It's a beautiful life

Looking back over my brief blogging history, there are many conclusions to be drawn. I’m a Packer fan, first and foremost, and a sports nut in general. I’m a Democrat, a liberal, a progressive – call me what you will – just not Republican, conservative, or stupid (not to be redundant).

It goes without saying, but I’m not rich either. Or am I?

Read on if you care – or dare – to learn more.

I’m sitting in “Lonnie’s Lounge,” a glorified workshop equipped with carpeting, cable television (though no more CBS), a refrigerator, a pizza oven (direct from a bar), a stereo (that plays when it wants) and wireless internet. Packer memorabilia adorns the room, though I keep the valuables inside.

It's 106 miles to Chicago, we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses. But I digress.

Looking up from my laptop (which seldom rests on my lap) we see a poster, a bumper sticker and various barbeque tools. The poster features Lambeau Field, Brett Favre and Reggie White and reads, “Sure there’s more to life than football (but not much).” It’s the only poster I ever bought for myself AND a friend.

The bumper sticker is tacked to the bottom of the poster. I didn’t want to ruin the adhesive, so it’d be available for potential future uses. I also feared The Decider might rule it appropriate to vandalize the vehicles of infidels. Its message is simple – “Bush/Cheney For Prison.” A fella can dream, can’t he?

Within my field of vision is my bike, a black and blue Giant (literally) that has accompanied me on two trans-Iowa journeys of RAGBRAI. It’s attached to a trainer now, testament to my intentions to be better prepared this year.

Over my right shoulder, my adoring dog (my son’s technically) is asleep in the recliner – on his back. He seems to prefer that position. And no, he’s not smiling, that’s just the worst underbite you’ve ever seen. But he loves me unconditionally. The feeling is mutual.

Overhead, walnut season has passed, thankfully. Gone, for now, are the days when my neighbor’s tree releases those bombs with regular but unpredictable frequency. I’ll recognize that tree, if ever I move. Until then, I’ll wish I’d been more observant – and, perhaps, less enamored with the workshop.

Haphazardly placed to my upper right – above the window in a place that looks suspiciously like there was already a nail so, why not? – is perhaps the closest glimpse of my soul. For lack of a better word, I’ll call it a plaque – though it’d be much more at home in a double-wide than an office.

But its message is more important than its medium. From someone named Frederick S. Perls:

I do my thing and you do your thing
I am not in this world to live up to your expectations
And you are not in this world to live up to mine
You are you and I am I
And if by chance we find each other
It’s beautiful