Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

Balloon Boy.  The frightening cross county air ride nightmare of a family fearing for the safety of their 6 year old son.  Or… an elaborate hoax concocted in the mind of a scientist/inventor who spends his free time searching for signs of alien life.

I confess, I got caught up in the drama yesterday afternoon.  Mostly, because I work in radio and, being in media, I try and keep my audience informed with what’s happening in the world during my 4 hour shift each day.  I could use that as my excuse, but I’d be withholding the whole truth.  Professional reasons aside, personally, I was glued to my computer screen (between breaks of course) watching the giant balloon – that looked like something straight out of a MythBusters episode – sail across the Colorado sky.

It was one part Disney movie, and one part a parents worst nightmare.  While the story unfolded speculation ran rampant.  Was the boy in fact in the balloon?  Had the boy fallen out of the balloon?  Given the heights the balloon had reached, and the gases involved, would the boy be able to survive?

Then it landed and nobody was inside.  Almost in that instant, the world was consumed by doubt.  Doubt that the boy was ever inside.  Doubt that there was ever an emergency in the first place.  Doubt about the whole entire fairy-tale / sci-fi story.

I read an article today that posed an interesting question.  Has Reality TV left us jaded and suspicious?  The question, of course, was in response to the Balloon Boy story and how, as quickly was we learned he was not inside, our thoughts merged into one… hoax!

There always has to be a scapegoat, so it seems.  We need somewhere to place blame.  Someone onto whom we can pass the buck.  In this case, people are blaming Reality TV for causing us to doubt.  If I’m being honest, there are a lot of liars on Reality TV *cough* Jon & Kate *cough* but I don’t think that’s the explanation.

Do I have doubts about the legitimacy of this story?  Yes I do.  I have doubts because certain things just don’t add up.  Why wasn’t the balloon properly tethered?  Why is your 6 year old playing near it without supervision?  Why did you call a TV station helicopter before you called authorities?  Why did your boy, on national TV say, “you guys said we did this for a show.”

For these reasons I doubt.  Not because Reality TV has made me jaded and suspicious.  Rather, because we live in a fallen world and people lie.  They also tend to be self centered and self serving.  Has society itself, the very essence of today’s culture (that I disagree with by the way) not taught us to “Look out for number 1?”

The world breathed a collective sigh of relief when we learned that the boy was OK.  Then we breathed a collective sigh of frustration, as we all began to wonder if we’d been duped.  If this does in fact turn out to be a publicity stunt, then call it what it is.  A fallen man, who does not think beyond himself, taking advantage of a situation for personal gain.  But don’t blame Reality TV for making me jaded and suspicious.  As sad as it may be, people themselves, have left me suspicious.

Before I leave for work, and unless I get a fire call, I am mostly oblivious to what’s going on outside.  Certainly, by the amount of light sneaking through my thin curtains covering my patio door I can tell if it’s sunny or cloudy.  Outside of that, I don’t really look and I don’t really care.  The weather is the weather, and when I’m inside, it has little to no impact on my life.

When I climbed into my truck for the daily commute to Brantford, there wasn’t much going on outside.  It was cloudy.  It looked like it wanted to rain.  Then it did.  No big deal.  But the closer I got to Brantford the heavier the rain got.  Not heavy in the sense that it was pouring.  Heavy as in density.  Th rain was becoming wet snow.  I was, to say the least, unimpressed.

Because I love Christmas, and have been counting down the days to it on my show since August, people have developed a bit of a misconception about me.  Allow me to clarify.  Yes… I love Christmas.  No… I do not love snow.  In fact, I have very little tolerance for snow or cold.  I can appreciate a newly fallen blanket of snow for the beautiful imagery that it provides while undisturbed.  But, after I’ve appreciated it, I just want it to melt and go away.

Since this afternoons wet flurry activity was technically the first of the season, I had to acknowledge it on the air.  So, during the 3P hour, I played clips of various snow themed songs.  Then I posted the video below on our Facebook page at http://facebook.com/fm921.

