Make-shift dinner with babycarrot sister at the ‘bucks. Even after some pesky patrons illegally parked right in front of the sidewalk, and thus, in front of the main (and only) entrance to the establishment and proceeded to leave their car doors open so everyone outside enjoying the last bit of warmth of the day could (look and feel hair-wrenchingly annoyed, and) enjoy the pesky patrons’ loud Russian rock music.

The feel of a basketball rolling off my fingertips. The sound of tennis shoes moving and sliding on a hardwood floor. Realizing that even after two years and no ball in my hand I haven’t forgotten how to play the game, but I have missed it. Missed the game and missed the coaching.

The soreness that accompanies an afternoon of quasi-coaching an 8th grade girls basketball team ranked nationally. The reality of no longer having to miss the game and miss the coaching.

The little girl in the backseat of the Honda in front of me today who held her barbie out the window for two miles, presumably so that she too could feel the wind in her hair.