Janicek.com

Work was light today. Traffic home was light today. It rained all day. I guess a lot of people stayed home. Or are working late. I took the detour on the way home to get gas at 7-Eleven. After filling the truck up I decided I’d swing by the creek on the way home to see if we’d gotten enough rain to fill it. Slaughter Creek has turned into a dry creek in the past few years. It takes a lot of rain in and around Austin, and especially northwest of here.

I turned into the park and I just started getting choked up. It’s gray and drizzling outside. If I closed my eyes for two minutes and reopened them, I could probably convince myself that this is late December. I imagine myself suprised and excited to see that there’s actually water flowing through Slaughter Creek in the park. I imagine turning the truck around and driving home fast to get Mara.

“Hey, c’mon! Put some cruddy shorts and shoes on and let’s go to the creek!”

“Meh.”

“Oh, c’mon! It’ll be fun!”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Yeah?”

“Nooo. I don’t really want to.”

“What?! Why not.”

“Because it’s kind of dumb and it’s boring.”

“IT. IS. NOT. DUMBANDBORNING!”

“…”

[I am calm and being fatherly and introspective henceforth. And I’m still imagining.]

“You know what? I have really good memories of you and me and that creek. In fact, most of my absolute best memories of my life as a dad are of you and me and that creek. It was always our thing. You were always up for an adventure. Most of the time you wouldn’t even ask. I’d just come find you playing in the house somewhere and say, ‘go put on some junky clothes. We’re going on an adventure!’ And you’d run off and get changed and be ready faster than me. We’d walk along the trail. We’d wade in the water. We’d skip rocks. You’d climb the big oak limb that hung just a couple feet above the creek bed. I honestly don’t remember a single conversation that we had. I like to think I maybe gave you some life advice, things to remember, and things to remember me by, and just some dadisms in general.

It was the millions of things we talked about. I know I’ve taught you what an oak tree is and what an elm tree is. I know we talked a lot about Moana. And school, friends, family, red-tail hawks, snakes, bugs, jobs, money, dreams, dewberries, and probably some family history. And there was always a lot of laughing.

And you’re my youngest child and you’re growing up! You’re growing up too fast and I resent you for it and I’m angry at myself because I could’ve-should’ve-would’ve and I’m FIFTY-goddamn-years-old now and I can’t claw back any of those 14 years and three months since the day I met you in person.

You’re my baby girl. And you’re not a baby anymore. The grass has all grown in under the swing in the front yard. I’m getting older. Time just goes by so damn fast the older’ya get.

Just… Come hang out with your dad by the creek. I’m sure you could get some good photos.”

That conversation didn’t happen. There wasn’t any water in the creek. That conversation probably wouldn’t’ve even happend that way. I mean, it’s what I would’ve wanted to say, but I’m not very quick or as thoughtful on my feet. Although it’s what’s in my heart.

The conversation that we actually had was:

“Hey! Guess what I did today?!”

“Pooped? Cleaned your room? Went swimming?”

“Noooo.”

“Made sure no one stole your phone?”

“Noooo. I went running! I went up to Gorzycki and, well, the first two laps I forgot to record…”

And, as you’d probably imagine, the conversation quickly shifted. As did our creek.

Six days shy of my 13th runniversary. I ran up to Mt. Bonnell in Austin with Jenny and the crew from Rise & Run South Austin this morning when I hit 1 million feet of climbing. That’s like climbing Mt. Everest over 34 times.

In a day and age of apps, AI, services, and whatever the hell else people throw money at to make their lives “easier” and “more efficient” and “informed” I’ll be damned if I don’t have three weather apps on my phone and each one has a different story about the current temperature and forecast. I rarely use weather apps anymore. Fool me once, shame on you…

I was doing a two-day overdue cleaning of the kitchen sink and stove area this evening and, while I was on a tear, I thought I might go ahead and clean out the French press. I was about to fill it with water, spin the contents into a vortex, and take the vessel outside to throw its contents out into the yard. I do this exercise daily, execpt it’s always very early in the morning, when I’m waiting for the water to boil so I can make my coffee. Used coffee ground are good for the lawn. I’ve been doing this for years. It’s part of my daily ritual.

