Of Photographs and Memories

A picture is worth a thousand words. The old adage rings true even more today in our high tech world of ingenious devices that snap photos and whip them around the world in seconds. A single image such as in a photograph freezes the essence of the moment. Faces and places are forever held still in time. A simple, crinkled old snapshot taken many years ago captures a time or a place or people that may have vanished from our lives and nothing can ever bring them back again. A photograph reminds us of what we forget. It's a touchstone to our past that enriches our lives.

For the past week, I have been reminded of the priceless value of old family photographs. Last winter our home suffered a devastating flood as a result of a broken pipe. The walls and ceiling literally fell down because of the force of the water. We were out of town. But our neighbor who lives in the attached condo next to us...told us when we returned home that he heard the pipe break and that he heard the water rushing through the pipes nonstop. And yet he never notified anyone in the management company or any of our many neighbors. If he had told somebody right away, the water could have at least been turned off and our home would not have been so severely flooded. As it was, this man sat by and heard the water run for over five days...without doing a single thing about it. It was only when we returned home that we discovered the damage...and found the water was still running.

But this story is not about the apathetic old coot who lives next door. This is about the importance of treasured family photographs. After the flood, we eventually had the house repaired and restored good as new. All the wet, soggy stuff was thrown out. And the water was sucked out with special hoses. Later, water damage restoration specialists came with nifty little meters and checked and rechecked for the slightest evidence of mold or mildew or even a spec of dampness. They found nothing. We felt a great sense of relief. Not a trace of mold or mildew was apparent anywhere. Or so we thought....

Last week, I just happened to be searching through several large plastic bins where I stored all my old photo albums that date back 50 years and more. As I delved deeper into the containers, I saw it. I smelled it. The dreaded MOLD. Dank, ugly fungus spores encased all my photo albums. It looked like somebody had thrown a shovel full of slimey black dirt into the bins. All the albums were sopping wet.

It was as if an arrow had pierced my heart. I instinctively knew that most, if not all of my precious photographs were ruined. The visual memories of our entire past life no longer existed. We could replace the carpet, replace the walls, replace the ceiling. We could buy new furniture and other tangible items. But old family photographs are simply irreplaceable. 

After a great deal of sobbing and wringing of hands, I lugged all the bins out into our garage. For the past week I have been meticulously going through every single album...to determine if any of the photos are worth saving. I've been snapping pictures since I was ten years old. And I saved every one of them. No jumbled shoe boxes for me. I stored all my photos very neat and tidy, labeled and organized in ancient, bulky, over-sized, old-fashioned leather albums. In recent years, I've been uploading photos to my computer. But I had saved thousands of hard copy Kodak moments from over the past 50 years.

Miraculously I was able to salvage some of the pictures. But most of them were lost to water and mold damage. It turns out that when water splashes on a photo, it literally washes the color away leaving nothing but empty white paper. And so it is that all of my college yearbooks had to be trashed. Tons of photos of family gatherings, first communions, Christmases, our kid's first days of school, birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, sailboat trips, vacations, beloved pets, various houses we've lived in over the years, weddings...all destroyed. 

Photographs are more than preservations of the past. They are our link to people and places and times that we hold dear. We immediately recall how we felt when we look at old pictures. Just for an instant, we are able to touch people from our past lives...loved ones no longer with us. Friends we haven't seen in decades. We can see ourselves as we once were. We can watch our children growing up. We can see our elders, grand parents and great greats. The funny clothes they wore. What their houses looked like. Their furniture. Their old jalopy cars. Photographs have the uncanny ability to restore our youth, if only for a moment. Photographs rescue time. They represent a fleeting history of our lives. 

I feel like a part of my life has been stolen. I feel like my past has been plundered. My memories ransacked. These old family photos showed people I loved with goofy looks on their faces or serious scowls or happy-go-lucky grins embracing life at the instant the photo was snapped. The people, their poses, their expressions, the surroundings, the stories behind the pictures...to me they are paper treasures that are now lost forever. 

In the hit 70's song Kodachrome, Paul Simon wrote:
They give us those nice, bright colors
They give us the greens of summer
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away.

