More Good Ole Days

 

Our time in Midland City didn’t last long, but before we packed up and left, there was one story that’s just too good not to tell.

Out on Highway 231, there was this old curb market—one of those roadside stops with fresh fruits, vegetables, boiled peanuts, and the kind of Southern charm that pulled folks in like flies to molasses. It was always busy, especially in the spring and summer, with travelers heading down to Panama City Beach. And to catch their eye, the market had one peculiar mascot: a big ol’ stuffed kangaroo parked right there at the edge of the road. Now, this kangaroo had seen better days—patched up with duct tape around the snout like some sad, silent rodeo clown. I’ll come back to that in a second.

You’d think that us kids would be thrilled about stopping at a place like that. Fruit, peanuts, and a big weird kangaroo? What’s not to like? But that market had a dark side too—something way more terrifying than a worn-out marsupial. They had a turkey. Not just any turkey either, but a big, mean, battle-hardened turkey that roamed the lot like it owned the joint. No pen, no leash—just free to roam and ruin a kid’s day.

From the first time we stopped there to the last, that turkey had it out for me. I’d step out of the car and that sucker would lock eyes and charge like a feathered freight train. If I didn’t make it to shelter in time, it’d jump on my back and start flogging me, wings beating like war drums, pecking the back of my head like it was digging for gold. After that first encounter, I stayed put in the car, thank you very much. Let Mama deal with the produce—I had no interest in another turkey brawl.

Now about that kangaroo... it was kind of a mystery. No sign, no story, no explanation. Just this out-of-place, duct-taped oddity standing sentinel by the roadside. The first time we saw it, we stared at it like it was some kind of roadside god. My sister Janet, with all the confidence of a four-year-old expert, said, “It’s alive. They’ve got its mouth taped shut so it can’t scream for help.” Honestly, that didn’t seem too far-fetched to us back then. We could come up with some wild stuff.

In 1960, we moved back to Leeds again and lived in a little garage apartment just a block from my grandmother’s shotgun house—the kind that rattled every time a train went by. Her place was right next to the tracks, and you could feel the floor tremble when the locomotives rolled past. There was a huge Great Dane that roamed the neighborhood—nobody knew who it belonged to, but it was gentle enough and so big we used to ride it around the yard like a horse. So, naturally, we called it “Horse.” Not very creative, but it fit.

One odd memory from that time: there was a family that lived around the block, and one of their kids had Down syndrome. Whenever he saw Janet, he’d point and laugh and shout, “Ha-ha! Old girl! Ha-ha!” We never knew his real name, but from then on, we just called him “Ha-Ha.” Even now, when we talk about that time in our lives, Janet and I always say, “Remember Ha-Ha?”

Next door to our little garage apartment was a small grocery store with a soda machine out front. Janet and I would go over there and shake the thing until it coughed up a Coke or two. Sometimes we’d jiggle the coin return and score a dime or maybe even two—jackpot. Back then, a dime bought you a cold bottle of pop, so when two dimes came out, we each got our own. Felt like hitting the lottery.

After a few months in that little apartment, my folks bought a house in a new area called the Rew Development. I had just started first grade, and that move kicked off a whole new chapter of life. Janet and I started exploring more on our own, going off in different directions. That’s a story for another time, but I will tell you about one moment from early on that’s seared into my memory.

The new house had a narrow brick ledge running around the front. Just wide enough for one foot, if you were brave—or stupid—enough. One day, with all the wisdom of a six-year-old, I climbed up there, pressed my back against the wall, and started shuffling along like I was Superman scaling a skyscraper. When I got to the corner, I stood up a little too proud and slammed my head right into a wasp nest. Those angry little suckers came at me like I'd declared war. I flailed, panicked, swatted, and in the process, fell off the ledge.

I didn’t break anything, but I did get a concussion—one of many I racked up during my childhood. That incident marked the true beginning of my life in the Rew Development. It was a wild, wonderful, and sometimes rough place to grow up. I had plenty of adventures there, did a whole lot of dumb stuff, and somehow managed to become a favorite target for the local bullies.

