Sometimes the only way is jumping...I hope you're not afraid of heights

Being raised up north, winter was a very dreadful thing. The onset of cold, icy conditions only meant one thing: less daylight. I would get home from school just in time to see the sunset, thinking of the screams and laughs that were awaiting me out "there." Summer was my season. Full of neighborhood football, long days, shorts, no shirts, swimming at the community pool, which in an of itself is gross. Has anybody ever been to a community pool where a little kid hasn't left a floater? They then proceed to clear the pool, make us wait and then about 30 minutes later allow us to come back in. Who wants to swim in this? Just because you take the tootsie roll out doesn't mean the memory of cannon-balling on top of a brownie isn't vivid in our minds. Anyways, back to the discussion of seasons. Now that I am older I have come to love this time of year, it is my favorite. Gone are the days of Apple Cider, Hay Rides, Pumpkin Patches (not these sorry things Florida has where they are already PICKED), christmas tree picking, sweaters with little moose on them, candy, oh the list goes on.

North Carolina was a much needed vacation. I was reminded how life is constantly in a state of change. How change can be beautiful and vivid, with a plethora of colors to choose from in which we paint on life's canvas. I was taken aback a how beautiful the leaves were, shouting look at me in golden red orangy splendor. I'm convinced Bob Ross himself wouldn't know what to do with such a vista. I don't even think he had those colors. I stood there, the cold just gently biting at my nose and ears, watching my breath sing out in front of me. I miss fall, I really do. I feel one day we will be united again. Within those mountains, we kayaked 3 miles down an amazing river. It was so peaceful, yet filled with just enough rapids to keep my heart going. Follow this up with a nice cup of hot cocoa, a cafe, acoustic music and you can call it a day. By the way I'm convinced that acoustic/stripped versions of songs are better than the original. Disagree if you want, but I'll win, and maybe punch you.

It's been a year and half since I have seen my friend. I'm convinced we don't have enough time on our hands. Most of the time it feels as if I am squeezing every last grain of sand through my fists, carefully watching as they fall to the ground where they will forever be embedded in my memories.

I'm going to write a book one day. Here's how it will go: I'll be in another country, doing something that surgeons do, maybe fixing a child's cleft palette, she will be home because our daughter isn't yet old enough to travel and experience the joy of skipping school, I will get done with surgery in all it's bloody splendor, feeling accomplished but yet somewhat alone, not being able to show my work to the most beautiful thing in my life. I'll probably be in Europe, maybe Prague. Yeah, Prauge would do. I'll be in a hotel room, there will be a cafe across the alley, and I'll go there to use their $1.50 a minute, cheapo-internet telephone:

Her: Hello?

Me: I Miss you. I miss her. I miss us.

Her: I know. When are you coming home. Hold on, she's crying, I can't think of what to make for dinner.

Me: Macaroni and Cheese. Hot Dogs with Ketchup. Cut them really small. And use her Tinkerbell spoon I got for her. She likes that best. But you have to be an airplane, otherwise she won't have nothing of it.

Her: You're so good with her.

Me: I miss you. So much. He's so much better.

Her: You always did have a thing for finding the beautiful in people.

Me: You made it easy... (Here, I'll begin singing words to Michael Buble's "Home," missing every few words because my voice is cracking, but I'm trying to hide it.)

And I know just why you could not
Come along with me
'Cause this was not your dream
But you always believed in me

I'm a hopeless romantic. It's the leaves screaming "LOOK at me, Hey, I'm over here."

Keep your phone on, please.