I will dearly miss those cozy, old Kodachromes...those sunny, bright colors and the faded black and white snapshots of years past. But when all is said and done, I still have those memories pressed between the pages of my mind and sweetened with the passage of time. Still and all, my old family albums were like a sumptuous feast of priceless memories that I could see and touch and recollect and laugh over and reminisce about with family members. Now I start with a clean slate. I have a new camera and a passionate mission...to create and preserve brand new memories for our children and grandchildren. I will store them all online...with plenty of backup. OK now...everybody smile and say: Kodachroooomme.

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The Reunion

I'm generally not one who dwells on the past all that much. But last week...there it was...my past life... staring me right smack in the face. I had summoned up my courage and with great intrepidation ventured off to a mini reunion of former high school and grade school girl friends. Sixteen of us gathered together at a grand and gracious historic hotel in a picturesque, countryside village for several days of reminiscing, laughing, dining, wining and sharing personal stories.

I will be the first to admit that I was a bit nervous about retreating back to high school years. Sure, I had my fair share of goofy fun way back then but it's never been all that important to me to relive those days. Yet the minute I laid eyes on my old friends...my silly fears and insecurities disappeared.

We hugged. We embraced. We looked into each other's eyes and saw the soul of our youth. In their now grown-up faces, seasoned with wisdom and character lines and grannie glasses, I still recognized the happy-go-lucky, plucky, fresh, fearless, teen-aged, beautiful young ladies I had formed friendships with so many, many years ago.

Back in the day, we listened to music by Trini Lopez, Jan and Dean, Dion, the Beach Boys, Nat King Cole, Bobby Darin, Bobby Vinton and an emerging new group called The Beatles. Jackie Kennedy took us on a TV tour of the White House. Andy Warhol painted a soup can and made us all think we could become famous artists just like him. Gas was 28 cents a gallon...if we were ever lucky enough to get the keys to the family station wagon. A brand new car cost about $3300. Leslie Gore cried that It's My Party. But for many of us it was the Days of Wine and Roses when we were brazen enough to swig our first beers down at the beach and received pink rose corsages on Prom night. Silicone breast implants had just been invented. Who knows if any of the women in our little reunion group might now be sporting them.

Reconnecting with these wonderful women was a sheer delight. Among the group was my very, very best friend from 6th grade onward, whom I had not seen since college days. We're all a lot more mellow now. No drama. No bitchiness. No histrionics. Hell...most of us can't tolerate more than two glasses of wine without nodding off. We've all enjoyed glorious highs and suffered saddening lows, bore lots of children, worked hard, traveled widely and experienced life and love in a multitude of different ways.  Although we're not as wacky as we once were...we still share a kindred spirit and a rollicking enthusiasm for life that bubbles with energy and vitality. We have all become kind and loving human beings. We are still vibrant women. I salute each and every one of the girls. Reuniting with them again has revitalized my soul.

Which one is Boomer Pie?  Back row, 4th from left (white jacket, black blouse)

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The Girls

In a few days, I will be going back in time...literally. I will be attending a gathering of wise, witty and wonderful women...all of whom I have not seen in 100 years. Well, it seems that long anyway. They are my former grade school and high school classmates. Talk about old school...we're the freakin' BC era...before computers.

About 20 of the "girls" have reconnected over the last couple years. They found me via Facebook just this past year. We will join up outside Chicago for a three day, girlfriends reunion and non-stop gabfest. I'm looking forward to it. Yet, I'm a bit apprehensive at the same time because I have not weathered all that well over the years. I have character lines and saggy parts and I'm all stressed out about it. Truth is that inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut her up with cookies. So I'm wondering how the others have fared physically. Are they all as trim and fit as they used to be years ago?  How many have let their hair go gray? Have any of them had "work" done? Face lifts, nip and tucks? Have their personalities changed much? After all these decades, will I recognize any of them? Will I like any of them?  Will they like me?

Most of the gals who will be at the reunion were good friends of mine back in the day. We had slumber parties together, shared secrets, attended basketball games and movies and hung out at the A&W drive in Root Beer stand. In the summer, we basked in the sun at the neighborhood swim club and debated the merits of shaving your legs...above the knee or not? We laughed till we spit up food and squealed with delight over Elvis or Pat Boone. Yes, we are that old. We yakked on the phone for hours (decades before cell phones...can you say "princess phone?") and wallowed in one girlhood drama after another...most having to do with boys.