The Good Ole Days

"You don’t remember a damn thing!" That’s what my oldest sister Janet is always telling me. She’s got one of those minds like a steel trap—nothing gets past her, and nothing ever seems to rust. I don’t know how she keeps it all straight. Me? Not so much. My memories come and go like stray cats—sometimes they show up, sometimes they don’t. She acts like I oughta be able to remember every little thing like she does, but my brain just doesn’t work that way. Maybe the result of one too many concussions when I was a kid

My first real memory is burned into me, plain as day. I was three years and nine months old. Not exactly the warm-and-fuzzy kind either. We were at my grandparents’ house—me, Mom, and one of my cousins. There was a knock at the door, and when my grandmother opened it, I stood behind her, peeking around to see who it was. Two police officers were standing there. They came to tell us that my grandfather—Pappy—was dead.

Pappy had been a coal miner, but when the mines dried up, he started selling life insurance, going door to door in the evenings. That night, he’d just left a client’s house and was sitting in his car when he had a heart attack. Gone, just like that. You’d think I’d remember crying or feeling something big, but I don’t. What I do remember is the way Mom and my Grandmother and my cousin grieved. That’s what stuck. That whole night is locked in tight. Funny thing is, I don’t remember anything before that night. Is that normal? I don’t know. Janet seems to remember everything from the womb on.

The next couple years are kind of a blur. If I had to tell you the order of where we lived and when, I’d probably mix it all up. But I do remember moving to St. Augustine, Florida, when I was about five. Daddy had been laid off from Hayes Aircraft in Birmingham and took a job down there to keep the bills paid. His buddy, Jimmy Roy Johnson, moved his family down too, and we ended up living next door to each other. That’s where I first recall knowing Jenny Johnson—been friends ever since.

We were just regular kids, playing in the sand, chasing seagulls, flying little balsa wood airplanes. It was the 1950s—simple times. We didn’t have tablets or TikTok. We had dirt and sunlight and imaginations.

We didn’t stay in Florida long before we were back in Leeds. I couldn’t tell you for how long, but the next big move was to Midland City, Alabama. Now that, I do remember. Midland City was a kid’s paradise back then. The world was a different place—moms weren’t hovering like helicopters, and dads weren’t tracking us on their phones. As long as you didn’t get hurt, end up in jail, or miss supper, you were pretty much free to roam.

And roam we did. Me and Janet—me five, her four—had little bikes and a whole town to explore. We’d start out in the backyard and before you knew it, we were climbing into the hayloft at the feed store or sneaking into the Baptist church to splash around in the baptismal. We’d ride what felt like miles. Mom never quite believed us when we told her all the places we’d been. I think she thought we just had wild imaginations. Truth is, we were just living the kind of childhood that barely exists anymore.

GOOD FRIDAY

Wishing you a peaceful Good Friday

Good Friday is a solemn day when Christians around the world remember Jesus Christ’s crucifixion and death. Finding the right words to mark such a weighty observance can be difficult—“Happy Good Friday” never feels quite right, and even “Blessed Good Friday” seems to miss the gravity of the moment. As I grow older and realize that my days on earth are numbered, I’m ever more aware of how undeserved God’s grace has been in my life—and how deeply I need it.

I’d like to share an experience that brought this home for me. On November 5, 2024, I was touring Rome as a casual visitor, snapping photos and ticking off famous landmarks. Yet something drew me again and again into its churches and basilicas. When I entered San Marcello al Corso and stood before the Crucifix of San Marcello—widely regarded as the most realistic depiction of Christ’s suffering—I felt a sudden, crushing weight of guilt.
I studied every detail: the nails driven through his hands, the crown of thorns pressing into his brow, his gaunt body stretched on the cross. And in that moment, I imagined myself as the one who had executed those blows. I was overwhelmed by shame—surely I had driven those nails, surely I had thrust that spear. Tears came, uncontrollable and unabashed, for my part in what felt like an ancient atrocity.

No one approached me; I suspect I was just one among many quietly moved in that sanctuary. But then my tears shifted—they became tears of gratitude. Because even as I stood there overwhelmed by my own unworthiness, I remembered that Christ’s sacrifice was given freely. He took every lash and nail for all of us, offering himself as the perfect Lamb of God so that our sins might be forgiven.

I’m no preacher, and I’ve often found it hard to speak about my faith. But that chilly November morning in Rome changed me: it brought me closer to God and gave me a new peace in sharing what I believe.

