Saturday, July 12, 2025 – Day 333

Saturday, July 12, 2025

Good morning!🤩

Yesterday morning, I had a tough start early in the day.

I was out on the patio early, trying to set up the Big Green Egg to cook some bacon. The coals were fired up, and I was working through the usual steps. I reached for the ceramic deflector stone—but I couldn’t lift it. My arms and hands just wouldn’t cooperate. As I stood there, struggling with something I used to do without thinking, our neighbor Laurie walked over. She’d smelled the grill and came by to say hello.

I first met Laurie early last summer. She was with her real estate agent, checking out the townhouse next door. I was up on the pergola, cleaning and getting it ready for another busy season of patio parties. She asked a lot of questions about the neighborhood and the HOA, and I happily answered. I didn’t think much of it—after all, the property was already under contract.

But Laurie made an offer that bumped out the original buyers, and she moved in about a year ago. We haven’t had much contact since. She’s a private person, and after my ALS diagnosis, my world shifted dramatically. Most of our interactions have been quick waves from the car or casual small talk. Had I not been dealing with ALS, I imagine our friendship would’ve looked very different. But life changed on August 13, 2024.

Back to this morning—after our greeting, Laurie saw me—really saw me—struggling with the deflector stone. She asked if I needed help. I declined, mostly because it was greasy and charred from so much use. Still, she didn’t hesitate. She bent down and picked it up for me—barehanded. No gloves, no hesitation. Just kindness. No concern for her now greasy, blackened hands.

We chatted for a few minutes, and then she said something I wasn’t prepared to hear:
“You’re the reason I moved here.”
She said those 15 minutes I spent answering her questions—and the way I described our small neighborhood—convinced her to buy the home.

I was completely taken aback. I couldn’t get any words out. That comment had such a powerful impact on my emotions, I was unable to speak. Not for lack of words but inability to even form a word, much less get them out. All I could do was look at her with my trembling lips. I really did all I could to contain the tears. It was looking like I was going to be stuck in an awkward moment.

Seeing that, she gently asked if she could give me a hug. I nodded. It was a good, real hug. When she let go, she laughed—realizing the back of my shirt now had perfect handprints. I laughed too and thanked her—for the help and for her words. I promised her some bacon, and we said goodbye, after she added, “If there’s anything—anything at all—you need, please ask.”

And then I came inside and lost it.

Cindy was working on a jigsaw puzzle, and I couldn’t get a single coherent word out. She saw me crying and walked over to hug me—letting the wave of emotion pass through. Once I caught my breath, I tried to explain what had just happened. It took a few tries before I could get the words out and make sense of the last ten minutes.

I’m still not sure I fully understand it. But sometimes, the simplest encounter—one sentence, one act of grace—is enough to break me wide open.

We finished the bacon after five hours. We had to cook the two halves of the pork belly in separate batches because they wouldn’t fit on the grill together. I knew I should’ve bought the XL Green Egg when the government gave us that free money at the beginning of COVID. Too late now—just have to make it work.

My Waukegan high school friends arrived in the early afternoon. Carrie, Chrissy, Bill, and Monica drove out for a visit and wanted to see the highlights of Crystal Lake. We got comfortable on the porch for a couple of hours, chatting away and losing track of time. Suddenly, it was 4:00 p.m.—and we hadn’t served any food with the wine and beer because we hadn’t planned to stay at the house for so long.

Cindy rallied the group, and those still interested in seeing Crystal Lake decided to explore. The girls headed out while Bill and I stayed back. I ordered some pizzas for pickup after their little tour, giving them 90 minutes to see the highlights of our community. Well… 90 minutes turned into almost three hours.

They returned laughing—with cold pizza in hand. Apparently, wine was involved in their sightseeing, and they lost track of time…again.

We had a quick dinner, shared more wine and laughter, and suddenly it was past 7:30 p.m.—and everyone realized it was nearing Andy’s bedtime. They were right. We shut things down quickly, said our goodbyes, and shared multiple hugs before everyone hit the road.

And five minutes later, I turned to Cindy and said, “We forgot to take a photo.”
Damn. Why do we always forget to capture these moments? I grabbed a couple photos from the past to use a filler.

The good news is, we’re seeing the Waukegan contingent again this Wednesday. We’ll try again. And since we didn’t find time to slice and package the bacon, we can bring that with us too.

It was a great day no matter the small misses. And I haven’t even told you about the other surprise that showed up.
 I’ll reveal that tomorrow.

Have a great Saturday. Love you guys! ❤️