Post high school, I graduated from college, moved away and never had an opportunity to see any of these people again. So it's like I will be meeting up with perfect strangers. Yet, overall, I have very fond recollections of these now seasoned women whom I am about to encounter again after many decades. We all shared childhood and young adulthood together. We formed friendships and forged common bonds and I truly hope all of them are well and happy. I look forward to hearing about their lives, their loves and their latest dreams. I think it will be great fun........if only I could send in a Meryl Streep look-alike to represent me. Sphere: Related Content

The Covered Bridge

                                                                
It was a beautiful Sunday in spring. Perfect for an afternoon drive. We live in a bustling city but just outside of town, the subdivisions morph into pastoral countryside. We turned down a little country road and were rewarded with the sight of a beautiful, century-old covered bridge sprawled across a serene-flowing river. After stopping to snap photos, we got back in the car and decided to cross the bridge to see where it led. Surprisingly, vehicles are still allowed to traverse the historic structure at a wicked 5 miles per hour. Rumbling over the clunky, wooden planks, we thought about the horse-drawn wagons that had bumped over this same route years ago. On the other side, we came upon the last vestiges of what was once a thriving saw mill town. A few old dilapidated, wood houses, a church and a weathered barn are all that remain. Over the decades, the acreage around the town has grown into a lush forest and the surrounding fields flaunt millions of midnight blue phlox...all bobbing their perky heads in the gentle breeze. Standing knee-deep in wild flowers, we gazed up at the sagging, decrepit barn and embraced the utter stillness and peaceful solitude of our surroundings.

In the blink of an eye, we were transported back one hundred years. It was all so unexpected to discover this lovely, hidden little place. It's quaint, quiet and basically undisturbed today. But I wonder what it must have been like a century or more ago. The buzz of the saw mill. The men...hot and sweltering, covered in saw dust performing a dirty, dangerous job. The women...outside washing clothes, tending their gardens, baking bread. The children...helping out with the chores. From sunup to sundown, no electricity out there in the sticks. No mammoth, modern-day grocery stores, no Home Depots or malls. No computers or fast food or cell phones or TV.

It was a back-breaking hard life back then. Yet the simplicity and beauty of that bucolic, little village today masks the difficulties and hardships those country folk faced.  Every so often, I wish I lived in a simpler time...with no worries of terrorists or identity theft or oil spills. But then I come to my senses and realize that I'd be lost without the microwave, computer and a million other technological conveniences.  Still I'm glad that sweet, little country village has not entirely disappeared. The rugged, old covered bridge was like a time tunnel that for just a brief spec of time, guided us to a peaceful oasis far removed from our crazy, hectic, modern society. Over a hundred years after the town's demise, it continues to provide an unpretentious beauty, grace and homespun charm that is often lacking in our world today. I think we'll be back for many more visits.

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The Solitary Man

The solitary man. He walks alone. The sands squish underfoot. The waves lap at his side. The wind slaps his face. He must be cold. He wears a jacket and stuffs his hands in the pockets for warmth. Does he have a destination? Or is his walk merely for relaxation?

What is he thinking as he plods along the deserted shoreline? How far is he going? How far has he already come? Does he notice the thousands of footprints that have already trod this stretch of beach? The telltale impact of countless feet...yet where are the masses who left these marks?

A cloudless blue sky. A curvy, tan ribbon of beach. A man in black. Scenic beauty. Quiet stillness. What awaits this solitary man? Will he turn around and go back the way he came? Or will he travel forward...round the far bend? Just to see what's there. Is he curious? Or does he already know what he will find?

I follow behind this stranger. At a distance. With my sleek, ultra-slim camera. He is unaware of my stealthy photo snapping. I follow him because I too am curious...about him.  We round the bend. He turns back. At last, he sees me. We nod a greeting. I am tempted to speak and carry on a bit of chat with him. But I decide against it. I let him go without a word. He climbs up a hill into the dunes and disappears. I continue walking...seeking out my next solitary man.

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Liberals do Lunch.

Afternoon lunch in a swanky D.C. eatery...three top administration officials casually discuss the merits of allowing illegal immigrants to remain in the United States: 

By god, that stupid Arizona law is gonna kill us. We need all the minority votes we can drag over the border.

Damn strait and I'll have another martini.

But illegals can't vote.

Oh, we got people working on that.

I don't care if illegals are not legal. I don't care if they're breaking the law. They have rights..... And make mine a double.

Well, technically they don't have rights in the U.S. but once we give them amnesty, then they'll have rights.

Yah, and if we send them back or prosecute them, the wife and I will lose our housekeeper, Conchita, all our landscape people AND our nanny. It's just not fair.

