 20 years. I am two feet taller. I am decades older. And I no longer watch Saturday Morning Cartoons. But for this moment, when I am happy just waking up and pushing all other cares aside, I remember those days briefly and how good it felt to pull the knob and disappear among the clouds, or Mr. T's Adventures as it were.