Old soldiers

There seems to be a lifelong camaraderie among veterans that crosses all age barriers, ethnicities, religions, and branches of the military. It's like an unspoken brotherhood of people who at one time said they were willing to give their lives fighting for the freedoms that so many fought for ahead of us. Many survived and many did not.

Memorial Day primarily honors those who served, but did not survive. Veterans and families alike remember those who paid the ultimate price. As for those of us who did survive, we all have memories. We all have our favorite stories of the fun that we had, the grueling drills and exercises, and war games that we didn't take as seriously as our commanding officers did, while others still bear the emotional and physical scars of combat.

As for me, I just want to say thanks to everyone else who served, or are still serving, and especially to the surviving families of those who fell in combat.

Git-r-done!

Can you tell I just finished watching an episode of Larry the Cable Guy? What a riot. “Get-r-done” has got to be one of the most common phrases heard by married men on a holiday weekend Saturday, like today. All those “honey-do” projects that we weekend warriors have been putting off all spring, or perhaps carrying over from last spring, are suddenly nailed to our escape door where we can’t miss them.

As for me, the list continues into the remaining days of the weekend. I spent the afternoon cuddling the air conditioning ductwork in our attic hoping for a leak of cool air as I laid flooring in the afternoon heat so we could store more stuff. Then it was mix and spray three gallons of bug spray around the perimeter of the house before the ants retaliate with people spray to get rid of us. Yes, we bought the primer, spray paint and sandpaper for a few other projects, too, and I know there are more when those are done.

Now you know why I like winter. As long as I can keep ahead of the mouse population, keep the driveway clear, and bring in the firewood, the “honey-do” list disappears until spring. What’s on your list for this weekend.

Chalk walk

How cool is this! I have heard of chalk talks but never chalk walks, until this year. As a kid, I never wrote anything on sidewalks before dark, and angry parents always washed it off the next morning. Now it’s not only acceptable, but many cities have set aside a special day for artists of all skills to claim a few sections of concrete on the town green to create their own chalk masterpiece.

Danbury, Connecticut, held its annual chalk walk this past Saturday. In less than three hours, hundreds of people created mini-masterpieces around the town green. There were couples, families, dads and daughters, and dads and sons. Some were skilled artists like this couple and others, well, not so much. It was a rare opportunity to see a gallery, albeit a sidewalk gallery, emerge from the concrete. But like so many things lately, an hour later it was all washed away by a torrential downpour never to be seen again, until next year, maybe.

I guess sidewalk masterpieces are like sandcastles. People put so much joy and effort into their creations knowing full well that they will be destroyed the first time that water hits them. But like sandcastles, it’s not the end result that’s important; it’s that brief escape from reality that really matters.

"Must-have" travel souvenirs

Wherever we travelled on vacation as a family when I was growing up, we would only stop at restaurants with a gift shop attached, or at least within walking distance. My mother would always buy something blue. It didn't matter what it was, as long as it was blue. Fortunately, she had good taste, so it was never too high on the tacky scale, but it was always blue.

Other families collect stuff--thimbles, spoons, teacups, tee shirts, hats, postcards, scarves, hotel towels, sea shells, and the list goes on. People buy racks, shelves, display cases, and books to show their collections to any willing friends. Some people start a new collection of something every couple of years, and end up trying to pawn them off as collectables in a tag sale, or yard sale. Flea market vendors have tables full of one-of-a-kind "collectables" that smell like they were forgotten in someone's barn for forty years or so.

So what is your vacation travel collection? Something tacky? Something useful, or just whatever looks beautiful to you? Whatever it is, I'm sure it's valuable.

Dad and Dylan

My father was not a dog person to say the least, but my father-in-law is. We were going through some images from 2006 for a special project and found Lois's dad and Dylan. They seemed to understand each other, which is all that mattered. They were good buddies and had many couch conversations between naps.

In his opinion, Dad is a virtual fountain of knowledge about nearly any topic, and in reality, he usually is. He has traveled to more than 130 countries and every continent. He has an incredible memory for facts and details, as well, along with a repertoire of useless, but interesting, trivia. I guess that's why he and Dylan had so much to talk about.

Dad now lives outside of Chicago with Lois' sister, Christie, and her husband Tom. Dylan is gone, but the stories live on, and on.

Man's best friend . . . really?

A dog is a man’s best friend except when it rains, and the dog needs to go outside. Suddenly, the roles are reversed, the good life becomes real life, and man becomes a dog’s best friend. After all, when a dog has to go, it really has to go.

I saw this dog and his dedicated friend on Main Street one rainy day. The dog has him so well trained that they actually drive to the shopping center parking lot to walk in the rain. I’m not sure they communicated very well as I never did see the dog stop, despite the fact that they walked past trees, lampposts and fire hydrants before they got back in the car and went home.

It’s days like this that I’m thankful for an invisible fence and a dog that doesn’t like rain. When she has to go, it’s out the door and right back inside again.

Wanna get away?

There's something about a man and his dog that is so iconic about "the good life." We are so busy with the "busyness" of life that we seldom take time to get rid our baggage, go away somewhere and relax. It may only be a few hours, but we need that downtime to recharge our brain. For some it may be a round of golf to divert their focus, for others a long run to clear their head, and for others a mindless retreat into the pages of a book, a real book with paper pages, not another electronic device with a screen full of words.

As for me, when I want to get away, just give me a camera and drop me off somewhere. Anywhere. I'm as comfortable photographing people in Times Square or a flea market, as I am trees in the woods. They are all relaxing to me, even though they are totally different.

I spotted this man and his dog enjoying the good life fly-fishing from their canoe on the Pomperaug River here in Southbury. The dog was soaked from jumping into the river, and the striped bass were biting like crazy. They had been fishing together ever since the dog was a puppy. It was their time to get away and enjoy "the good life."

So where do you go when you "wanna" get away? What is "the good life" place for you?"

Spring

Even though it's the first part of May, and I know we shouldn't get any more snow, I am always the last one on our street to pull up the stakes that mark the edge of our driveway for snow removal and to mow the lawn. But before I do either of those tasks, I make an annual pilgrimage to the Laurel Ridge planting to walk among millions of daffodils spread across acre after acre of rolling hills. Then I know spring has officially arrived.

In 1941, Litchfield Connecticut residents, Remy and Virginia Morosani, planted ten thousand daffodils on a section of their farm that was too rocky for raising crops. Each year since then the daffodil population has doubled in size and now the planting is one of the most brilliant natural displays of spring that you can imagine.

As I look at the path that wanders off the top of the ridge, I can't help but wonder what's ahead for the rest of the year. Is it a path that I want to follow, or should I just stay here and appreciate the beauty that I can see?

Rite of passage

There seems to be a certain rite of passage for a young boy as he makes the transition from childhood to a genuine Yankees fan. There is no mistaking the brand new Yankee pinstripes and it takes a very special set of ears to hold up his new hat. He's still too young to understand the strategy and the stats. He's there to bond with his dad.

Eventually, he'll grow into the hat, but for now it's not so much the thrill of the game as it is the thrill of the moment, the moment his dad said, "Hey son, ya wanna go to a Yankees game?" Only a Red Sox or Mets fan would turn that down.

A little birdie told me . . .

How often have we used this little quote to pass along a little tidbit of information or use it as an excuse to tell someone something about their character that perhaps is a little awkward otherwise?

It sound a little gossipy sometimes, but if you look at its origin in Ecclesiastes 10:20, the King's English makes it sound so proper, "For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter." Try that line next time you want to pass along some information, or just plain tattle.