That Conchita sure makes tasty chili rellenos. Yummy.

And your nanny ain't so bad either. Yummy. Heh, heh , heh.

Tell me about it, amigo. Ha, ha, ha.

Guys, you're missing the point. That crazy tea bagger crowd is gonna vote us out.

Naw, they're just a bunch of old coots who like to fart off at town hall meetings.

OK. Here's a plan: we keep the illegals and ship the tea baggers off to Ciudad Juarez. Set up a phony town hall meeting. Hire a Glenn Beck look-alike to drive the bus and before they can scream "Sara Palin"... they're across the border and those Mexican drug gangs will pick off every one of their sorry butts. 

Elder care...Mexican style. Ha, ha, ha. 

That's crazy, dude. Did you lose part of your brain when you got that goofy hair transplant?

Hey, don't mock my new hair revitalization. Or my butt lift and my nose job. And how about that snazzy new, fifty grand, security fence around your vacation compound?

All thanks to taxpayers.

Ya gotta love em. Cheers. 

But seriously...how can we fight this Arizona law?

I say we boycott the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas.

Vegas is not in Arizona, you idiot.

Oh, thank god. I've got tickets to Cirque du Soleil and a spa session at the Belagio coming up soon.

We'd be slumming it without the American taxpayers, that's for sure! Ha, ha ha.

I've got it. Let's take a fact-finding junket to Mexico.

Awesome! We can spend one week in Acapulco. Another in Los Cabos and just to be fair...five days in Cancun.

Just make sure Rahm doesn't hear about it. I don't want him hauling his foul-mouth along with us.

Not to worry. He's too busy protecting those poor, misguided 9/11 terrorists.

Well, bring your Cipro, scuba gear, golf clubs, your passport, security ID, birth certificate, first born child and other personal documents. They're really strict over there. They don't want no stinkin' gringo drug dealers coming in to Mexico.

Ya. But they're happy as a Margarita to let em loose on our side of the creek.

Speaking of Margaritas...let's have a round to celebrate our bold decision.

Ahhh, here's to sun, sand and tequila. 

It's good to be in power.

Thanks to the American taxpayers. Ha, ha, ha. 

Check, please. Sphere: Related Content

For Lighthouse Lovers

I am fortunate to live near a big, beautiful, blue inland sea...otherwise known as Lake Michigan. It's vast. It's treacherous. It's very deep. And it's quite breathtaking. For centuries, lighthouses along the coastline of Lake Michigan warned ships of danger and guided them to safe harbor. In the state of Michigan, there are 115 lighthouses. These historical structures were a feat of architectural and engineering ingenuity...built to withstand the savage elements of wind, water and weather. Many of the lighthouses are no longer in official operation. Some have been converted to tourist attractions, bed and breakfasts or even private residences. Yet, today each lighthouse still stands proudly as a silent but majestic reminder of its unwavering service.
A beacon of brilliance, a shining light in the darkness,
a reassuring hope for seafarers of long ago.

Here are some photos I took of the 2 lighthouses on the pier at Grand Haven, Michigan on a recent sunny May day. The structures were built between 1875-1905. The square shaped building at the end of the pier housed the fog signal. The more traditional tower contained the guiding beacon. They are still in operation. A high, black steel catwalk connects the two lighthouses. Back in the day, the lighthouse keeper crawled or walked along the catwalk to access the structures in order to avoid being swept out to sea by crashing waves that washed over the pier.

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The Path

It was a lovely path, indeed. An inviting dirt trail in the woods...off the beaten track...that I happened to encounter. Wild dogwood and other colorful woodland flowers lined both sides. Towering trees flaunted their lush, leafy greenery ...providing welcomed dappled shade. The waters from a cool stream splashed nearby. A family of white-tail deer popped their heads out from behind the bushes...unsure as to proceed or dash away. "Who is this interloper?" they seemed to wonder. "Is she safe or does she portend danger for us?" The gentle path meandered up a steep slope to the top of a hill. I could not see the other side.  Like the wary deer, I wondered: "Is it safe or does it portend danger for me?"

What was on the other side of this innocent looking path? A treacherous ravine?  A bear cave?  A pack of coyotes? A nest of rattle snakes? A wretched tangle of thorny brambles and poison ivy?  A crazed killer? (We all know they like to hide out in the woods to snag their human prey.) Would this seemingly serene, easy terrain suddenly become more difficult? Would I have to stumble over fallen rocks, dead trees, mud, tall prickly weeds?