On this Good Friday, may you, too, feel the gentle power of Christ’s love. May you reflect on His sacrifice, take comfort in His forgiveness, and find your soul renewed by the promise of resurrection.

CONTOURS

 Contours are everywhere—the graceful curve of a river, the rolling silhouette of distant hills, and even the sweeping arcs of a row of bicycles waiting patiently in Chattanooga. In this photograph, symmetry and structure come to life, a perfect reminder that beauty isn’t just found in nature but in the thoughtful design of the world around us. As springtime breathes warmth into the air, these bicycles whisper of adventures to come, of open roads and the sheer joy of motion. Contours guide us forward, shaping our journeys in ways both seen and unseen.

Photo Friday

#photofriday #contours

WHY ISN'T IS A CRIME FOR SENATORS TO OPENLY LIE

 In the U.S., openly lying about a political issue is generally not a crime due to strong First Amendment protections for free speech, even if the statement is false or misleading. However, there are exceptions:

1. Defamation (Libel/Slander): If a false statement damages someone's reputation, they may have legal grounds for a lawsuit.
2. Fraud: If the lie is used to obtain money, votes, or other benefits through deception, it could be considered fraud.
3. Election Laws: Some states have laws against knowingly spreading false information to mislead voters about when, where, or how to vote.
4. Incitement & Threats: If a false statement encourages violence or lawbreaking, it may not be protected speech.

While lying about political issues is often unethical, it usually does not result in criminal charges unless it falls into one of these exceptions; which brings me to the reason for todays' blog post.

House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries has been vocal in his opposition to the recent Republican-proposed continuing resolution (CR) bill. He criticized the bill for proposing cuts to essential programs such as Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, veterans' benefits, and public schools, arguing that these reductions are intended to fund tax cuts for wealthy individuals and corporations.

In a CNN interview with Jake Tapper, Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez expressed her disagreement with Schumer's decision to advance the funding bill, emphasizing that it "turns the federal government into a slush fund for Donald Trump and Elon Musk."

We know that this these statements were outright lies intended to vilify the Republic party and prompt enough votes to force a shutdown of the American government. There were absolutely no proposed cuts to the government programs referenced. 

There were many other Democrats repeating these same lies intended to incite anger and opposition to the Republican party. So my question is this: Why is legal for the people who make our laws to openly lie about facts and to openly attempt to incite opposition and violence to their political rivals?

 

The Slow Decay of American Politics

American politics has devolved into a spectacle where substance is sacrificed for noise, personal gain trumps public service, and truth is just another casualty of the partisan war. The ideals that once shaped a functioning democracy have been eroded by five troubling trends:

1. The Loudest Voice Wins

Rational debate and reasoned arguments have taken a backseat to volume. If you can shout the loudest, drown out your opponent, and stir up enough outrage, you must be right—at least in the eyes of those who no longer care about facts.

2. Public Service as a Path to Personal Wealth

Serving in public office used to mean putting the country first. Now, it's a career move for personal enrichment. The revolving door between government and lobbying, book deals, speaking tours, and shady backroom deals have turned politics into just another business venture.

3. Wasting Public Money is Fine—Just Don’t Talk About It

Government waste is an open secret, but exposing it is treated as the real crime. Billions of taxpayer dollars disappear into failed projects, pet initiatives, and bureaucratic inefficiencies, yet those who dare to pull back the curtain are vilified.

4. Partisan Loyalty Over Progress

Even when something good happens, half the country refuses to acknowledge it—because the “other side” thought of it first. Politics has become a zero-sum game where compromise and celebration are seen as betrayals rather than victories for all.

5. Lies and Accusations as Political Currency

Misinformation and slander have become standard tools of the trade. Instead of winning on merit, politicians and pundits manufacture scandals, distort facts, and attack opponents relentlessly, all to maintain an illusion of superiority.

The Road Ahead

American politics is broken, but it’s not beyond repair. The question is: Do we care enough to fix it, or are we too busy yelling, cashing in, covering up, holding grudges, and spreading lies? Until we demand better, not only from our politicians but of ourselves, the decay will continue.

 The Rigors and Rewards of Leading the Historic 1950s Walking Tour of Leeds, Alabama

Serving as the captain of the historic 1950s Walking Tour of Leeds, Alabama, scheduled for April 2025, is both an honor and an immense challenge. This role is not simply about leading a tour—it’s about breathing life into the history of our town, recruiting passionate individuals to portray our past, and ensuring that every detail of the experience is authentic, engaging, and enlightening.