I didn’t take the coffee grounds out this evening because it’s a breach of my ritual and thus impedes my really, really good weather app, which is me walking outside, into the fresh air in the morning to experience, first hand, what the weather is like. Granted, it doesn’t really matter in the Summer in Texas because it’s hot and humid. It could be raining, but that usually doesn’t happen between June and September.

I like to know what the weather, specifically the temperature, is like outside because I run in the mornings and I need to know how to dress. Again, in the Summer it doesn’t really matter. During the Summer it’s shorts and shoes. Sometimes a shirt. In the Winter it depends. It can get really cold here. And it can be bone-chillingly humid. If I’m going out for a jog or a slow long run, I’ll need to bundle up more. Sometimes I need gloves and a hat. Sometimes I don’t. I don’t know unless I go outside and check the weather before I lace up and head out. I’m not relying on an app or a weather service.

I don’t know why I wrote all this. I guess it’s to say that when I need to know what the weather’s doing, I go outside, into the weather. And my lush St. Augustine yard and earthworms like coffee grounds and the nitrogen and phosphorus it provides.

The coffee grounds from early this morning are still in there in the press. I’ll fill it halfway with water and swirl it around tomorrow morning, just like I always do. It’ll be hot and humid at 4-something a.m. tomorrow. I know it. But I’ll still verify it. It’s what I do.

It’s almost July and I’m thinking about Christmas. I just had a nice thought. I remember when I was a tween or a young teen, my parents and I had been living in Cat Spring for a few years. I think it was Christmastime and both of my older sisters had come to stay with us. We lived in a big 3-bedroom house. My parents had their room. I had mine. And there was the guest room, next to mine. My sisters shared the guest room. I think we all went to bed around the same time that night, which I guess might’ve been Christmas Eve. And it was probably late because we were all almost 40 years younger back then. And dad was still alive. Man.

I remember lying in my bed with my door closed and hearing my sisters chatting and giggling and banging around in the bathroom and unpacking bags and suitcases. This carries on for a bit, but begins to quiet down. I guess they’re brushing teeth and turning out lights. Now I think it’s quiet enough to where I can close my eyes and fall asleep.

Then I guess they both get into bed and the chatting and giggling start again. There are also many moments of roaring laughter.

I’d think that 11 or 12 year-old me might be inclined to become angry and frustrated with the chatter from my sisters in the room over. I didn’t. I closed my eyes and smiled and reveled in it. It was the sound of laughter from the rooms of children on Christmas Eve. I was actually the only child in the house. My sisters were already adults, living on their own, living adult lives. But we were and are always children of the family. And we were all there together for Christmas. The family was happy. There was always laughter.

I never wrote it on a to-do list. But it’s been stored away, in the back of my mind for a decade. Maybe two.

The lion head door knocker conveyed with the house when we bought it in 2004. If memory serves, the knocker was fully functional when we took ownership, and for some years thereafter. Elise might remember. I haven’t asked her yet.

Again, if memory serves, he served as our door guardian for years sans the knocker ring gripped in his jaw. So, some years ago, I bent a piece of solid steel tubing in as close to a circle as I could get it. My temporary knocker design satisfied the form, but not the function. And he hung there for more years with his “functioning aesthetic.”

I could never bring myself to get rid of the lion. He’s unique. He came with the very first house we bought; it’s the same house we live in right now. He’s seen a million faces come and go through that front door. He remembers them all so I don’t have to. I can’t get rid of him. I look at him and I smile because I know he has seen those million faces come and go through that front door.

I’ve owed him a strong and sturdy striker.

I’ll defer to Elise on motif. For now, I’ve brought him back to fuction over form.

“Is that normal?”

“…”

“…”

“Oh! Do you mean my heart rate?”

