I’ve been commuting a lot to visit my wife in the hospital. So I’m sitting at a traffic light in Venice, lazily watching some young guy mess around with his skateboard. He dashed onto the crosswalk then back to the street corner, just hanging out solo.

But something was different about this guy. Baggy jeans - OK. Baggy white t-shirt - OK. So what’s different…

The light turns green and it finally hits me…he’s black (or Afro-American depending on today’s level of politcal correctness). All I ever see are white kids tooling around in their skater gear. Whoever that guy was, you go boy!

It’s been a crazy five days. Wife in the hospital and Junior with a fever. The wife’s predicament is another post but I’ve come to realize it’s friggin’ hard to tend to an infant, let alone a sick one, and get anything else done. I guess that’s the benefit of having family near by.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were consumed with tending to the boy. Feeding, checking temperature, doctor visits, diapers, and entertaining him. I got some free time here and there but maybe 30 minutes at most. No time to work, no time to visit the wife, and day care doesn’t want a sick kid. A sitter? Sure, but find one and start the meter running.

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The wife and I attended a close friend’s wedding last month. It was a fun time and on the way out each guest received a southwestern styled trivet to commemorate the event.

About two weeks ago I found the trivet on our kitchen floor, shattered into a million pieces. Apparently it had a nasty fall from the shelf it was resting on and my wife thought aloud, “I hope this isn’t a sign about their marriage.”

Two days ago the groom called to tell me his new wife left him after the honeymoon. The broken trivet was just a coincidence, right?