At this moment, there is a windchill making it feel like -9C and wet flurries are in the forecast.  And so it begins…

Being divorced, even 2 years later, I still, from time to time, reflect back on my marriage and wonder where things may have went wrong.  I don’t know that you can ever truly pinpoint it down to a single event or moment.  It’s easy, I suppose, to look back and think “if only I had done this” or “if I had just said that” or “if I had handled this situation differently” maybe, just maybe, things would have turned out differently.  One could drive himself mad with such logic though.

I can say this, however.  There are lessons learned.  That’s for certain.  Should Cupid ever target me with his bow again, I will be better prepared.  Can anything good come of divorce?  Education, perhaps, is the only thing one can hope for.  Education comes in many different forms.  It’s come from experience.  It’s come from thought and reflection.  It’s come from wisdom passed down from others.  And, in the case of an email I received this evening, it can even come in an unexpected place.  Education on marriage, can even come from a child.

1. HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHO TO MARRY?
You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming. Alan, age 10

No person really decides before they grow up who they’re going to marry.. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you’re stuck with. Kristen, age 10

2.  WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?
Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then.
 Camille, age 10

3.  HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF 2 PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?
You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids.
 Derrick, age 8

4.  WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?
Both don’t want any more kids. 
Lori, age 8

5. WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?
Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough. 
Lynnette, age 8

On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date. 
Martin, age 10

6.  WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?
When they’re rich. 
Pam, age 7

The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn’t want to mess with that.  Curt, age 7

The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with them. It’s the right thing to do. 
Howard, age 8

7. IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?
It’s better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them. Anita, age 9

8. HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN’T GET MARRIED?
There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn’t there? 
Kelvin, age 8

And the #1 Favorite is………

9. HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?
Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a dump truck . Ricky , age 10

One of my favorite things to do is go for a drive with a destination in mind, but not a route.  Until you’ve done it, you’ll never appreciate all that you’re missing out on.  Some people, often city folk, may be surprised to hear this, but there are roads in this province outside of the QEW and 400 series highways!  Many, many roads.  Wide roads and narrow roads.  Straight roads and curved roads.  Flat roads and roads with high crests and steep hills.  Some of them go through cities and towns, and others cut through country, edged by long grass, tall trees and farmer’s fields.

When I was a child riding in the backseat of our old green Ford, I remember thinking two things.  First, it must be so much fun to be able to drive a car.  Second, I have no idea how mom and dad can remember how to get so many places!  I recall being paralyzed by the thought of having to navigate my way to some place other than Grandma’s house.  I’d never be able to do it.  So many roads.  So many turns.  There was simply no way.

I laugh at that thought now.  Mostly because my mission in life, or at least one of them seems to be, is to find as many different ways to get to the same place as possible.  Sometimes I just set out and randomly head in the general direction of my destination.  Other times I’ll glance over a map.  Still other times, I’ll rely on my trusty GPS.  Well… for the most part it’s trusty.  I’m never really concerned with getting lost.  Mostly I’m just looking for adventure.  New sights.  New smells.  New twists and turns and hills and places.

Going from A to B in my truck is a delight for me.  Often times, it’s a relaxing escape from the mundane routine of my life.  Wake at the same time.  Eat at the same time.  Shower at the same time.  Go to work at the same time.  There is no need for a watch in my world.  My routine keeps track of everything.  So my random road trips break it up.  They provide relief.  A new experience to break the same old day to day life.

If only life itself, could be as easy as my road trips.  That, however, is an entirely different animal.  Whereas my road trips are based on never knowing whether I’ll turn left or right, life itself often requires a little more thought.  A little more structure.  A little more certainty.

The proverbial fork in the road.  We’ve all been there, done that.  It’s happened to us a thousand times before, and it will happen to us a thousand times again.  Many times, the decision is small.  Simple.  Of little significance.  Often, as we head on our chosen path, if things aren’t working out, we double back and try the other road.  Every so often though, we’re faced with a grander quandary.  One that requires much more thought.  Much more attention.  One that, once a path has been chosen, we cannot so easily make our way back.  I often find this happens as we get older.  Things matter more.  Youth maybe isn’t on our side as it was once before.  Responsibilities we’ve acquired over the years take a toll on our decisions.

I find myself standing at such a fork.  I look left, and find safety.  Perhaps a level of assuredness.  Comfort in the tried and tested.  Familiarity in the known.  A path, no doubt, filled with it’s share of obstacles, but one that I’ve walked along for many years.  One that I am as familiar with as I am the route to Grandma’s house.

