My good friend Marc David is a journalist, author, avid runner (he has an outlandish, blows my mind, years long streak of consecutive running days without a day off), cross-country coach, teacher’s aid and traveler. When he learned that The New York Times killed its venerable sports section and shipped the body parts to its …
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” It’s the most quoted sentence from the Declaration of Independence, the document that America celebrates every July fourth. When he …
If I were asked to describe the face of Spain in two words I would offer, “joyful,” and “lighthearted.” During three weeks of traveling throughout the country, whether it was in the metropolis of Barcelona or stopping for an hour in little Plasencia, I rarely saw anger or gloom or pessimism. Okay, sure, there was …
A photo accompaniment to the post Spain: Beginning at the End It’s Sunday, our last day in Barcelona. Cora is sitting in on Sunday mass at Iglesia De Santa Maria del Mar, a grand 14th century church in the Ribera District. It’s an opportunity for both of us. It’s been three weeks since she’s been …
It’s early morning in Barcelona. Without looking out the hotel window I can tell by the sound of cars sloshing through puddles 3 floors below on Via Laietana that it rained again last night, We’re staying in the Hotel H10 Cubik in Barrio Gótico, just around a long corner from La Rambla. Like its name …
The sixth in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. Please note, this installment differs in tone from the previous chapters in this series. One of the wonderful things about travel is the opportunity to experience those places that excite in us a sense of wonder. In 2015 I took my …
The fifth in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. Bridgeport is our home base for three days and two nights. We’re keeping it simple. In a town as small as Bridgeport, with few businesses, and some of those closed for the season, the choices are nominal. So keep it simple, …
Dateline 5:30 AM in the San Francisco Bay Area, and Mother Nature is crying a river – an atmospheric river. *** Cry Me A River. The song is a classic. The original version sung by Julie London, that is. “Now you say you’re lonely You cry the long night through Well, you can cry me …
The fourth in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. From Sonora Junction, Highway 395 heads due east before dipping to the south and finally cutting back east to enter Bridgeport. Crane your view to the right and you see the picture of green, brown and yellow grazing land backdropped by …
The third in a series of occasional posts about tripping along U.S. Highway 395. Between Knight’s Ferry and Chinese Camp is 21 miles of rolling ranchland. Out here the land is split into parcels, each section defined by the brainchild of an Illinois farmer named Joseph Glidden. Glidden’s invention would forever put its stamp on …
The Life in My Years 