John had a wonderful 4th of July with music on the water, and an errant shot on the golf course turned into a core memory. He also learned the correct name of his new favorite sandwich shop and its owner. Sorry! 

John is celebrating 250 years at 250 pounds, writes a love letter to Tally’s Dockside, and watches a soccer match with an old friend. He also witnesses a significant pace-of-play incident involving hacky sacks. 

John is trying to get home from his guy’s trip in Montreal. He managed to stitch together a podcast from a Wausau airport privacy room. He also reminds us why horse racing is the sport of Kings. 

John’s working to be a positive force, recognizing it’s all in the giving not how it’s received. He wishes all the dads out there a happy Father’s Day, and wonders if a bag of mulch is as heavy as the Stanley Cup. 

Things are slow in John’s empty nest; he’s resorted to trimming the hedges. To avoid becoming an old man shaking his fist at the sky, he’s focused on the good this week. He might even stop at the next lemonade stand he sees.  

Stacey and John aren’t sure what to do on a beautiful Saturday, so they let their golden doodle decide. There appears to be peace on the bikers vs. walkers battlefield, and John visits Hendy Fest. 

John is learning the man is a myth and anticipates the Summer Bike Wars of 2026. He also made his lake debut on his Big Easy towable tube. 

John is trying to quit drinking kid coffee and find something to do with a used palette. And while he didn’t get hit by a Billy club at his favorite sushi place, he sure felt like it. Also, Lay’s new chip bags are awful.  

John is down in Florida surprising his son for his birthday. He wonders why we still tolerate email, and hopes to one day have as many cares in the world as a retired guy on a zero turn mower working at a golf course. 

John is experiencing “golf guilt” while wondering if the salted nut roll is a local or National phenomenon. He wants all the mothers to have a wonderful day and reminds us we control our narratives.