The Steps

It's a milestone. So while I'm kicking off the "Thirty-Something Farewell Tour" (and unlike Barbara Streisand and Cher, this one is for real) I've come to a few realizations. 

I'm not ever going to quit eating biscuits. Or cornbread. Or fried chicken. Or country fried steak and gravy. Or pecan pie. Or fried fish and cheese grits.

You get the picture.

So, in order to continue scanning the globe (or at least the Southeastern US) in search of good times, and even better food, I'm choosing to get off my southeastern quadrant. I've participated in two 5k races, added more fresh fruit and vegetables to the diet and I'm exercising regularly.

At least as regularly as someone this irregular can do anything. 

So here's an official ABG workout to burn off good food accumulations and enable you to fit through the kitchen door without rubbing worn spaces on the doorframe.

There's a small parking area on Branham Ave, just across the South Broad bridge. I get out of the car, lock the door and cross the street. I'm already arguing with myself about what is about to happen. If there really were gypsies living under the bridge, they'd be frightened by such violent (and apparently unaccompanied) conversation. I walk on to the steps and look up.

"The backside of the hill ain't nearly that steep". "Yeah, and it's not nearly as wide as your backside. Now, get yours up those steps!"

So, up I go.

And up....

They aren't really made for running. Which makes them great for running. Add the fact that one bad mistake makes for a rapid descent and you are well motivated.

I stop at the top to catch my breath. 

The morning sun lights the way.

But I'm not getting any slimmer standing at the Confederate Monument so I start trotting toward the backside of the hill. The Judge (frequent ABG "contributor", Augustus R. Wright) snickers at me as I jog past. Being a Berry alum-in-law, Alfred Shorter and I aren't exactly on speaking terms but Charles Norton cheers me on. 

Around a curve, down some steps past Von Gammon (Dang Good Dawg) and there's the fountain.

And I retrace my steps back to the car. It's a short workout, but strenuous enough at my fitness level. There's also many terraces and steps to customize this to any fitness level. The scenery is beautiful year round and The Judge really won't laugh at you when you jog by. 

Here's hoping that the best way to stay out of the cemetery is to run through the cemetery.

Offended

#CancelColbert

It's trending. That shouldn't give it much credibility. But it does.

I don't want to rehash what was said. I don't want to investigate who said it or how it happened or why. I. Do. Not. Care.

What I want to discuss is this knee-jerk reaction that has become so ingrained in American culture that we can't seem to elude  or escape it.

"I'm offended".

I'm so weary, tired, frustrated and disgusted by that phrase. I hear it all day every day.

It's old. Not like Wormsloe. I mean like that one slice of cranberry sauce you still have stuck to a coffee saucer in the back of your fridge. You know, the one left over from last Thanksgiving? It's old like that.

If you suffer emotional distress over a joke, a sports mascot, a breast feeding mother or a tweet by a TV celebrity, grow up.

Seriously. There are millions of people living under tyranny of communism and fundamentalism, starving and/or being trafficked into modern slavery and you're griping that someone might have maybe possibly almost insinuated an alleged culturally insensitive thought? Grow up. Be an adult. Have the maturity to laugh at yourself. 

Trust me, if you aren't willing to laugh at yourself, there's a good chance no one will.

So let's try this simple scientific experiment: tomorrow, don't get offended. If you hear something insensitive, rise above it. If you see something revolting, look away. If someone lowers themselves to the level of a slur, don't dig beneath them. Be the adult. Maybe, just maybe,we'll make someone's day. We might make a new friend. We might understand someone different than ourselves. 

We are blessed to live in a diverse world. We aren't celebrating diversity when were all standing around with our arms crossed and looking at each other like we smell a post-Waffle House fart.

Smile. Laugh. Live. It's good for you.

Another for Boston

As I've mentioned before, Boston has had an undeniable influence on my life. 

There's also a bond among the members of the fine line of work that is the fire service.

My thoughts and prayers are with the men an women of the Boston Fire Department and with the families of Firefighter Mike Kennedy, L-15 and Lt. Ed Walsh, E-33