Or did the path abruptly end? Would I have to turn around and hike all the way back?  Did I have enough water? Would it get dark before I could find my way out? Would I become lost in this solitary woods?  Would this sweet little path become my undoing? Should I simply turn around and not even bother to follow the path?

Thinking back to my hesitation as I stood at the trailhead of this quiet path in the woods, I am reminded that we all have decisions to make about which paths to follow in our lives. Many people settle for the easy road. Or at least the course they think will be the smoothest. While others prefer the way that offers more of a challenge. Not knowing where it will lead makes it even more enticing. More of an adventure. Some folks insist on knowing everything about the path before they embark upon it. Still others enjoy the thrill of traveling where they have never been...dangers, pitfalls and all.

I suppose most of us traverse through life following a variety of paths. Sometimes we'll opt for the dull and unexciting but safe and secure way. Other times we'll feel enterprising and pursue a more daring route. A lot of people trudge through life like sheep following others on well-populated paths. Those who are bolder, prefer to explore the path not so heavily trodden. It's scary. It's often lonely. It's filled with surprises. Sometimes they're called foolhardy and rash. Sometimes the path will end unexpectedly. But that doesn't stop the risk-takers. They thrive on new and exciting challenges. Forging down the path least taken affords the seeker an opportunity for more personal reward and self-fulfillment.

Some of us amble our way contentedly through life while others charge headlong with the fury and passion of a lovesick rhinoceros. How we explore life is different for all of us. As for me...did I follow the path in the woods? Of course. And I promptly came upon a large rattle snake slithering across the trail. I quickly backed away, not knowing if more were in the bushes. I patiently waited while the big guy crossed the road and then I continued on my way, carefully watching my steps. But in the woods...you should always watch your steps carefully...that's just a given. Eventually the neat little path gave way to a rutted, rock-strewn, muddy and very narrow trail. Finally, the path ended. And I found myself gazing upon a small but absolutely beautiful waterfall, sparkling in a beam of sunlight like jewels in a brilliant rainbow of color. Amazing. The path had led me to the secret of the woods. It was worth the hike.                                                       

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A Spring Walk in the Woods

Ahhh, the glories of Springtime in the Rapids...Grand Rapids, Michigan, that is. Here are some photos I took recently during a morning walk in a nearby woodland.

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My Big Fat Geek Book Club

I belong to a fantabulous book club. We've been together for almost five years. Our group consists of seven regulars and one honorary member. We're all women. Various backgrounds. Assorted experiences. For most of us, we have faced or are in the midst of challenging circumstances but we are brimming over with a big, fat enthusiasm for life, adventurous books, and fun-loving comraderie. We are spirited, sassy, spontaneous and often downright silly.

Members each take turns hosting our monthly book "gathering" at their home. We all live fairly close to each other so it's easy to get together. We meet at 10:00 in the morning. Unlike many book clubs, our members actually discuss the book at length...for nearly two hours. We all figure that we've taken time to read the book, so why not talk about it and listen to differing perspectives. Some of our best conversations occur when members relate events in the book to our own personal experiences.  The host prepares questions, leads the discussion and keeps the group focused so we don't stray too far off topic. Our group is structured but by no means rigid. We have the most amazing discourses with insightful, thought-provoking and often hilarious give-and-take. We agree to disagree in a congenial manner and we've  learned so much about each other.  Although we were strangers in the beginning, we've now bonded as dear friends.

Our book selections are varied. We don't always choose best sellers. Sometimes we'll pick a geeky classic. Next month, we're reading the Screwtape Letters. I readily admit it was not my choice. But I think it will be an intriguing discussion. We don't always like the book but we do agree to read it and frequently the books we hate offer the most over-the-top discussions.

