68º By Any Other Temperature
It’s the day after Thanksgiving. It’s 3 a.m. My grandson is snuggled on the bed under four blankets, two of his and two that belong to me. He doesn’t sleep in the bed. His preference is on the bed, but only if he has sufficient blankets to keep him safe and comfortable. I would be snuggled in bed too but my lack of sleep does not take a vacation even for holidays. I have been wandering the house in my normal tattered house dress that is too comfy to discard. Wandering and wondering is what I do while he sleeps. It’s a bit chilly here this morning. I know because I left the window in the living room open and inch or so last night. As is my norm, while wandering I sat on the

Stand and Watch
Would someone explain to me please, if this bizarre phenomenon is only seen in my home, or if this is possibly something that the U.S. Government should invest a trillion dollars in to run some sort of multi-year, one hundred percent funded, research project to get a definitive answer? I can tell you for a fact that every male born in to this family, or any male who walks through the doors of my home is immediately struck with a desperate need that does not leave their bodies until the exit the home. So far, I have seen it in my grandchildren from the age where they can stand on their own tiny two feet to the time they can barely get out of their lift-a-seat recliners. Fortunately it has

Do I Write Seriously?
You know how life just seems to roll along? You do the things you need to do every day. Or you do the things that you seem are important and will propel you and your career forward. Then you read some innocent words or see something just as innocent on television or hear something on the radio and within seconds your life is turned, shaken and spit at your feet for you to ponder. I read those innocent words yesterday and it has caused me to ponder and reflect and ask too many questions without finding the answers. So my dear blog readers I want to put this to you. Don’t worry if you don’t have an answer, I don’t either. I’d probably ignore the answer if I had one. Do I wri

Only The Shadows Know (Until Now)
Most of you have already read about the painful photo shoot. If you haven’t, go read it first. This is the rest of the story. My photographer friend, Mark, lives in Alabama. I live in Florida. We were to meet at Alabama Point, which I can only assume is in Alabama. I know a little bit about the road out there. Little bit meaning, I know it’s on the beach and there is a tall bridge I have to cross. To make sure I knew where I was going I inquired of Mark, the photographer, if the place we were meeting was on the west side of the bridge. He confirmed that it was. Sunday morning arrived and I was off, in the dark, on a road I don’t know, to a place I’ve never been to,

An Exercise In Photography
I am supposed to write one thing each day that I am thankful for. Today I am thankful I can move. No. I did not run a marathon yesterday. No. I did not exercise with Gilad again. No. I was not in an automobile accident. Yesterday, I was in a photo shoot at the beach. A photo shoot is supposed to be fun. A photo shoot is supposed to be easy. A photo shoot is supposed to be relaxing, crazy, spontaneous. A photo shoot is not supposed to be an exercise of every body muscle you never knew you had. It is also not supposed to be dangerous to either the photographer or the subject of the shoot. Mine was more the not part, or so I found out after the shoot. Don’t get me wrong, w