insurance design

Smoking Charges Ignite

Last night, Amy took Anna, our seven-year-old, to the dress rehearsal for her 2015 dance recital. I was left in charge of Will, our nine-year-old, and Ella, our three-year-old. What follows is a litany of the kids showing me that I exist in their world as a piece of tightly-spun twine, permanently...

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Our actions become our kids' reactions. Not exactly new. Not exactly Newtonian (pause while joke sinks in). But it's a truism all the same. ...

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When I was in high-school, a popular song named "Ode to My Car," by Adam Sandler, spun regularly on the radio. No, it didn't. All foul-mouthed teenage boys wished such happy, unfiltered radio days would appear, but that didn't stop the explicit lyrics from making an impact, even if the song's plot...

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Advertise Here

I live in a small town. Colona, IL has a population of just over 5,000. As a jogger, this means I am usually only assaulted with exhaust fumes a few times whenever I decide to go outside to burn some …...

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Certain messes in life are unavoidable. If you get a DUI and your hair is sufficiently mussed or you manage to jam your finger into the nearest outlet just prior to the mug-shot, chances are you'll be a big-time celebrity some day. ...

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A Reasonable Explanation

Therapist: Take me back to the beginning. Tell me how it all got started, how you eventually wound up holding the bloody knife in the aftermath of your killing spree. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation....

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That's a Mouthful

Waking up to the sounds of birds and (outside) insects is alluring, and when you have your second 10th cup of coffee and realize you are on vacation, and this auditory lovemaking is real, not the result of an ambitious-carpet-cleaning hallucination, you can finally relax, letting your bulk stress...

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Stupid Piece of ... Oh, That's Right

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Deadly Donuts

The morning started off good. Four eggs fluffed with a splash of milk, mixed with Parmesan and salt and black pepper and red pepper flakes and slathered with Cholula hot sauce; four ounces of Bob Evan's spicy Italian sausage (sorry for the smell, honey, luv ya) fried into the wonderful concoction;...

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When Did I Become a Pushover?

I've never thought of myself as the Ultimate Fighter type. As a kid, whenever the possibility of bodily harm came up, I tried to avoid confrontation. But if the issue was pressed, I could stand up and issue fake threats along with the best of them and hope that my manufactured bravado was enough to...

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Filed Under on June 13th, 2009

As I Approach 30

By Seth Kabala

I live in a small town. Colona, IL has a population of just over 5,000. As a jogger, this means I am usually only assaulted with exhaust fumes a few times whenever I decide to go outside to burn some calories. But as far as the type of people passing me on the roadside? Over this, I have no control.

The other day, I was on the return leg of my run to the Colona Post Office and back. It’s two miles there, two back, duh. So, needless to say, I had already worked up quite a sweat by the time I turned around.

Enter the passers by.

I had just padded onto the bridge located just after the railroad tracks on Poppy Garden when a car came at me from the other direction. (Slight rephrase required.) It didn’t come at me, it, with its youthful occupants, was probably heading off on a summer outing, no real plan involved, just a carefree cruise…. Then they saw me.

Suddenly my serenity of listening to an audio book while running was interrupted with honking and hoots and whoops. I thought I heard somebody say, “Yeeeahh,” which I interpreted to mean I’ve still got it.

This was, of course, only my interpretation of the situation. I suppose the possibility exists that I could’ve missed the ending “k” sound on the “yeeah,” thus shattering my perception of my nearly three-decade-old self, but I will choose to live in the illusion.

Thank you, girls, whoever you are, for startling me into the realization that, yeah, I’m looking ok these days.

Ten years ago, I might’ve flagged down the car, ditched the run, and said, “Show me the kegger!” Now … I smiled, glanced at my ring, and jogged straight home.

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Seth Kabala

About: Seth Kabala
Seth is an entrepreneur, writer, musician, family man, and juggler of balls--big ones. He lives with his wife and three children in Portland, OR.

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