Entry #30: February 11, 2006

In the vicinity of New York, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia (i.e. someplace a whole heckuva lot colder than where I’m headed))

I arrived January 26th on a sunny, gorgeous, slightly warm Georgia winter day with nothing in the air but God’s glorious blue sky and Atlanta’s haze hovering on the horizon. I left today with the mist of the night’s rain still fresh in the air, the temperature creeping down to a frigid place where only penguins and polar bears feel comfortable. How fitting. God definitely has a copy of my schedule. He knew I was leaving home.

Last night, one of my best friends, Brad Tanner, threw a little soirée in my honor. While some members on the guest list were unable to attend, a good time was definitely had by those in attendance, who were treated to pulled bar-b-que (hand-pulled by Mrs. Tanner and myself) that Brad had spent the better part of the day smoking inside a 55 gallon drum. Few things in this world taste as fine as fresh bar-b-que, only minutes removed from the smoker. You might singe the tips of your fingers a bit, but it’s worth it.

Brad and I go back. We go way back. I’m talking Tiger Cubs here. We were barely five years old. My favorite story involving Brad and I was the time Mr. Tanner shamelessly exploited us into helping out in the yard one time when I was visiting. We put in probably a good solid hour’s work (which seems like an eternity when you’re five) spreading pine bark or pine straw, when Mr. Tanner offered us some money for our labor. Being the idealistic one, I told Mr. Tanner with a straight face, “Oh, we can’t take money, Mr. Tanner. We’re Cub Scouts.” No sooner had the contraction “can’t” emerged from the gap between my baby teeth, Brad shot me the biggest “Eat $&!@, I’m taking the money” look. To this day, Brad probably tells people I owe him five bucks for that idealistic comment.

My parents, the Jeselniks, the Tanners, and the Dunlaps, were on the scene and judging by the laughter emerging from the “adult’s table”, they seemed to be having a grand time. Meanwhile, us kids would catch the end of a bad joke (probably from my Dad), roll our eyes, and reach into the cooler and grab another beer. Now that’s a kids table worth sitting at.

It was a good night. Didn’t go anywhere. Just good friends, good food, good drinks, and a soccer game. Oh yeah, the USA men’s national team played Japan in a soccer match. Of course we won 3-2. It would’ve been worse had we not ended the game with a multitude of 6th stringers in—the score was 3-0 50 minutes in. We just had to show those fellas that besides cars with better gas mileage and TVs, we got ‘em beat in everything else. What a night. And so the Soldier’s life continues…