Donut Infatuation

Dear Members and Constituents,

Remember that first infatuation? Young and innocent, pure and authentic. Not quite sure what the attraction meant and not quite ready to take it anywhere, something in your inexperienced brain just flipped. Eyes like deep opalescent pools of marmalade, lips like ripe plums ready for the picking and hair like waves of silky wheat blowing in the wind. Lost in the feeling. Restless nights filled with visions of unreachable perfection and implausible stratagems to break the touch barrier. Ah, touch. That often overlooked sense seems to somehow hold the key to bliss. A shoulder bumped in passing, a casual tap. A cheek caressed, a handshake, a hug. If only you could gather the courage to touch that blissfully oblivious someone. Why that senseless urge for a seemingly ephemeral connection? Like a slow motion drop of water dissolving into an infinite pool, you envision an invisible energy exchange connecting you to that timeless someone; a moment forever etched into your senses. Nothing has changed yet nothing can ever be the same. Remember? Of course you do! Perhaps touch is more transcendental than we give it credit for. Stephen Hawking seems to think so… Then again, it may just be a sweet notion held by a sappy old man. Speaking of sweet, Jennifer Mecaller delights us this morning with four dozen donuts, eagerly awaiting your attentions. As usual, they’re sitting in Ed’s office (who is out, recovering from rotator cuff surgery, so he won’t be touching these babies –or cramping your style when you do).

Happy Friday!

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BIrds of a Feather

Friends, The early bird catches the worm, however, as the sun rises I’d much rather have a Denver omelet than a diet of worms . Ready to fly the coop, my ducks all in a row, I ponder one more time whether a bird in hand is truly worth two in the bush. Egged-on by my quest to tuck away a nest egg, I’ve decided to change industries and hope that, like the phoenix, my career will also rise from the ashes of change. After all, I’m no spring chicken –my crow’s feet and gray bely my age – however, I have to trust my judgment and believe you can’t catch this old bird with chaff (whether or not folks think me an odd bird for my actions). And so I shall attempt to soar like an eagle, aware that counting my chickens before they hatch would be ill-advised. As I learn to talk turkey in the language of cybersecurity, I will endeavor not to hide my head in the sand, choosing instead to be like a duck – calm on the surface and paddle like hell underneath! And while my excessive use of bird-inspired

Friday Donuts

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