And the Windmills Keep on Turning, Even on St. Patty's Day, Reminding Me How Time is a Fickle Creature and We Must Hold onto Every Second

I hit send on a book chapter at 10:30 a.m.

I took Karal for a walk, and then accepted an invitation to Stratford's The Windmill to celebrate the holiday with the Kelly crew and to have fish and chips in the middle of the day (which my stomach says, "Um, Crandall. Now it's time for bed, but it's only 2:30 p.m. in the afternoon - not one for fried food and day drinking).

As I walked up to the joint, I couldn't help but reflect on the years Chitunga was a bar-back at The Windmill, where he earned extra dollars from his day job while going to Housatonic full time. He's always been a financial hustler. Many a meal was spent there as he worked his butt off doing all they needed him to do. 

Now, all these years later, that work ethic continues to pay off for him.

Also, accompanying us on this celebration were Ethan and Oliwia, born two months apart, and totally representative of the Kelly genetics. It is remarkable to see Kaitlyn and Patrick wheeling in with all their baby paraphernalia, and trying to juggle parenting with the party. They did remarkably. 

Great meal, wonderful friends, and only missing one thing: Chitunga. He's in Syracuse where he's supposed to be this weekend.

The kids are just precious, so wonderfully behaved amongst all the green and gold. The noise and lights were fascinating to them. 

I'm no man of LaMancha, but I get the fascination of charing windmills. I came home and did another round of editing for a journal I'm co-editing and I'm proud of the authors we've included. Phew.

Here's to the weekend ahead.