“Yes.”

“…”

“I’m a runner.”

At this point the nurse anesthetist has started to push the plunger on the large cc syringe containing the milky white Propofol into my IV.

“Do you have any races coming up?”

“Nothing on the calendar but I ran the Boston Marathon a few weeks ago.”

“That’s fantastic. How did you do? What was your time?”

“Two fifty five”

Those were the last words that came out of my mouth. I’d already lined up my questions for her in my head because it sounded like she might’ve been a runner and we could’ve had ourselves a little conversation before it was lights out for yours truly. But it was already lights out for yours truly.

That’s the summary of my first colonoscopy experience.

Apparantly, aside from me being a lightweight anasthesia partier, everything went great. Clean colonoscopy. No abnormalities. No polyps. And I don’t have to get another colonoscopy for 10 years. And that’s a good thing because the “prep” for a colonoscopy is a shitty experience. Pun intended.

Today’s a hard day. It’s difficult. It’s bittersweet.

Elise and Maly just left Charleston West Virginia.

Maly has wanted to come home for almost a year now. Maybe more. Maybe less. You’d have to ask her. We left on August 13, 2024 to move her up to Charleston for college.

She made it two years, but after spending the better part of that second year injured, she decided to call it an end to her college lacrosse career at the University of Charleston. And with that decision, she decided that she wants to be closer to home. As of right now we don’t know what the plan is. She gets the summer to figure out the rest of her life.

On one hand it’s nice and exciting that she’s coming home and she’ll no longer be 1,300 miles away. On the other hand it’s sad because there’s been a change in course and there’s uncertainty and we won’t have child who lives 1,300 miles away in West Virginia.

I really like West Virginia. Probably like most, it wasn’t much on my radar of places to visit. When we learned that Maly was being recruited by a coach in West Virginia I sort of snickered and turned my nose up at the idea. I’m glad she went.

I’m partial to the thought that Maly currently had “negative” memories and associations with living so far away for 2 years. I think when she looks back at her time there it’ll be met with fond memories and friendships and the hard lessons in adulting. The room’s always dark when you’re in it.

Elise flew out to Charleston on Wednesday evening to help Maly get all packed up and moved out. The girls had their conference championship semifinals game against Dominican yesterday afternoon. They lost 15-13. The UC Women’s Lacrosse team is done this year. They’re driving Maly’s car home. They’re taking a longer route. Elise wants to drive through Alabama and Mississippi. They should be home tomorrow.

I’m going to miss charleston and I’m sad that I didn’t really get to see it or say goodbye one last time. We were up there for Easter, and I kind of knew that might be my last time there, but I was also holding out hope that Maly might have a change of heart and decide to ride it out for a couple more years to finish her degree.

I remember when Elise and Maly flew out there for a recruits trip. Maly already had an offer. She and Elise were both excited about Charleston. I was excited and scared that all of that reality was crashing down on me.

Now it’s crashing down on me again. The only constant is change, so they say. And, I guess since I’m using time-tested adages, I’ve really learned in my recent years that life really is about the journey and not the destination. I guess it just takes a fair number of destinations and their respective journeys.

Fourteen years ago today I became your dad. Fourteen years ago today you became my daughter.

This morning your scored the first goal in the lacrosse game that y’all won 12-4. You also had an amazing 4th quarter defensive blocked pass.

Sometimes I think you’re too quiet and subdued. But then I realized that that’s what I love about you. You remind me of me.

And you’re not too quiet and subdued. You’re affectionate and reserved and discerning. Those few to whom you get close are fortunate.

You are beautiful, inside and out.

I am proud of you and I love you beyond measure.

Happy Birthday Mara.

Most people don’t PR (personal record) the marathon at Boston. Most people don’t PR the marathon at age 50. I’m not most people.

Running is 90% mental. The other 10% is mental. I’d been mentally preparing for yesterday’s Boston Marathon since November 5, 2023. My friend, Matt Fletcher and I had a conversation on the First Street bridge after the Run for the Water race in Austin. He was there supporting NXP team runners. I was there supporting ARC runners.

