Left to my own devices

He sat on the floor of my bedroom, his back supported by the side of the bed. He'd scrunched his face up into concentration as he reviewed the issue I was having with my television and its remote control (they didn't seem to be working). This was Kyle, the first person I'd felt heightened emotions for, and he was sitting there in my room attempting to help. I'd mentioned the issue to Kyle earlier in the day, during our Junior year high school English class, mostly as an aside per a throwaway discussion as to what was going on in our respective lives. He volunteered to come over that evening and see if he could help. It was a nice gesture. It would also score some nice points with my mom, who'd already met him on a few previous occasions when he'd come over to have lunch with us during the school day.

It was during the Autumn of 2015 that we found ourselves at the border of Canada and the United States. It was my second time leaving the country. Ashley had coordinated procuring our passports some three years earlier, and those little booklets literally opened-up the world to us. So, there we were, in our car at the checkpoint. The official who looked-over our passports was nice. He asked how long we thought we might be in Canada, and what we were there for (not suspiciously, just politely matter-of-fact). We answered, and were on our way. The return was a little different. Upon re-entering the U.S., a different official was terse, a slight air of distrust about him. It was not a welcoming experience, though we were eventually let through without issue. The aforementioned encounters are purely personal and anecdotal, but they stood out to me in their contrast, and I am sometimes reminded of them when reading about the ongoing issues surrounding immigration (illegal or oth

It was one of those situations many of us have found ourselves in. We're in a group setting, and the dreaded, 'Why don't we introduce ourselves?' suggestion is proffered. So, everyone sitting at the table introduces themselves. The tone is set with the first few introductions: name, followed by what they do for a living. Pretty standard stuff. Unfortunately, this caught me in the midst of one of those 'Who am I really? What is life all about?' moods, so I wasn't really feeling the meet and greet session. Eventually, we come around to me, and it's just my name. That's all I cared to give. The leader of the group seemed perturbed, so I caved and offered-up where I work. They then followed that by mentioning another organization I'm a part of, and my role there. It was all very awkward, and no doubt I came-off a bit odd to the new person in the group. Regardless, presenting ourselves -- first and foremost -- by our jobs has always bothere

The St. Louis Blues are playing the Boston Bruins in the Stanley Cup Final. In the world of hockey, it's a pretty big deal. It's their World Series, so whoever wins the best-of-7 games is pretty much the NHL champion for the 2018-19 season. At least, that's as much as yours truly can glean from things, given that I'm not all that into sports. I root for the Illini teams by virtue of where I was born. The St. Louis Cardinals are a family tradition on my mom's side. And the Blues (and hockey) were introduced by way of someone who means a lot to me, so that explains why I like those teams. Why all this talk about sports in general, and the St. Louis Blues in particular? It's because much has been made of how this could potentially be the Blues' first Stanley Cup win in their fifty-two year history. And they last played for the Cup some forty-nine years ago, so what's happening this week is bit of a rare occurrence ( kind of like when the Cubs actual