Then I look right.  Down this path, I see a dream.  A vision of what could be.  Of what I may wish to be.  It, however, is an unknown road.  It’s obstacles may be few.  It’s obstacles may be many.  I can’t really say with much certainly, as I’ve never journeyed down this road.  While I’m confident of what rewards would be waiting at the end of the path to my left, I can only hypothesize about the rewards, if any, waiting on the path to my right.

I’ve been standing and looking at this fork for about a month now, though it’s been the sole focus of my thoughts during this present week.  It’s consumed me day and night.  Left?  Right?  A decision must be made.  I question whether it’s an act of faith or stupidity?  Is it a test in bravery or cowardice?  Do I choose what will be, or what might be?  Then again, even with the anticipated certainty of one path, does anybody ever really know what will be or what might be?

Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you your heart’s desires. Psalm 37:4

Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take. Proverbs 3:5-6

I’ve never prayed as fervently about something as I’ve prayed about this.  Were it not for my ability to reach out to God, I have no doubt this decision would make my head explode.  My heart breaks to think that people try and make decisions like this alone.  I haven’t found my answer yet, but I believe with all my heart that I will.  When the time is right, God will guide my steps, so long as I’m willing, and I will start my journey left or right.  And when I do, I will travel with confidence knowing this time, there will be no need for looking back.

There was a time, not so long ago, when words flowed.  All I had to do was open my laptop, position my fingers over the keys, and let them do the talking.  My job was simple.  Check for spelling mistakes.  The rest just seemed to happen.  I honestly didn’t have to try or think or even edit really.  Give me 20 minutes, and there was a blog.

Truth be told, it was kind of frustrating sometimes.  Many nights I would go to bed, turn out the light, close my eyes, feel the cool breeze of the fan sweep across my face, and drift into the darkness I couldn’t see.

Sleep was often not swift to come.  Instead, swirling inside my head like fallen leaves on a green October blanket of grass were words.  Sentences.  Paragraphs.  All this in place of dreams.  Ideas jumping onto a screen instead of sheep jumping over a fence or the moon or wherever those sheep are supposed to jump.

More often then not, I would have to get out of bed at 2 in the morning and type those thoughts into a blog.  Freeing the words from my mind was the only way I could convince it to shutdown and go to sleep.  This went on daily for around 6 months.

I don’t know what happened.  I have some theories.  Most of them rubbish I suppose, but they are theories nonetheless.  Having grown up in a small town where homes relied on cisterns for water, I am all too familiar with the act of turning on a dry faucet.  Where there is no water, there is no flow.  Perhaps my well of words has simply dried up.

Once a cistern has been run dry, it is in such a state it will remain until it is filled again.  This provided the basis for a theory of greater concern.  Since my blogs are often about change or growth or lessons learned, I’ve pondered whether or not I’ve reached a dry spell, as it were, in my life.  Perhaps there are no words to write, because there has been a lack in my life.  We should always be changing, growing, learning, or so I tell myself.

It is in winter that the land lies dormant.  It rests.  It heals from the punishment inflicted upon it by massive green combines and tractors with 8 tires the size of a Volkswagen.  From it’s dusty brown bed it’s birthed wheat and oats and corn.  It’s provided nourishment for us for another year.  Before it can do it again, it rests.  Snow provides it’s fluffy white pillow, the cool crisp air it’s blanket.  It rests.

After this season comes spring.  A time of freshness.  Renewed fields come to life, ready to be worked and planted.  Ready to be kissed by the rain and hugged by the warmth of the sun.  Ready to produce again.

Of all the theories I’ve tossed around in my head, I like this theory the best.  Though I’ve never considered myself a writer, and thus have ruled out the theory of writers block, perhaps I’m just in period of winter.  Of rest.  My hope is that a new season is just around the corner.

One of my favorite things to do is turn off all the lights in my apartment and watch a thunderstorm.  I’ll sit on the patio as long as I can, and then move inside and watch through the sliding door when the rain hits hard.