“How did you run sub-3 at Boston? What’s the trick?”

“You train your f**king ass off.”

And that’s all it took. He knew that I knew what that meant.

And instead of setting a goal of 2:59 at a future Boston Marathon, I decided I would attempt to PR the marathon at a future Boston Marathon. That would mean faster than 2:56:45, which I’d set in Houston (a very flat course) in 2020. 2:55 sounded like a good, round number, so that’s the time that I stamped into my brain.

But I also needed to run a qualifying race that would get me into a Boston Marathon. So I decided I would run a race that would qualify me to get into the NYC Marathon, which is actually harder to get into by way of qualification than Boston.

I qualified for the 2024 NYC Marathon. That race would become my Boston qualifier by design. I am very diligent and disciplined in my training. I trained very specifically for NYC. The goal was 3:10. That would get me a 15 minute buffer (by Boston qualifying standards that year). I trained to run a 3:10. I trained to be strong in the later miles of the race. Running 26 miles is hard. Running the last 8 miles of a marathon is really, really hard. The NYC marathon has a lot of bridges, and each bridge is a hill. I trained for late mile hills.

I ran a 3:04 at NYC. Six minutes faster than planned. I was feeling good and punchy that day, especially at mile 17. That qualified me for the 2026 Boston Marathon.

I started mentally training for Boston in November of 2024. I started physically training, in earnest, with a periodized training plan for Boston in November of 2025.

I changed my training approach and methodology. Workouts were longer and harder. I built in five peak weeks (weeks that have a hard workout on Tuesday and Thursday and culminate with a 20+ mile run on Sunday) instead of the usual three weeks. Much to the chagrin of most coaches, I omitted strength training and focused only on running. I ran doubles on Wednesdays, which means I’d run early in the morning, go to work, and then run right after I got home with <12 hours of recovery. I ran a lot of hills. I made the hard days hard and the easy days easy. Emphasis on the easy days. A lot of run training means easy, slow running. I ran more with my run club, and I always ran with the back-of-the-packers. The slower the better. And when they’d get discouraged or feel bad for slowing me down, I’d remind them that they were doing me a favor, and they were learning how to run, and that they’d look back on these days and remember when they used to run “slow.” That’s how we all start, and it’s the most exciting and fun part of beginning the running journey. Running’s a long game. You can’t rush anything. It takes persistence and consistency. And lastly, I ran more. I introduced a lot of volume. Lots and lots of weekly and cumulative mileage to the point where I was teetering on overtraining. It was a very fine line. I’m still thanking my lucky stars that I somehow staved off an injury.

I mentally prepared to PR the marathon at Boston. Knowledge of the race helps. Boston has kicked my ass 4 times before. The first 15 miles are fast and downhill or flat. There are hills between miles 16-21. That’s the worst place to have hills in a marathon. I broke the marathon up into three sections:

Miles 1 – 15: Calm and Controlled. Stay steady at 6:40-6:45 pace. Don’t get cocky. Don’t go out with the over-enthused.

Miles 16 – 21: Cool the jets. Drop the pace to get through the hills. Stay in control and just do the work to get up and over the 4 hills. Maintain good form and posture and run at a consistent effort. That means that I could slow down, but focus on my breath and be mindful of how my whole body felt. Keep that rate of perceived effort the same as the previous 16 miles. It’s okay to slow down. When I got to the top of the hill, I’d let myself ease back into the right pace and not rush into making up for any lost time when I was working the uphills.

Miles 21-26: Steady and strong. Steady meaning settle back into a 6:40 pace. Strong meaning push hard. Push through any pain or discomfort and start emptying the tank. I’d remind myself that I trained hard for this and I only have one shot.