The Challenge of Finding the Right Team

One of the most daunting tasks is assembling a dedicated team of captains and team members. Finding individuals who are not only willing but also enthusiastic about committing to months of preparation is no easy feat. Volunteers must be recruited, trained, and inspired to see beyond their modern lives and step into the shoes of Leeds' past citizens. Each re-enactor needs to embody their character with knowledge and authenticity, which requires extensive research and rehearsal.

The Depths of Historical Research

The tour is only as good as the stories we tell, and ensuring historical accuracy demands deep and thorough research. Sifting through old newspapers, historical archives, and personal accounts from long-time residents is an ongoing task. We must determine which stories, legends, and even rumors are worth sharing. Fact-checking, cross-referencing, and seeking out local historians for insight ensure that the history we present is both accurate and compelling.

Structuring Effective Meetings

Planning and organization are the backbone of this endeavor. Every meeting must be carefully structured to maximize productivity. Agendas include updates on research, re-enactor training, logistics, and marketing strategies. It is essential to keep the team engaged while balancing historical accuracy with theatrical entertainment to maintain audience interest. This is perhaps the area where I fail the most. I have to say that my passion lies in creating digital media, everything from restoring old photographs, creating videos for social media, and creating new "old" pictures using artificial intelligence.  Productive meetings are truly made possible due to the dedication of my co-captains and team members.

Choosing Businesses to Highlight

The selection of businesses to showcase is another crucial aspect of the tour. Some establishments have been pillars of Leeds since the 1950s, while others stand on the ground once occupied by long-lost landmarks. By incorporating local businesses into the tour, we not only enrich the historical experience but also strengthen community ties and promote economic engagement. Convincing business owners to participate often requires demonstrating the tour’s value—how it can bring foot traffic, introduce their stories to a wider audience, and celebrate their place in Leeds’ history.

Gaining Community Participation

Perhaps the most challenging yet rewarding aspect of this endeavor is securing participation from the citizens of Leeds. Some locals are eager to share their family histories, while others require encouragement to see the significance of their stories. Convincing residents to join as volunteers or storytellers takes persistence, passion, and diplomacy.

The Joy of Rediscovering Leeds

Despite the hard work, the journey is deeply rewarding. Researching Leeds’ past reveals forgotten narratives and colorful characters that deserve to be remembered. Every connection made—whether with a long-time resident sharing an untold story or a new volunteer eager to participate—adds richness to the experience.

Through my work with the Leeds Historical Society and Leeds Trails and Tours, I have had the pleasure of strengthening my connection to my hometown. This role has introduced me to new friends, reconnected me with old ones, and deepened my appreciation for the town’s legacy.

Making History Accessible

One of the most exciting aspects of this project is finding new ways to make Leeds’ history accessible. Beyond the tour itself, we explore avenues like digital archives, storytelling workshops, and multimedia presentations to engage audiences of all ages. By making history interactive and immersive, we ensure that the stories of Leeds continue to inspire future generations.

As the captain of the 1950s Walking Tour, I face a multitude of challenges, but the rewards far outweigh the difficulties. Each discovery, every participant’s enthusiasm, and every audience member’s newfound appreciation for our town’s past make the effort worthwhile. Leeds, Alabama, is a place rich with history, and I am proud to help share its story.

Leeds 1950's Walking Tour takes place on Saturday April 2025 from 10:00am to 1:30pm. Rain date is April 26 if necessary.

Leeds Trails and Tours

Leeds Historical Society

Dawn’s Embrace on the Tennessee River

 

Before the world fully stirs, before the hum of daily life takes hold, the Tennessee River rests in a state of pure tranquility. The soft hush of lapping water, the mist hovering just above the surface, and the distant call of a lone heron create a moment of perfect stillness.

The sky, still painted in the soft pastels of dawn, reflects in the glassy water, mirroring the promise of a new day. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faintest hint of pine. There is a sacred quiet here—one that soothes the soul, reminding us to pause, to breathe, to simply be.