People don’t always appreciate thunderstorms.  They are viewed as a nuisance.  An annoyance.  This act of nature that floods our basements, drowns our gardens and turns off our TV’s without use of a remote.  I look at them differently though.  I see God in the storm.  I see an exquisitely painted picture of forgiveness and grace.  I see darkness overcome by light.

We had a great storm tonight.  One of the best I’ve had to pleasure of witnessing in quite some time.  I sat in the patio, slouched back in the comfortable embrace of my Muskoka chair, legs outstretched on the railing, and in the stillness and the night, I took in all that I saw, felt, and experienced.

Below are some of my thoughts that I posted to my Twitter page in the midst of the storm.  My hope is that you’ll read them and maybe next time allow yourself to view this natural symphony in a different light.

I just saw the greatest lightning strike of my life. 4 bolts simultaneously moving north, south, east & west! It seems the show isn’t over!
23:27

And as gently and softly as it moved it, it moves out with the same quiet, yet commanding, grace.
23:14

A double bolted strike of fork lightning just lit the darkness bright as day. It’s needs no words to be appreciated. Just eyes.
23:05

Even Fred & Ginger could not dance with the grace of these bold streaks of light stepping brightly across the night sky.
22:43

One flash of lightning is all it takes to separate the vast pool of blackened sky. A left to right stroke as if God were signing His name.
22:30

The tallest, strongest, boldest trees are reduced to but mere shadows in the face of the storm. Puppets swaying at the command of the wind.
22:27

Nature’s symphony. A perfect blend of music and light. The original rock concert performed by God.
22:17

What a beautiful picture this paints. Even in the blackest night. The thickest dark. Light can always prevail! Thank you for grace!
22:08

The floodgates of heaven have opened. The calm silence broken by the forceful charge of the rain.
22:06

The clouds have take on an orangey red tint. The firefighter in me is smiling.
22:04

The authoritative groan of thunder is near. The trees are beginning to dance. The air is stirring. It’s presence now felt and heard.
22:00

The crickets song provides the most fitting & soothing accompaniment for this illuminating spectacle in the clouds. I sit in awe of creation.
21:52

The air is so thick and heavy tonight. It’s like being hugged tighly in a blanket that you can feel but not touch.
21:47

Twitter.com/MarcScott

I’m on vacation.  In fact, as I begin writing this now, I’ve officially been on vacation for 54 minutes.  30 of those were spent driving home from work. 9 of them were spent changing, getting a drink and looking for my slippers. 15 were spent working.  Did I mention that I don’t do vacation so well?  39 minutes into my vacation I was working.  Apparently I get bored easily!  I actually told my boss that by Wednesday I’d probably be calling him asking if I can come back early.

I did have a couple of ideas of things I wanted to do, but plans change as circumstances change.  When I bought my new truck last week that definitely changed my circumstances and plans.  I’m OK with that.  I really needed to replace my truck, and I got an amazing deal on my new one.  I will not be complaining.

I was thinking about my vacation this week, and realized that I have an interesting track record when it comes to holidays.  In fact, the last 3 times I went on vacation I ended up coming home and quitting my job.  Certainly that was never my intention any of the 3 times.  I guess these things just happen maybe.

When I mentioned this interesting little tidbit to a few people I got varied responses.  Some seemed genuinely concerned at the thought of me quitting my job.  A couple dear friends thought, here we go again.  I tried not to think about it too much, if I’m being honest.  I didn’t want to give myself any ideas perhaps?

Vacation means a lot of different things to a lot of different people.  For me, the over-thinker, it’s usually a time of reflection and possibility.  Looking back and looking ahead.  You know, the things you don’t have time to do when you’re not on vacation because you’re too busy.  I confess that it’s been in those times of reflection and possibility that I’ve been inspired to make a change, and that in turn lead to changes in life and/or career when I come home.

This week I will no doubt engage in some quality thought.  I will look back on the year that has passed and I will dream dreams for the year to come.  I will probably also sit around on the couch and watch old movies and drink Dr Pepper and eat grilled cheese sandwiches and grow a beard too.  Did I mention the best part of vacation is not having to shave?  I loathe shaving.  Oh wait.  If I’m not leaving home I’ll still be on call for the fire department.  Dang it.  No beard this year.