I stuck to my plan. And it worked. I have a few friends who were being punchy on my behalf. One predicted a 2:52. Another asked for a 2:50. I secretly maintained a stretch goal of 2:51 if I was feeling punchy yesterday morning. I wasn’t feeling punchy yesterday morning because of nerves and less-than-ideal sleep the night before. I decided to stay strict and disciplined. 2:55 was the goal. I’d trained to run 2:55.

My plan came together flawlessly. I experienced some anxiety coming into mile 16. I was already fatigued and I had the Newton hills to get through. But I reminded myself that I’d trained my f**king ass off, and I just did the work to get up and over the hills. And I gutted it out the last 5 miles. I executed exactly how I’d wanted to and this year’s Boston Marathon is probably my best and proudest marathon.

I ran a 2:55:11. I saw Elise standing at the front of a crowded barricade on Boyleston just after Gloucester. That was the highlight of those hard-fought previous 25.8 miles. I saw her smile. That’s all I needed. She knew I’d done it. I knew I’d done it. I pointed to her and smiled as big of a smile as I could muster and I mouthed “I love you,” and then I started sprinting.

Unless you run the tangents, the Boston Marathon can be a little long. I ran 26.37 miles in 2:55:11. I ran 26.2 miles in 2:54:25. I beat my A Goal by 45 seconds. That can be a lifetime in the marathon.

I remember when I was in 9th grade my dad told me, “you have to want it more than anything.” The “it” at the time is irrelevant (it was making the football team). The it now, whatever it is, is always relevant.

I finally beat Boston. I wanted it and I worked hard to get it. I’m thankful and very happy.

We were driving home from the Austin Rodeo at 9:00 p.m. last night. It was Elise, Mara, Kyla and I. We were waiting at a light at the intersection of 973 and 969 and we witnessed a head-on collission. I think the pretty Corvette was trying to turn left against oncoming highway traffic. He or she misjudged. It was a bad wreck. Bad enough to where we were all shaken, and hoped that the folks involved were okay because it was one of those wrecks where everyone could be otherwise.

We slowly drove on through the light after it turned green. Elise called 911, but cops were already on the scene, I guess enroute to another call. It all happened so fast.

As we were driving home on 71 Maly texted me. She’d sent me a story I’d written in 2009. A story before she was a big sister. A story about realizing how important it is to live in the present.

We’d gone to the fair that evening because Elise and I have jobs where our respective presences are needed. Elise is no longer a stay-at-home mom who caters to our children’s whims. I no longer work in revenue abundant tech where paid time off is handed out like candy and your contributions and dedication are expendible. It was Mara’s spring break this past week and she was left to her own devices during the weekdays while her mom and I worked. We took Mara and her childhood best friend Kyla to the fair at the Austin Rodeo.

I’d earned a meager fistfull of big bills in recent weeks, so that was the budget I’d alloted for our fair outing. I was beat from the work week and from marathon training. I’d’ve liked to just get sideways on the couch and spend my Friday night thusly. Elise said the girls wanted to go to the rodeo, and she’d enjoy herself more if I went. My greedy head didn’t want to go, but my familyman head did. I knew I should, even though I could’ve gone to sleep at 5:30 p.m.

So the four of us piled into the truck and drove out to the Travis County Exposition Center.

$20 to park
$40 for entrance
$94 for unlimited ride wristbands for the girls

We hadn’t even made it onto the fairgrounds and the remaining budget was $18. The girls rode all the rides. Elise and I kind of followed and hovered as distant shadows, giving the girls space that 14-year-old girls probably want at a fair. I knew the girls would be safe, but parents still want to ensure that safety. But really it just gave Elise and me a moving target so we could walk around the fairgrounds, see the fairground things, get some exercise, and witness the girls have fun. To live vicariously. I mean, this is probably one of the main reasons I signed on to become a parent. To watch your children grow up and hopefully have fun in the process before they get too old and too busy for their parents.

Elise and I probably circled the fair by some variant eight times. We’d reconvene with Mara and Kyla every so often. They’d excitedly tell us about a ride or other humans they’d experienced.

