Alone.

Largely in the dark, with only the flickering light from our gas driven fire warming the ceramic logs and 55 inches of high definition art providing a view into what is most often some far corner of the world.

Night after night I sit ignoring the phone, e-mail, text messages and two very persistent family dogs. I am left up, alone in my living room with Mary Carrillo, long after my wife has gone to bed.

If you think that sounds a bit destructive, you might be right. I have a problem. I’m an addict, a junkie, a freak.

My name is Bob and I am an Olympiholic.

Roughly every two years, for 17 straight days, I get wrapped up in The Games.

It is likely somewhat genetic, my addiction to this modern version of the most ancient of sporting events. My mother, a woman who really couldn’t give a tinker’s dam for sports, never misses The Games.

We watched a bit of everything. Gymnastics,...

On Monday, March 16th my wife and I welcomed the latest addition to our little family when our second child, Autumn Richelle Floyd, was born at 10:44am. For those concerned with such things, she weighed in at 7lbs 8oz and 18 3/4 inches long.

For Om's benefit I will note that she has a nearly full head of hair.

Mother and daughter are now home and resting easily although Autumn seems a bit confuses about the relative merits of getting day and night straightened out. She seems convinced that the rest of us have it wrong and should conform to her way of thinking. At this point, she is winning that battle.

While I only have three photos up at this point, what I have posted may be found here in my online photo gallery. More will be posted shortly.

“Fix it, Daddy.”

Her grief stricken face appears at my elbow. That’s all I can see. She is, after all, only 2 and a half yeas old so not tall enough yet for me to see more.

“Fix what, Cuteness?”

“Dis!” She replies holding up the Slinky she got for Christmas. The Slinky I incorrectly thought she was too young for just yet. The Slinky I incorrectly thought would be boring in a single level ranch home that has but one step in the whole place. The Slinky that has now become one of her favorite toys. The Slinky that is now “broken.”

I looked from the Slinky to her face, seeing nothing but blind trust and confidence.

“Mommy said Daddy fix it” she intones solemnly. No preacher or priest ever spoke about their faith with more conviction. At this moment she could give the best of them lessons.

The Slinky is a...