Nailed the Landing

2024.08.09

Good morning that wonderful way.

And we're off.
And on.

A bird's song.
Love love me do.

Sometimes you start with old lyrics and make 'em new.

We hit return.
At the end of each sentence. For the most part.

It's like a text message. Like the way we read.

Grammar is a canvas and not a prison.
That's the lesson of the text message.

How you shape each sentence is dependent on the audience.
Periods and commas have little use amongst friends.

What's a Capitol or Capital between loved ones?

You're in the city with a star on the map together.
You both know where you are and each other's proper noun name.

You're friends after all.

"Why write about grammar first thing in the morning, Wynn?"

It's a good question.

It's the rhythm of the day, I write.

What the words most want to say.

An interesting day starts with grammar talk.

I gave up on sarcasm.

We ought to be sincere.

It's such a waste of time to spend words on cranky disbelief, on bringing others down a peg or two.

Which is what sarcasm is meant to do.

There's still pointing out irony.

In a positive manner, of course.

Also known as 'The Dad Joke.'

And as I'm a dad, and as I do tend to play with language, my use of the infamous fatherly pun is inevitable.

It happens at birth.
Your birth.

The dad that was to be now is, and in the room with the baby's first cry travels the pun.

The bun that was in that oven came with The Pun made for lovin'.

It infects each dad, and we're glad for it.

We better be, there's not much we can do about it.

Because the world doesn't always make sense even though 'it should.'

It's what you decide it to mean.

And when your expectations are let down, it's better to laugh at the irony than to harp on them.

Better to see the world with a sense of humor then that of apathy.

This goes for dad's, too.

Embrace the pun.

Don't fight the inevitable.

Your kids need to understand that life always means more than their expectations.

There's always lemonade in every lemon, always a sweet to every sour.

If you stumble, if you fall, call it breakdancing and move on.

I struggled.
Fought really.
To get these words to you.

The world simply wouldn't give me a break.
The phrase, "Give me a break," became a common reflex.

During the fight to get my words out, an SUV crossed a double yellow going near fifty MPH.
Into my driver's seat.

I woke up in the hospital two days later, went through Valentine's Day in a coma, came to with a broken leg readying for a surgery to place a nine-inch nail in my leg to keep it together.

Ever since then, when the reflex to tell the world to 'give me a break,' shows up, the world Dad jokes back, "Already did."

Every dance for me now is a breakdance.

It's healed, near 100%. Scars are the only way you'd know.

But I walk, I dance, I got these words to you.

Got my big break.

And with the help of a whole team of doctors, and nurses, here we are well read and whole legged.

That's a good way to end this entry.

Yep, really, nailed the landing.