My father-of-the-bride toast sounded like a Mike Ditka halftime speech. My role? To lead and inspire. To win the division. “To laughter,” I said raising my glass. “And to love.”
My summer vacation: Visited a bunch of lighthouses. Ate Jamaican food. Gave away a daughter...Just the usual.
Been working on a toast for my daughter’s wedding this weekend. And I thought: “Why not a poem? Something straight from the heart of a dad who’s lived a little."
Honestly, you can’t chase an honest moment. Somehow, they just ambush you. And sometimes, as per this singing dog, we’re at the mercy of our quivering moods.
“You’re Taylor Swift,” she explained the other day. “You pressure wash your brain directly into the universe.” Poor universe.
You can have golf. I’ll trade you golf and opera. I’ll keep billiards and tobogganing.
“I am looped in the loops of her hair,” as Yeats put it a trillion years ago.
There’s this terrific new device for filling water balloons. Must’ve been invented by a dairy farmer inspired by multiple teats.
We may as well be in the Hamptons with Scott and Zelda. By the way, what’s summer without a nymph or two?
In the museum of the mind: Tommy Lasorda trotting out to the mound to berate a pitcher. In the museum of the heart: Gibby’s home run lap.