As the first golden rays of sunlight kiss the river’s surface, life begins to stir. Fish ripple the water, a breeze rustles through the trees, and the world slowly wakes—but for these fleeting moments, peace reigns supreme. This is the calm before the storm of daily demands, a time to reset, to gather thoughts, and to carry a piece of this serenity into whatever the day may bring.

The river teaches patience. It reminds us that, like its gentle current, life flows best when we allow ourselves to move with it rather than against it. And so, as the morning sun fully rises, I leave this place of quiet reflection, carrying its peace within me, ready to embrace the day ahead.

The Perks of Growing Old (Sort Of)

Ah, growing old—a journey so mysterious that even Google Maps can’t help you navigate it. One minute you’re 25 and eating tacos at 3 a.m. without consequences, and the next, you're wondering if that third cup of coffee will trigger an existential crisis or just heartburn. Spoiler alert: it's both.

But let’s be real—aging isn’t all bad. For starters, I no longer feel the pressure to "find myself." Turns out, I was on the couch the whole time, eating chips and watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote. And let me tell you, Angela Lansbury has never once judged me for my life choices.

The body, though—that’s where things get...quirky. I can wake up injured from a good night's sleep. I mean, who pulled my hamstring in the middle of the night? Was it the Dream Fairy? Is she running CrossFit in my subconscious?

But here's the twist: getting older is also a license to care less. You hit a certain age, and suddenly it's perfectly acceptable to wear socks with sandals because guess what? Your feet paid their dues. They've seen things—unspeakable things—like Black Friday at the mall and your cousin's DIY wedding on a gravel path. Comfort is a human right, and no fashion police can convince me otherwise.

And wisdom? Oh, wisdom is a sneaky little gift. Like how I’ve learned that "life is too short" doesn't mean you should skydive or start a gluten-free bakery. Sometimes it just means ordering the dessert and the fries. Preferably at the same meal.

So yes, there are wrinkles and creaks and the occasional forgetting-why-you-walked-into-the-room syndrome. But there's also laughter, ridiculous stories, and the joyful realization that the world keeps spinning whether or not you care what people think.

And that, my friends, is the real fountain of youth: unapologetically being yourself, creaky joints and all.

A Time for Compassion: Remembering the Lives Lost in the Midair Collision Near Reagan National Airport

In a heartbreaking and tragic incident, American Eagle Flight 5342, traveling from Wichita, Kansas with 60 passengers and four crew members, collided midair with an Army helicopter carrying three people near Reagan Washington National Airport. The catastrophe has shaken the nation and devastated countless lives.

As news of the accident spread, social media and internet forums ignited with finger-pointing and accusations. Blame has been cast at politicians, the pilots, air traffic controllers, and even the president of the United States—both past and present. But this is not the time for division or blame.

Precious lives were lost. Families are grieving unimaginable losses. Friends and colleagues are left grappling with grief and shock. And while it is clear that a mistake was made—a tragic mistake that will be forever etched into this chapter of history—those involved have either perished because of that error or will have to live with the burden of guilt for the rest of their lives.

Now is the time to lift every victim up to the mercy of God. It’s a time to wrap our arms around the air traffic controller, whose life has been tragically and irrevocably changed. Mistakes, while part of human existence, should not define a person forever. Compassion must have a voice here, even in the face of such sorrow.

We must also pray for peace and healing for the families of those who lost their lives. Their loved ones deserve to be remembered for who they were, not as the subject of political arguments or social media blame games.

Let this be a call for unity. As a nation, let’s choose to respond with love, empathy, and compassion. These are the healing hands that can mend wounds deeper than we can see. May we come together to seek peace and offer comfort where it is needed most.

Snow Day Puddle

Just a little fun after a snow day. This one is for Photo Friday #PUDDLE

 

It's Christmas time again...

 

It’s Christmas once again, and I really try to get into the holiday spirit, but it’s become increasingly difficult as the years pass and I realize that the years ahead of me are fewer than those behind me. So here I am, writing this essay—not for anyone else, but for myself, trying to express these emotions so I can push through them and move on.