Back before I saw the light and switched to all Mac, I used to work on PC’s.  Here is the life lesson I learned from Windows 98, Windows 2000 and Windows XP.  When you try to do too many things… you crash.  You can only run so many programs and work on so many tasks before the system grinds to a halt and melts down.  We’re alot like that, you and I.  We can only handle so much.  Do so much.  Work so much.  Then we crash.  The only way to get started again is the reset.  That is what vacation is to me.  It’s a chance to hit the reset button on life, and come back refreshed, renewed, and ready to start again.

To those that listen… I promise… I will try and come back July 27th ready to start again! :p

I was doing some math yesterday.  For anybody that may have known me in High School, where I once scored less, yes, less than 1% on a math test, this may strike you as a bit of a surprise.  Truth is, I don’t know if I did the math right, but I think I did.  Basic skills really.  A little division.  I needed to figure something out.  Something about worth.

Worth is a funny thing isn’t it?  I mean, how we define it, I suppose is what is funny.  There tends to be a direct correlation between it and stuff.  Money.  Possessions.  Cars and trucks and big screen TV’s and side by side stainless steel refrigerators filled with name brand groceries because the no name stuff doesn’t taste as good.  That’s funny too.  I bet half of that stuff is made in the exact same factory, they just slap a different label on it and charge 50% more.

It would take me 2,900 years of doing what I’m doing right now… Afternoon Drive at FM 92.1, to make the same amount of money as Beyonce made in 2008.  When they give the figure of her income, it doesn’t seem so ridiculous.  Millions.  Billions.  Trillions.  It’s all normal now.  We toss those kind of numbers around every single day.  Worth.  Profit.  Debt.  That is why I did the math.  I wanted to try and gain a little perspective on it.  After I got it, then I mostly just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry.

I hope that Beyonce appreciates what I do for her.  After all, if it weren’t for the lowly radio guys like me, nowhere near as many people would hear her music and in turn, buy her records or go to her concerts.  It seems a little backwards to me.  Beyonce needs me more than I need her.  Still, I’d have to work 2,900 years to match her income last year.

Ryan Seacrest and I are a little bit alike.  We’re both broadcasters.  He does radio and TV.  I’ve done radio and TV.  Granted, he is better looking than I am.  He’s probably better at TV than I am too.  But outside of that, we’re about the same.  I would like to think my voice is a little less annoying, but I suppose I am biased on that front.

Seacrest signed his new Idol contract this week.  Keep in mind, this is only for Idol.  It doesn’t count the work he does for E! or KIIS FM.  I did a little math on that one as well.  Again, it’s all about bringing perspective.  What I determined, though I admit it’s not an exact science, is that 12.5 minutes into the first episode of American Idol Season 9, Ryan will have made what I make in a year.  Is he really that much better than I am?

The whole idea of celebrity is stupid to me, if I’m being honest.  I don’t necessarily blame the celebrities though.  Mostly, it’s us that made them what they are.  It is you and I whom have elevated these people to a higher level.  Why?  I’m not entirely sure.  But for some reason it’s as though we have convinced ourselves that these people are worth more than us.  That they are more intelligent, better at what they do, stronger, smarter, more athletic, take your pick.  The list is endless.

The higher that we elevate these people, the more out of control things get.  So while our country faces an economic crisis, and people are losing their jobs daily, a handful of people are making more money in 12 minutes than what most of us try and live off in a year.  While families struggle to pay rent or buy groceries, the celebrities are spending more money on a single dinner for two than we would spend to feed our family for a month.

There are all kinds of ways to try and justify the salaries, contracts and bonuses, but you’ll never convince me that it’s necessary.  And to that person reading this who is right now saying “if somebody offered you Seacrest’s contract you wouldn’t say no” I’d say you’re probably right.  I could do a lot of good with that kind of money.  Much more good than I am able to do with my kind of money.

I don’t mean to sound like I’m picking on Beyonce or Ryan Seacrest.  I’m not.  Understand that they are just the two that I read news stories about this week, so they are the two that got me thinking about all of this.

