Looking forward to today

I'm up early and the sky is powder blue to the east. I can hear a train in the distance honking its horn, perhaps a little too long for 6:25 AM.

Almost by the minute the sky is getting lighter, in layers, mixed with wispy gray-white clouds like a parfait. Some noisy birds are making a commotion in the trees.

Pretty soon I'll be able to see the sun and there'll be no turning back. The day will have started.

I'd rather be marlin fishing in Cabo.

I'd rather be teeing off at that great course in Florida.

I'd rather be rolling over in some crazy-high thread count sheets at a bed and breakfast in Massachusets.

I'd rather be sitting on the porch of my own 20-acre farm in the country, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the silence.

I'd rather be swinging in a hammock in the mountains of Virginia.

I'd rather be walking among the skyscrapers of Manhattan, in a sea of cabs, limos, and cars and feeling like if someone put a pin in the middle of the world it would come down right on top of my head.

I would love to spend all morning soaking in Monets and Renoirs.

I would get a kosher dog from the hot dog vendor in front of the Museum of Natural History in the mall in D.C.

Or go fly fishing on the salmon run in the Kenai river in Alaska

But the more I think about it, it's funny--Someday, I'll wish more than anything that I was sitting right here, with my wife and my 6-year old and 1-year old asleep in other rooms, ready to wake up as soon as I make one small noise.

I'll wish I could go back and hug them as small as they are now, when their arms barely fit around my neck and Kaitlyn still drinks from a bottle and says "cank coo" for "Thank you".

So I owe it to myself to make today a good day; to make it count.