The sun went down. The girls still had rides and adventures to experience. It was getting close to my bedtime. There was lemonade to be bought at beyond my remaining budget, and excited giggles about how they thought the fair went until 10 or 11 p.m. I quitely bore witness and, in a moment in my concious that couldn’t even be called a second, decided that that would be okay. As selfish and as tired as I am and was, it could be a long night.

Elise wanted to sit down so we moseyed to some temporary bleachers before the Agrilife trailer. Elise had to go to the bathroom. I sat there in the quiet. I thought about my child and wondered if she thought about us, her old parents hobbling off to find a quiet place to sit instead of being excited and taking in the sites and sounds and experiences and rides. I figured she could have those thoughts. I’m sure I wondered the same of my parents. And now I know. They have those fleeting thoughts. We all wonder if our parents are okay. If our parents are having fun. If our parents really want to be there. If our parents are making a big sacrifice because they have important parent things to do.

The important thing is just being there. And your child knows you’re there. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else at that moment.

It wasn’t much longer when Mara texted Elise and said they were done and ready to go home. It was well before I thought we’d leave. In a way I was relieved. But I was also sad and disappointed. I’d signed on to be there as long as she wanted to be there. I know there aren’t going to be many more of these chances. These fairs. These parks. These rodeos. These outtings. And that’s the really sad and disappointing part.

There was a point in the evening when Elise and I were walking and circling the fairgrounds. I kind of remember where we were, but I couldn’t tell you where it was. I don’t recall what was in the periphery or what we were passing as we walked. I remember the direction we were walking. I can see us like I’m hovering above us.

“Do you ever wish Maly would hurry up, get married and have a kid?”

We’ve never had that conversation before. And we didn’t have that conversation last night. Not because either one of us was avoiding it, but the talk shifted ever so slightly, and then maybe that’s when Mara texted Elise to tell her they were done and ready to go home.

I’ll never be done being a dad. It’s the best thing this life has given me.

On Saturdays I lead the Circle C Run Club’s group run. We start either at 7:00 a.m. or 7:30 a.m., depending on the time of year. Any other day of the week in recent months I’ve already got my run in for the day and I’m either on my way to work or having my second breakfast for the day.

I woke up early this morning and had lots of time to kill, so I decided to walk to the mailbox. I was pleasantly surprised to see that High Five Events had delivered the award for placing in the Austin International Half Marathon.

The trophy is a steel record, I’d guess keeping with a theme of Austin being a music city. I’ve received a handful of age group awards in my late stage running “career.” I earned 2nd place once before in the same race when it was the 3M Half Marathon (and will most likely still be effectionally refered to as such).

This one’s kind of special because it was my last race as a 40-something. I aged up into the 50-something category this past January. I grew and got stronger and faster throughout my 40’s. And during so, I embraced the fact I’m getting older and I’ll start slowing down eventually.

I hadn’t planned on signing up for this race as I’ve been in the throes of hard marathon training since late November. My friend Iram called me one morning and asked if I wanted his AIH bib as he was going to have to work the event. I checked my training plan and actually had 13 miles scheduled for the day of the event. So the stars kind of aligned themselves. I paid Iram to have the bib transfered into my name and toed the line early on January 18th.

My plan was to run a sub-1:27 half marathon. I knew I was well within sub-1:30 shape, and I really just wanted to beat my time when I first ran that race in 2015. And my time at that 2015 race stood as my half marathon PR for over 8 years.

It was cold at the start of this year’s race. It was crowded. I got to the start later than I’d like. The gun went off and it was chaos. Finding footing and elbow room for the first half mile was an exercise in patience and jossling. Just getting through the first mile was tough. There are too many people who line up up front who have no business being up front. After a couple kilometers there was a bit more breathing room, but the more people behind me would mean for less people to weave through in front of me. So I ran faster and settled into a pace at the 2 mile split that would put me way ahead of 1:27.

And so I just kind of checked in with myself and contemplated if I could hang on for another 11 miles. I decided to hang on and find out.

