I’ve worn this metal bracelet for 21 years and I can’t tell you exactly why. It’s honoring Sergeant Joseph D. Hunt who died in Iraq in 2005. I never met him nor do I know his family. He was from the small town where I worked and I was moved by the way our community responded to his passing. I say this every year, but the reasons I wear it feel complicated. It’s something about honor and sacrifice and responsibility when putting people in harms way. It makes me sad and happy and angry and proud and much more. It makes me think of things bigger than myself. So I keep wearing it. Thank you, Sergeant Hunt. And thank you to the Veterans and the families and friends who supported and who miss them.

Regardless of your opinion of Elon Musk, I think there's truth here. Somewhere deep down for many of us, there's something appealing about being in a community with people we don't (yet) know.

It's not too late!

Long Table Salsa on the bar today

Month made. My chef daughter has this in her (very organized) pantry.

City Connect era Braves hat 2007 Footballguys mag. Living my best life

Love this new addition of features. We're not resting on anything.

We all walk with a limp. Loss and heartbreak suck. Some thoughts. Today would have been my little brother Rich's birthday. I have posted this in years past and have found it's helpful to some. And to be clear, I'm OK. I'm not special or unique in this. This isn't a "signal," and I don't mean to be dramatic. But it's also real, and it felt significant. I've said something like this on this day in past years, and I'm saying it again. And to be clear, this is not about me or my brother. This is maybe about you and overcoming loss or heartbreak. One of the challenging things about this day was calling my Dad in the morning. He'd be expecting my call and he'd usually answer with a crack in his voice, saying, "Hey, Joe... And then maybe he'd be able to get out something like, "It's difficult, isn't it?..." I usually was fine until I heard his voice, and then I wouldn't be able to say much besides, "Yeah, Dad. Yeah, it is." And then we'd hang up. With my dad now gone, this is the third year on Rich's birthday where I haven't been able to make that call. But my feeling of loss is offset today by my faith that I trust they are reunited now. When my Dad passed, I remember thinking his broken heart, that was never fully healed since his son died, would finally be whole again. And I'm happy for that. I'm reminded of words from one of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott: "You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. "And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly – that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp." - Anne Lamott I don't know how much I've learned. I am sure I have a limp. Most of us do. Again, I'm not special or unique in this. I don't mean to be dramatic here and I'm OK, but this is on my mind this morning. And especially on my mind is the folks out there who read this who are not as far down the road past a loss. You may, in fact, not be fine today. Maybe you're not yet to the point where the broken heart heals enough to just be a limp. And you're not ready to dance. If that's you, I hope and pray you get there. I hope and pray you get to that next version of yourself that can dance as best you can with a limp. Peace and Grace to you.

Let’s Go. If we get 50 people playing Tuesday night, we’ll crown the winner with a killer belt from our friends @TrophySmack

Sunday throwback. My 1970 Cadillac Convertible. This would have been around 1988: $5,000 for the car and put a $5,000 Alpine stereo in it, plus a $500 paint job. Priorities.

Spring Time at Long Table. 😬

You've got more ability to change things than you may think. Love this quote: "You can't go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending." — C.S. Lewis