For me, Christmas has turned into a time of compromise—struggling to find a balance between its spiritual meaning and its secular aspects. As I grow older, I find myself focusing more on the true essence of Christmas and less on the gifts we give and receive. Our family doesn’t celebrate the way we used to either. In years past, we’d gather at my parents’ house, and that little space would fill up with the warmth of hugs and laughter. Some years, when we couldn’t go to my parents’, we’d host at our house, exchanging gifts and enjoying a Christmas feast, lovingly prepared after weeks of planning. But now it’s become “too much trouble” for everyone to come to our house for the holidays, and that thought weighs on me. I never wanted to be the “trouble” for anyone. Yet, as I write this, I think back on the times when I didn’t visit my own parents because it felt like “too much trouble.” Oh, how I wish I could turn back time and visit them every chance I had, spending endless hours just talking to them. But for now, we compromise. My son and his family will come over, each in separate cars, and my son will stop by the store to grab a small gift for us. I’ll say the blessing before dinner, trying to sound as grateful and uplifting as possible. After the meal, we’ll exchange gifts, and I’ll watch the look of disappointment on their faces when the presents you chose with care are met with expressions of disappointment or comments like, “What is this?” A few hours later, everyone will go their separate ways, quietly scrolling through their phones to avoid conversation. And just like that, one family gathering is over, and another awaits.

That brings me to this morning’s conversation. Our family out of state won’t be joining us for Christmas, so we planned to visit them instead. We debated whether to go on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, and over the weekend, I thought we’d agreed on Christmas Eve. But this morning, as you were preparing to go to work, I asked for clarification on what I needed to do to get ready to leave this afternoon. Your response was, “You never said okay, so I didn’t think we were going today.” Then you added, “I know you wouldn’t want to go at all, since you just don’t feel it.” I wanted to talk about it more, but you didn’t want to engage. After you left for work, I felt disappointed, as though my feelings didn’t really matter.

I’ve earned the title of “Scrooge” during this time of year because I want to spend less on gifts. Living on a fixed income means we have to be more mindful of our spending. We always talk about scaling back on gifts, but every year we end up spending more than we planned. I try to remind you that our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren already have more than they’ll ever need or use. The toys and things we give them will bring joy for only a short while, because there’s always something newer or bigger just around the corner. But please don’t misunderstand me—I don’t begrudge a single gift. I know they are given with love, and that brings you joy. Your generosity is one of the things that make you so special. I love how giving you are, and I know it’s part of who you are.

Now, for the truth that’s hard to admit: I do love Christmas. I love its spiritual meaning, but I also cherish this time of year because it reminds us to pause and think about others—not in a materialistic sense, but in a genuine, heartfelt way. We send greeting cards to friends and family and wish “Merry Christmas” or “Happy New Year” to strangers. If only we could carry that spirit with us all year round, wouldn’t the world be a better place? And wouldn’t it be wonderful if gifts were given from the heart, not just because we feel obligated?

One of the questions I always dread is, “What do you want for Christmas?”

What I want for Christmas is to feel closer to you and our whole family.

What I want for Christmas is to feel that same excitement I once had as a child, waking up early to see what had been left for me under the tree.

What I want for Christmas is one more day, hour, or minute with my mom and dad.

What I want for Christmas is for my failing eyesight to improve so I can marvel at the world around me.

What I want for Christmas is to be able to see more of the beautiful world out there.

What I want for Christmas is for people to treat each other with a little more kindness and respect.

What I want for Christmas can’t be bought in any store. It’s a connection with my family, bound in love.

But most of all, what I want for Christmas is to feel deep gratitude for all the blessings God has given me and to feel connected to the world around me. I want to remember Christ’s sacrifice and God’s grace, and for Christmas to be more than just a holiday—but a spiritual occasion.

I always love the moment in A Charlie Brown Christmas when Linus so beautifully explains what Christmas is really about:

"And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said to them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Merry Christmas, Susan. Your love and companionship are the greatest gifts I could ever ask for. I love you more than you will ever know.

LOST!

 

Once a vibrant shade of yellow, Benny the banana lay forgotten in the vast expanse of a Walmart parking lot, lonely and lost. With the bustling shoppers rushing by, he felt abandoned, his hopes of becoming a delicious snack fading with each passing moment. Beneath the gleaming mid-day sun, he dreamed of a home with loving hands to peel him and savor his sweet flavor, yet here he was, a small fruit adrift in a world of asphalt and chaos.