Our book club has two components. First the book discussion. Then the FOOD. In addition to leading the discussion, the host prepares a lunch for all of us. In the beginning, we decided the "eats" would be a very casual, nothing fancy, non-gourmet, no-pressure type of meal. A simple salad, soup or casserole would suit us just fine. That was in the beginning. Since then, many of our members have taken exquisite pleasure in preparing extravagant and memorable feasts that we're still talking about years later. Many times a member will prepare a lunch that correlates to the theme of the book. Just yesterday, we had a book club gathering where we discussed a book in which the story focused on Chinese culture. Our host prepared a splendid feast of Chinese dishes from egg-drop soup, Chinese veggies, a rice/chicken bamboo shoots entree with home-made almond cookies and Asian pears for dessert. The table was scattered with hundreds of red rose petals for good luck and we each received our own Chinese proverb on a scroll of rice paper. We ate with chop sticks and ended the meal laughing at our quintessential fortune cookie predictions. This is what makes our book club as great and as unique as it is. Another time, our book was a coming-of-age novel about young boys launching amateur space rockets. For lunch, our host served us real astronaut food she'd purchased on the internet, decorated the table with toy space craft, baked cookies in the shape of rockets and sent us all home with goodie bags full of moon rock candies.

We also go on field trips. We went to Chicago last year for a private tour of architectural landmarks that were mentioned in the book we'd read. Another time a member hosted our group in her pitch black basement because the book was about coal miners. For our only light source, she gave us each a small miner's headlight that she'd ordered online. Then she conducted the entire discussion in near darkness as we each held a lump of coal she had given us. It was spooky, absorbing, hilarious and inventive all at the same time. Needless to say, the meeting was unforgettable. As for our honorary member...she works on the day we meet so unfortunately she cannot attend meetings on a regular basis. But she  hosts an annual book/beach/brunch bash at her lake house every summer which is rousing fun for all of us.

I would encourage anyone to start a book club if you're not in one already. It's loads of fun. Members should be committed to attending each meeting but they certainly don't have to be stuffy intellectuals or boring bookheads. The main requirements are a good sense of humor and a willingness to explore different forms of literature. As for me, I don't even like to read that much. I'm in it for the food, the friends and the crazy antics. That reminds me.....an upcoming book deals with fear of flying. Hmmmm...anybody up for skydiving lessons? Sphere: Related Content

Random Thoughts on a 1400 Mile Road Trip

Florida to Michigan. A road trip of nearly 1400 miles. Nine states. Gallons of coffee. An overdose of fast food. Way too many traffic tie-ups. Monotonous highway fatigue. All leading to a weary traveler's quirky random thoughts, observations and ruminations...in no particular order.

• The American highway system is obsolete, hazardous and just plain screwed up. There is simply not enough concrete to hold the massive amounts of traffic that traverse the interstate routes on a daily basis. When you have more vehicles than a road can accommodate, there's bound to be chaos.

• The United States desperately needs an efficient, reliable, high-speed rail system like they have throughout Europe.

• I resolve never ever ever to travel Interstate 95. Bumper to bumper from Florida to the Arctic. Numerous deadly accidents...each grisly scene we were forced to drive by at 5 mph.

• Waldo, Florida...a very sneaky speed trap.

• Stopover in Asheville, North Carolina...the San Francisco of the Appalachians. Where grungies and zillionaires co-exist in altitude-adjustment toleration.

• Best breakfast ever...Tupelo Honey Cafe, Asheville.

• Skyline chili...Cinncinnati's signature dish...is disappointingly bad and packs a wallop of indigestion.

• Who knew the Amish dined out at Skyline Chili? An Amish couple pulled up in an older car, ordered chili and Greek salad and bowed to pray before they ate. Maybe their horse and buggy was in the shop.

• If you lined up all the Interstate road kill end to end, it would reach the moon. Then the smell would obliterate it.

• Nine times out of ten, the really, really slow car in the fast lane that refuses to move over, creating a long tie up behind it...is a Ford Taurus.

• Recipe to relieve boredom: DQ pit stop every afternoon.

• The South seems to have more Dairy Queens than the North.

• On average, Burger King restrooms are cleaner than McDonald's restrooms.

• Clothing sightings along the roadside: 9 single items of footware...mostly tennis shoes. 1 pair of jeans. 3 shirts/blouses. 7 baseball caps. 1 fuscia rain slicker.

• The mountain tops are literally being scalped by mining companies and developers.

• I wonder who litters the Appalachian hills and hollers with old washing machines, broken down church buses and rusty tractors.

• The South has the prettiest and longest spring ever...and the most pollen.

• Nicest McDonalds ever: Van Wert, Ohio. Hip, edgy decor. Upscale ambiance. Leather chairs. Cozy fireplace. Outdoor patio seating. Ultra clean. Friendly service.

• If I stuck my face out the car window going at a speed of 75 miles an hour, would my head blow off?

