Friday, April 11, 2025 - Day 241

Friday, April 11, 2025

Good morning, happy Friday, and welcome to the weekend.

The final day of tax season came and went without much fanfare. No balloons. No heartfelt speeches. Not even a half-hearted “see you next year.” Just a normal day at the site — and then we packed up and left. I walked out of the bank like I was headed to grab groceries, not closing out years of volunteering. I thought I’d feel something more, but… nope. Quiet ending to a solid run.

When I think back, I’m glad I said yes to this season. All it took was one guy reminding me, “Andy, you still have a brain.” I guess that was enough. He wasn’t wrong, and I’m glad I proved it — at least for one more tax season. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it.

And hey, I stayed on my feet the whole time after that January spill — which I’m sure my fellow volunteers appreciated. No one had to invent a story for the EMTs or claim I was hit by a rogue car and they didn’t catch the license plate. Small victories.

Leaving yesterday reminded me of a much bigger goodbye — saying farewell to the house on 1922. After my parents passed in 2014, we spent a couple of years cleaning, sorting, and slowly letting go. I always imagined it’d be heartbreaking to leave the place after nearly five decades. But on closing day — August 17, 2016 — the house didn’t feel like home anymore. It was just a structure. Empty. Quiet. Ready for the next family to make their memories.

I took down the flag, stood there for a minute, and thought about all the love, the noise, the friends who came through that front door like it was their own. It had been a great place to live. But when it was time to go, I got in the car and didn’t look back. No sadness, just gratitude — and a sense that it was time to move forward. No tears, no sadness, just the end of a chapter and the start of a new one.

As for yesterday’s post-tax celebration, we kept our Thursday tradition alive: beers at Sew Hop’d with Barb, Mark, and Cindy. This time we invited Mike and Beth, who hadn’t met Barb and Mark yet. But within minutes, it felt like they’d all known each other for years. Funny how that happens — turns out we all have some overlap, shared stories, familiar connections. It felt like running into old friends, even though we just met. I only wish we’d crossed paths sooner.

We didn’t break the two-beer rule — the one designed to keep Mark and me functional. Still, by the time we got home, I was running on fumes. Mark helped me to the car, Cindy got me to the couch, and that was it for the day. Two beers and a busy week are enough to turn me into a mumbling zombie who walks like I’m wearing ski boots or little Coco.

Thankfully, those new handrails are earning their keep. I can still get myself upstairs without leaving a trail of dents in the drywall. I do wonder sometimes how much longer that’ll be the case — how much time I have before that gets to be impossible. But I try not to linger on those thoughts. I’ve still got a good bit of fight in me, and I plan to use every bit of it to stay independent as long as I can.

Have a great Friday.

Love you guys! ❤️