Let us see what comes from: the sacrifice.
Went to the gym this afternoon for the first time in... years. Not sure exactly how long it has been. Too long, apparently.
At least, that's what I expect to feel in the morning.
Kat's mom got me an early Christmas present in the form of a 3 month pass to the gym. They have a special going on at the moment that got me an extra month for free, so I'm good until the start of April.
Which should be right about the time work in the garden will be picking back up again.
Uncle Albert served our country on some of the nastiest battlefields our species has ever created. He's left bits of himself behind on all of them, both figuratively and, sadly, literally. Uncle Albert is proud of all those sacrifices though.
There was the ear he lost in '86. It was hard for us kids not to stare at where it used to be, especially since he never even tried to hide it. He could've grown his hair long or invested in a hat or two, but he had no interest in that.
He told me once that his heart was broken in a muddy trench in late '93. A good buddy of his died right in his arms. I can't even imagine. Uncle Albert said his old ticker hasn't been the same since.
But the one he was most proud of, the one he loved telling us about the most, was the tale of how he lost his left hand. Mom and Dad didn't like it when he brought that one out. After Uncle Albert had a couple of drinks in him, though? No stopping him.
He'd gather us kids around the living room couch and hold court as day faded into night. We'd listen hard, holding our breaths as much as we dared. Only having one good hand was worth it, he'd say, absolutely and without question.
Old Uncle Albert would have done just about anything to get out of bed and escape from Heidi 'The Hippo' Ferguson. I was always just glad she hadn't fallen asleep on his... uh, 'third leg', as Uncle Albert used to call it.