It just bothers me how we so easily elevate others above us, and then allow them to define our worth simply because they are famous or they make more money or they have a 100 bedroom mansion with 87 bathrooms.  We scream and swoon and suffer chest pains when we get a chance to meet them.  We ask them to sign pictures and t-shirts and body parts.  We go see their movies, buy their records, hang up their posters and follow their Twitter feeds.  In the midst of it all, we slowly devalue ourselves by over-valuing them.

What I am about to say is probably a little crude.  It may offend some people.  I apologize.  But I’ve been racking my brain all day trying to figure out the most effective, most blunt way to bring about perspective again.  How do I remind you that nobody has more worth, in the purest sense of the word, than you?  How do I remind you that true value is defined not by status or wealth, but by God who loves us all equally.  How do I make the celebrities we turn into idols, human beings the same as you and I.  The best I could come up with is this…no matter how you view them, what you think of them, or how high the pedestal is they are placed upon, at the end of the day their farts stink just as bad as mine.

It wasn’t quite a year ago when I last walked through the doors of the Mandarin.  There are two reasons for that.  First and foremost, it’s stinking expensive, and us common folk can’t afford those kind of fine dining experiences but once in a blue moon.  Second, I have little to no self control when presented with such a plentiful buffet, and tend to eat myself sick.

The occasion a year ago was a sad one.  Family and a few friends gathered after the funeral service for my Grandma.  I say sad not because of the funeral, but sad for the workers of the Mandarin because, sadly, they had no idea what was about to hit them!  I wouldn’t say we’re rowdy.  There is no drinking or carrying on.  We may be a little messy, perhaps a little too country for the big city buffet.  We also make sure to get our monies worth.  That’s a gentle way of saying each of us individually eats enough for all of us collectively.  I assure you, no profit is made when my family, as a whole, enters such an establishment.

My two little cousins are bit older now.  So that was good.  In the past it was customary to request a mop and bucket to be left at our table on standby.  I also kid you not, on one particular night out, we went through every waitress in the restaurant because each one of them couldn’t handle the continuous clean up and would pass us off to the next.  You may hear a rumor that it had more to do with each one of them wanting to check me out, but I assure you that is a flat out lie!  People were simply in denial about how messy our table really was that night.

As we wrapped up our dinner at the Mandarin we got our traditional fortune cookies.  I have yet to fully grasp the concept of the fortune cookie.  To this point, no cookie has ever brought me fortune.  I don’t give up hope though.  Maybe one day Confucius will hit the nail or the head, or my lucky numbers will really be lucky.  Or, maybe one day I’ll just call the telephone number in the small print and ask them who comes up with these things.  I digress.  On this particular August day, having recently been served with divorce papers, my fortune said the following, “You are doomed to be happy in wedlock.”

Can I ask you something?  What does that even mean?  Doomed to be happy?  Is that like when you have a friend who is large, and you nickname him Tiny?  I mean, “doomed” and “happy” are not words that I would typically place together with each other in that kind of sentence.  Nevertheless, I was amused by the irony of the timing.  Truthfully, I was feeling doomed alright.  Doomed to be alone, sad, broken and single… FOREVER!  I was feeling anything but doomed to be happy in wedlock.

Today I went on one of my spontaneous road trips.  Along the way I picked up my dad and took him to the Mandarin.  It was his Father’s Day gift.  A little late I know, but we haven’t been able to sync our schedules until today.  It was a good time.  Less mess.  Table for two.  As always, I ate myself to the point of ralphing.  It was good though.  No complaints.  Steak.  Chicken.  Shrimp.  Crab Legs.  And yes mom… lots of veggies!  Green beans, mushrooms, broccoli, carrots, peas.  A little bit of everything.

As expected, we got our fortune cookies at the end of the meal.  And, as always, I waited for the brilliant pearl of wisdom, truth, or revelation that was just waiting to be released.  I cracked the cookie, anticipation swelled up inside me as I removed the printed treasure inside.  As I began to read it, I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.  ”You are doomed to be happy in wedlock.”

It’s amazing how much can change in a year.  My outlook being one of those things.  A year ago, as I read those words, I focused on “doomed.”  Today though, I focused on “happy in wedlock.”  Is it a coincidence that I got the exact same fortune almost 1 year later?  More than likely.  This time around though, it felt less like the end or something, and more like a second chance and a new beginning.