Photo Friday

 WINDSHIELD SHOT

Here's another picture that I posted on the Photo Friday website for the Friday September 30 subject #Windhield_Shot. This was a rainy day and I was scouting out locations to film a short video with the drone following Highway 78 into Leeds, passing underneath the train trestle before continuing through town. 

https://www.photofriday.com/tagged/windshield_shot

 Photo Friday: COAST

Welcome back to the blog. In this post, I am displaying a photograph that I shared on Photo Friday, the weekly photo challenge website. The challenge for this week was #COAST. I assume that the challenge organizers intended this to mean coastline, as in the beach or coast on the ocean. However, I am stretching the meaning of the word coast to include the shoreline. And what do you see at the coastline? Seagulls! And there is no shortage of seagulls far inland, on the shores of Chickamauga Lake. I had to dig a little bit on this one as my photo was taken quite a few years ago at Chester Frost State Park.

 Dad and Mom

#dad

A photo of my dad, LeRoy Howard with my mom Lynette taken in 1954

Obviously I did not take this photo as it was taken a year before my birth but I love this picture of my Mom and Dad.

I've posted this one on Photo Friday for this weeks challenge #dad.

Am I a fraud?

My previous post was not written by me. I asked CHATGPT to write a blog post based upon the following input:

Write a simple blog post explaining that I am in a bit of creative slump and cannot seem to come up with anything new and creative, or attention getting.

So, the post about being in a creative slump was written by AI. It's not a bad post but it really isn't written in my style. It's a bit too clean, maybe a little too eloquent for me. It did however,  capture my feeling and intent. So what do you think? Is AI the wave of the future? Will we all be getting CHATGPT to write for us?

 **Overcoming a Creative Slump: My Journey**

Hello everyone,

I hope this message finds you well. Today, I wanted to share something a bit personal that I've been experiencing lately—a creative slump. As someone who loves to create and share my work with you all, it's been a bit disheartening to find myself stuck in this rut. 

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to come up with anything new, creative, or attention-grabbing. Ideas that once flowed effortlessly now feel out of reach, and the usual spark that ignites my creativity seems to have dimmed. It's a frustrating and, at times, isolating experience.

But I believe in being open and honest with my community, and I know that many of you have likely faced similar challenges in your own creative journeys. Creativity is not a constant; it ebbs and flows, and sometimes we just need to ride out the low points.

I've been spending some time reflecting on what might help me overcome this slump. Perhaps a change of scenery, diving into new experiences, or even taking a brief break might be what I need to reignite my creative fire. I'm also exploring different sources of inspiration and allowing myself the grace to step back and breathe. Having said that, I am going to take a break, go to a nice resort in Orland, and laze by the pool for a bit.

I want to thank you all for your continued support and understanding. Your encouragement means the world to me, and it motivates me to keep pushing forward, even when the going gets tough.

If any of you have tips or experiences you'd like to share about overcoming creative slumps, I'd love to hear them. Let's support each other through these challenging times and come out stronger and more inspired on the other side.

Until next time,

Ron Howard

Hilton Grand Vacations Resort -Las Palmeras, Orlando, Florida

 Photo Friday: Coffee Shop

I'm enjoying a cup of Caffe Macchiato at Costa Coffee in Edinburgh, United Kingdom. These are a couple of shots that I took during a trip that my wife and I made to Scotland. We absolutely loved the Scottish Highlands and I like the two-fisted coffee cups at Costa. 

One of these is also posted at Photo Friday, as the challenge for Friday July 19 is #Coffee Shop.

Transforming a stair landing into my office/studio

I love old houses! My home was built in 1900 and has gone through several renovations over the years. It’s fascinating to think about all the people who have lived here before us and imagine how they used the space. 

For example, what is now our dining room used to be the kitchen. I can almost picture the original owner cooking meals for their family on a cast iron wood burning stove. Our kitchen, on the other hand, used to be the back porch, which had its own well. You can still see the old stone lining of the well underneath the floor in our kitchen.

The second floor of my house used to be an apartment with its own entrance. The stairs were removed in the 1960s and the porch was enclosed to create a sunroom. We still have the two original bedrooms and bath, a hallway that also once served as a kitchen for the apartment, and the landing. There are also four separate attic spaces, each at one corner of the house. 

Speaking of my office, I recently converted the small landing at the top of the stairs into my office/studio. It’s a cozy 8x9 feet, and I’ve decorated it with a few tongue-in-cheek touches that give it a Ron Howard vibe.