Have I mentioned lately how much I love Wil Wheaton? If you don’t read his blog, you should.
When we got home, we played in the street, long after the sun had turned the sky above us purple and its rays barely lingered, pink and gold, on the bottoms of clouds in the West. We stopped only when our depth perception couldn’t pick out the softly glowing green disc with much accuracy, and the stars were starting to come out.
I woke up this morning with searing pain in my left arm and shoulder. It was joined by some pain in my right hip, and even though I’m pretty damn achey today, it’s worth it. I’m not going to be an old man and wish that I’d played less frisbee with my son.