• Michigan welcome sign: "Pure Michigan". Yippee. All the snow is gone.

• The scenic shoreline of northwest Michigan along the big blue lake with its towering cliffs and magnificent views, reminds me of the California Pacific coast.

25 hours after we began our trip...home sweet home...safe and sound. It's good to be back in Michigan. Our own cozy bed never felt so comfy.

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Ahhh, Springtime in Dunedin, Florida

For a few months during the winter, I reside in the charming little town of Dunedin, Florida. It's a sweet, pedestrian-friendly village overlooking the brilliant blue waters of majestic St. Joseph Sound...on the Gulf of Mexico. With vintage, cottage-style houses, the town is a somewhat sleepier version of Key West...settled over a hundred years ago by Scottish immigrants. Enormous, century-old Spanish oak trees dripping with silvery moss, line the quaint brick streets as people on foot and on bicycles meander along the wide, tree-shaded walking trail that weaves through town. Dunedin is a hidden little gem that often sneaks under the tourist radar screen even though two of the best beaches in the entire country lie just offshore. Some residents prefer to keep the town their own well-kept secret as they go about tending to their azaleas that flourish with abandon this time of year. Here are some of my snapshots of springtime in Dunedin.

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Sign of the Times

"In my many years, I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is a shame, 

two is a law firm and 

three or more is a congress".... John Adams

Happy Easter one and all!

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Analyzing Happiness

It was a most perfect day. Dazzling cobalt blue sky, abundant sunshine and springlike temps in the mid 70s. A picnic in a tree-shaded park overlooking the azure Gulf waters that shimmered like diamonds in the sunlight. For company...two laughing grandboys as sweet as angels and my beautiful daughter. After lunch, fun with the kids on the playground and later a stroll along the shoreline watching sailboats glide serenely out to sea in the gentle breeze. A happy day indeed.

What makes you happy? Does happiness need to be analyzed? Millions of self-help books offer tons of advice on how to become a happier person. I'm willing to bet that therapists and self-help gurus are not nearly as happy as they proclaim to be. But many of us are eager to shell out big bucks to learn the secret to happiness.

Most of us aspire to be happy. I suppose there are a few crusty curmudgeons out there who are perfectly comfortable in their unhappiness. But most of us seek contentment and inner peace removed from stress and worry. Personally, I don't think happiness comes from outside sources. Happiness comes from within ourselves. It's manifested in how we treat people, how we approach life and how we feel about ourselves. I believe that everyone has the potential to be happy. For some, happiness comes as easy as a sweet breeze on a sunny day. For others, happiness is like a brass ring that eludes their grasp. Are some folks just plain unhappy at their very core? Do they wallow in their unhappiness because it gives them a lopsided sense of pleasure? We all know people who appear to enjoy being unhappy. They are the kings and queens of melodrama...self-absorbed in their misery, they seem to relish spreading their woes to everyone they meet. On the other hand, we've all met remarkable individuals who endure anguish and hardships, yet they are optimistic and resilient.

Can we really become a happier person if we take time to analyze happiness? Is it worthwhile to dissect this intangible human emotion that may not be the same for everyone? Sometimes I think it can be helpful to rethink what happiness means to us personally...to look at our own life from a different perspective...to understand why we may not be as happy as we think we should be and to learn how to dump our negative thinking. It's important to count our blessings...to appreciate what we have and to show gratitude. One thing I know for sure: happiness can be elusive. And that's why it's something I never take for granted. Sphere: Related Content

A Remarkable Irish Blessing

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I am passing along these lovely and perceptive words of Irish wisdom to all my reader friends.

I wish you not a path devoid of clouds

nor a life on a bed of roses.

Not that you might never need regret

nor that you should never feel pain.

No, that is not my wish for you.

My wish for you is:

That you might be brave in times of trial

when others lay crosses upon your shoulders,

when mountains must be climbed 

and chasms are to be crossed,

When hope can scarce shine through.

That every gift God gave you might grow with you

And let you give your gift of joy 

to all who care for you.

That you may always have a friend 

who is worth that name,

whom you can trust 

and who helps you in times of sadness and

who will defy the storms of daily life at your side.

One more wish I have for you...

That in every hour of joy and pain 

you may feel God close to you.

This is my wish for you and for all who care for you

This is my hope for you...now and forever.

                                                        unknown Irish author

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