Notes From The Road: Cenote in Austin, TX

Some cities don’t like me. Dallas, for reasons I can’t understand, just doesn’t like me.

Austin LOVES me.

It’s always friendly, surprising and puts me in a relaxed joyful state.

This brief journey was for a business conference. A two day turn-around from my home in Chandler, AZ. Privacy be damned, I let the internet suggest where to get my morning coffee by virtue of my location. Google generally knows where I am, and I put my hand up asking for guidance.

It was a good trade.

Friendly people welcomed me into a quaint atmosphere for which I was a less cool than I should have been. But, they overlooked my shortcomings and set me into the day happy and caffeinated.

Thank you Cenote.

Cenote

Trendy all day cafe in circa-1887 house with French pressed coffee, farm-fresh eats & free wifi.
Address1010 E Cesar Chavez St, Austin, TX 78702
Order: toasttab.com
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A Well Run Life’s Podcast: My Last Card

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I am crying.

Two seconds ago, I was a middle-aged man planning his day over an Americano.

Then, I get a text from my cousin.

I am not crying quiet ? dignified-like.

My nose is running and I am thanking god the bill is already paid.

On the way to the car, I compose myself.

The week is chock-full of the type of news you carry in your belly.

In what appears to be a moment of calm, I call my boss.

I report to him that I won’t really be myself today.

And then

As if to prove the point

I start to cry again.

 

A Well Run Life’s Podcast: Chicken Eggs

 

I am standing in front of a steaming pile.

It’s taller than I am, and so I get to work. I am raking and shoveling the mulch delivered to Grace Farms with the discipline of an army ant.

It’s about 6:30 AM ? my morning farm shift ?

As I shovel deeper into the pile of chipped trees, the heat is obvious.

The tree was upright, then it wasn’t.

The tree was alive, then it wasn’t.

And again ? it is one thing becoming another.

The morning shifts are short, the responsibilities of day have no pause button for my messy farm project.

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House Marks

The desert winter can be harsh.

There are times when it I so wicked one is compelled to put their socks on.

Since I am a tough guy, I am going without socks this morning. Out into the garage I step to retrieve the almond milk for this morning’s Americano, and I am stabbed with a razor sharp ice pick straight to my bone.

Ok ? perhaps that over states the moment

I stepped on a scorpion who met the assault with a sting on the bottom of my middle toe.

A scorpion sting is some sort of poison that is basically a cross between Cobra venom and Agent Orange. And for weeks I can trace the nerve that leads from my big toe to somewhere just below my ass.

Because that little bastard lit up that neural pathway like so much napalm.

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DM’s Triumph

It is an hour after Thanksgiving dinner.

Family traditions throttle the pace of any high holiday ? national or religious.

I am currently throttling my 13 year-old nephew on the nearest basketball court in a post-turkey dinner game of HORSE.

In my family, you won every contest against an adult until you were a certain age. The victories may have been assured, but every adult made in feel authentic. They would wince under the weight of the child’s crushing strategic genius on a game board, cry tears of frustration as the little one dribbles a soccer ball mercilessly or yet another goal, and howl under the pain of the kid’s wrestling

I can still remember thinking:

I am clearly a genius!

I am an unstoppable force of nature in mind and body – the worlds of both Checkers, soccer and wrestling never witnessed such brilliance until the beginning of my reign.

And so we launch you out into the world with the notion you are unstoppable.

This Golden Era of your Life lasts until you are about 4 and half ? maybe 5.

Then

? and perhaps it is the lingering influence of the Catholic Church or the immigrant experience or simply a desire not to raise spoiled brats ?

The Adults in the family crush the kids in every possible contest that occurs.

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Rockin’ The House

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I am 20 and playing lead guitar.

 

I am by far the worst musician in the band.

 

They likely would have been a house-hold name if they had not been saddled with me.

 

We played together for a year, and thank god You Tube had not been invented – my children would not survive the embarrassment.

 

BUT

 

There was this one gig. We were wedged between two head banging acts – but the crowd had a few friendly faces

 

And out there.

 

for one night

 

we rocked the house.

 

And I was a rock-n-roller

 

Or at least that was my experience of it.

 

27 years later I am on Grace Farms.

 

We are throwing a party

– a dinner

– an event.

 

I am  – by far ? the least important person in the execution of

 

I safely report to you: we rocked the house.

 

Seriously.

 

It was awesome.

The Best Three Minutes of Your Day

Heroic Dips***

“Don’t talk to Pete. He is a dipshit.”

In another era of my professional life, I read this love-note on an e-mail from a disgruntled client to her boss. I am unsure whether I was copied intentionally ? but I am sure it gave her a certain amount of pleasure that I got to read what she thought of me.

At that time of my life, I was part of an international sales-force of a company that did business on 5 continents.

And a month before I am called a dipshit ?

I was celebrated

as the highest performing sales-person

Among hundreds of sales people around the globe.

In fact, they give me a bunch of money and big, fat prize

for being so great.

The Divine likes to remind me:

The distance between hero and dipshit is the length of time it takes to read a two-sentence e-mail.

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The Unlikely Is Not The Imposible

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Somewhere in the mid- 1960’s he is in the 10th grade and doing a handstand on the top rails of the Empire State Buildings observation deck.

Some volunteer parent looking after the high school kids take one look and faint dead-away.

An unfortunate gust of wind sends him tumbling like a fall leaf.

But it didn’t and the story lives on in family infamy.

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