August 27, 2019

Quixotic, but magnificent

THE SCENE: “So come with me, where dreams are born, and time is never planned. Just think of happy things, and your heart will fly on wings, forever, in Never Never Land!”


SSH x 33 IC
Windmills x 10 IC
Overhead Clap x 9 IC
Smurf Jacks x 10 IC
Merkins x 20 IC
Squats x 20 OYO
Diamond Merkins x 10 OYO
Squats x 20 OYO
Hand Release Merkins x 20 OYO
Squats x 20 OYO

Mosey to field
Burpee Broad jump to the other end
Mosey to playground

11’s – Swing pull-ups & groiners
11’s – Dips & Smurf Jacks

Lt .  Dans, up to 5/20

Mosey to parking lot
10 Merkins, bear length of parking lot, stopping at every other parking space for 1 less merkin.  got down to 3 at the end.

Hello Dolly x 15 IC
Rosalita x 15 IC
(Ice Cube) BBSU x 20 IC
(BirdsRReal) American Hammer x 20 OYO
(Ragequit) LBC x 30 OYO
(Rabbit) Awe-Yeahs x 30 IC
Superman x # IC
Aquaman x 15 IC

Zima, Rabbit, Ragequit, Homie, BirdsRReal, Beef Log, Liberace, Woodpecker(QIC), Ice Cube, Arch
The Village Blacksmith

Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

H.. W. Longfellow