Sick, overdressed, and not trained for a fast half marathon and I pulled in a 2nd place in my age group. Maybe I’ll race it next year and see if I can take first in my new age group…

Last night I took Mara to lacrosse practice. As we were leaving she asked me if we could go to Dick’s to buy her a new mouthguard. She got braces a month ago, and lacrosse season is back, and she needs a new mouthguard. Dick’s is kind of far away and I was tired. I said, “can’t you just get a mouthguard at Academy?” And she said, “yeah, I get them confused.”

I figured Academy isn’t that far away. It’d be a little detour on the way home from practice. So we went to Academy. And it was a nice little detour, and a chance to hang out for a bit with Mara — something we just don’t do often enough anymore.

We did some aisle perusing. We asked an employee where the lacrosse mouthguards could be found. They only had one. We went to the football mouthguard section and Mara found the one she wanted (fruit punch flavored, of course). So we grabbed the mouthguard. For grins we went to the clothing section and I found two pairs of my tried and true running shorts that I thought had been discontinued. So we killed three birds with one stone, and I was glad that Mara asked to go get a mouthguard. We got to hang out, she got a new mouthguard, and I got running shorts that I thought had been discontinued.

We went home, had dinner, and Mara boiled water to form her new mouthguard. She’s 13. She doesn’t require much supervision. She can read instructions. She’s formed a mouthguard before.

The mouthguard got stuck to her braces. She fought relentlessly for 45 minutes to get the mouthguard unstuck from her brackets. No dice. She tried holding hot water in her mouth. She tried prying. She became quiet and weepy. I decided to try to fight fire with fire. I went to the garage and got two difference sized wire cutters. She was able to get the mouthguard unstuck from her back teeth on the right side of her mouth. After some careful amateur orthodontia I was able to cut 1/3 of the mouthguard out, but the rest just wasn’t budging. I had her lay her head in my lap on the living room floor while I, with headlamp on my head and armed with wire snips, tried to see if I could cut out more of the mouthguard without clipping a lip or gums, but there were no dice there either.

We finally settled on her just sleeping with the mouthguard stuck to her braces and Elise would have to take her to the orthodontist in the morning.

Mara got up at 6:00 a.m. I checked on her. She was okay. She said her lips were a little sore. I guess that’s from all of the mouthguard tugging and me moving around her lips to try to cut out the rubbery plastic.

I guess the moral of the story is: RTFM.

I don’t recall exactly, but if I had to guess, the memory was stirred from an image that was displayed on the Amazon Echo Show this morning. It was a photo of the house or the neighborhood blanketed in deep (for Austin) snow. It was the crippling winter storm Uri that hit us in mid-February of 2021. Five short years ago.

I immediately went to my laptop and started looking at photos from this day five years ago. I’d taken quite a lot of photos because we’d had a lot of snow and ice. The ice broke trees. School and businesses were shut down for weeks. We were without water. COVID was still a thing.

Call it survivalism, optimism, or just-not-giving-a-shitism, but I remember those days fondly. Seems like the rest of the region (especially our community, on social media) was freaking out and the ice and COVID were the apocolypse. I knew my family wasn’t going to endure the worst: death. We could melt snow. We had a pantry and freezer full of stuff that could sustain us. We could drive somewhere if we had to. We just accepted what we couldn’t control, settled in, hunkered down, and made the best of it. And our best was fun. I remember there being laughter.

I’d forgotten in recent years that, amidst the goings on at that time, I’d lost my job just 10 days prior. And it was a loss that swept me (and the rest of the team) off my feet. There were no hints or reasons to fathom layoffs. I was blindsided. I was comfortable at the job. It provided my family with stability and security. I’d no plans or reasons to look elsewhere.

And thus began a winter of discontent and some years of job floundering.

But I still look back on that February of 2021 and remember the happy times. We didn’t have water. We didn’t have school. We didn’t have a steady income. But we made out pretty alright.