Sincerely

The other night, as a Christmas surprise, I took Wendy to her first Jets game.  I baited her into the evening by asking if she would look after Nicholas while Jeff and I attended the game and when I presented the ticket to her she was shocked in a “fo’ real?” way.  At some point during the evening Wendy mentioned that a journalist we admire from the Free Press was seated directly behind us and I was all “fo’ real?” about this.

The last time we’d encountered this writer was shortly before our trip to the Grand Canyon.  I’d asked him for tips on canyon hiking and, after asking us if we were “fo’ real” planning to do this in the heat of the summer, he’d given us plenty of reverse-mountain climbing advice. 

Between the second and third periods of the hockey game I turned around and chatted with him about our crazy canyon adventures from a year and a half ago even showing him pictures on my phone.

I told him that we’d met a guy by the Bright Angel Creek whose Camelbak punctured, became dehydrated, delirious, hallucinated and yet managed to have the park rangers save him at nightfall by blinking his flashlight on and off not far from the bridge at the bottom of the South Kaibab Trail.  Not only was this guy a circus performing fire eater but he’d worked as one of the only straight drag queens in the Northwest USA.  He was walking across America and felt that it would be all right to tote his laptop and cowboy boots through the Grand Canyon in plus forty degree heat.  Fo’ real.

I spared the journalist most of the details about the crazy hiker as I figured he would think I was playing him. 

If I’ve learned anything from 2011 it’s that truth is stranger than fiction.  I may not eat fire or wear four inch heels but my year has had no shortage of “fo’ real?” moments.  It is for this reason that I am going to hold close all shreds of possibility and focus my energy on blowing on embers of greatness.  Better to eat fire rather than light farts aflame.  Fo’ real.