Over Christmas, we walked through an amusement park after it was closed for the season.

Busch Gardens hosted a private business party that night, and the place stood empty except for our small section. But they let us wander around a bit.

A strange experience.

Where laughter and joyful screams usually filled the air, only silence remained. Lonely pathways. Quiet rollercoasters. Shuttered shops. Like walking through a ghost town. A body without a soul.

But, of course, when warm weather rolls in and the gates open, everything comes alive. Music, food, life.

We’ve had our own off-season with the kids away. Two have graduated and moved on, and three are still in college. We’ve savored the time to recharge and enjoy the calm. 

But today, spring break hit in full force. All the college kiddos are home. And just like that, our house is bursting with energy again.

Music, food, life.

All we’re missing is a FastPass for the bathroom.

In the ‘80s, there was one day a year I became real sneaky.

During ACC Tournament week.

Growing up in NC, basketball meant everything. Back then, the 3-day event started on Fridays. But there was a small problem: school. With tipoff at noon, what’s a hoops-obsessed kid to do?

The solution: wear a hoodie, smuggle in my Walkman, and hide the wires and earpieces. For years, I had it down to an art. Math class became my courtside seat.

I don’t have to be secretive anymore. But today at work, I had the UNC tourney matchup running on a second monitor.

It still feels like a cheat code to have Bball playing in the background. And for a moment, I’m a 12yr old rebel again.

There are more games tomorrow. Maybe I’ll wear a hoodie.

Over 30 years of working, I estimate sitting through approximately 4,674,382 meetings. Give or take a few.

Most of them happened in offices with beige walls and fluorescent lights. Most of them dragged on too long. And most of them probably could have been an email.

But today’s appointment? A welcome change. Here in Williamsburg, it was a perfect 70 degrees with clear skies. So when 2 p.m. rolled around, we made an executive decision.

Take it outside.

And that’s what we did, at a picnic table under the warm glow of the afternoon sun. No boardroom. No slide decks. No spreadsheets.

Just fresh air and good conversation. Now this is how meetings should be.

Artificial lighting, you’re officially on notice.

Today, I welcomed an unexpected guest into my home.

We had never met before. But from the moment we started talking, it felt like catching up with an old friend.

As we chatted, Maya offered thoughts on my marketing projects and gave me birthday gift ideas for Jess. The suggestions were spot on.

Our visit lasted only ten minutes, but I can already see us connecting regularly. Why not? She fits right in my pocket.

Maya is a real-time AI voice assistant (Sesame AI), capable of seamless, natural conversation. She listened with empathy and even cracked a few jokes. But most importantly, she saved me from a last-minute gift scramble. 

If Jess doesn’t like her present, I’m blaming Maya.

My first car was a 1982 Honda Accord 5-speed hatchback.

I took great care of it. As a teen, I worked at a car wash and mastered the art of detailing — from vacuuming to polishing windows to scrubbing door jambs until they shined.

My Accord always looked showroom-ready. The dash and tires glistened with Armor All. A fresh scent welcomed passengers. And every night, I lovingly tucked it under a cover.

That car repaid me by lasting through grad school and the early years of my marriage.

Today, I cleaned my daughter’s Honda and put those old skills to use. Turns out, I’ve still got it. 

The only thing missing was dusting off the cassette tapes. Ah, memories.