This week’s sign is from the ice cream shop I pass on the way to the lake and along the way home. Friday night it was well past closing time when I stopped to admire the message.
Summer season is the high season along the lake and there are few folks on the lane this weekend. Yesterday, I saw a few walkers and a neighbor couple, both of whom I watched grow up, are here with their newborn – their first. It’s hard to believe, but I am the first of three generations that come here now.
I didn’t make it to that ice cream shop this year, maybe I will next year. It all depends on if I get there in time or if the line isn’t too long and I can spare a stop along my way.
It’s Sunday and I’ll be looking for a new sign today but there are signs all around that fall is in full bloom, the weather has a chill in the air and the forecast promises sunshine later in the day. So, I’d better jump up, jump in and seize the day. Making the days Count, one day at a time, making time to take in the season.
I didn’t find this week’s sign until I was there, I’d been there before, seen the sign, and turned right into the parking lot almost as if the car knew where to go.
My go to sign at the church lists October’s upcoming events and I didn’t find any signs until yesterday evening just before sunset, after I had loaded the car. And there it was, this week’s sign.
Our family has been visiting this farm for as long as I can remember…my first photo evidence is from 2011, that I could find, but that was about the time that Saturdays were filled with kid’s activities of sports and scouts and family and whatever else we could pack in. Now that they aren’t kids any more, we still visit.
The farm is an hour’s drive into the flat plains of northwestern Illinois farming country. Soybean and corn fields lined the road as we drove west. An occasional farmhouse and barn surrounded by trees greeted along our journey. It’s been dry, very dry, and we saw clouds of dust in the fields as farmers rushed to bring in this year’s harvest with their combines.
The farm we visit is a multi-generation farm and the original farmer has since passed on, but his family – his kids, and their kids, and their kids, kids continue the tradition. The daughters run the operation now, and they remember us, even though we haven’t brought our kids in a few years. They grow pumpkins, and the midwestern field crops as well as raise a few head of cattle, too. The farmhouse is decorated with pumpkins and gourds sorted by size and price and there is quite the variety.
the farmhouse and a large tree surrounded by all sorts of pumpkins
this wage has the eight dollar pumpkins
They also raise rabbits and goats’ a few years back we almost came home with a rabbit to go with our pumpkins.
We always arrive late in the afternoon and have picked our pumpkins, visited, explored, and loaded before the sun sets over the fields. We always stop for dinner at a local restaurant on our way home. It’s our tradition and it feels right. When dinner is finished, it is dark, and we drive home. It’s been a full day when we pull into the driveway and unloading the car will have to wait until the morning.
a ‘framed’ sunset – I couldn’t really see what I had until I had taken it….
unframed, the sun seems small
this tree ‘spoke’ to me and I had to take the shot
I woke later this morning, later than normal, but earlier than the rest of the house. I was rested, the country air is always refreshing, and I was ready for the day. I was a reading a few blogs and I came read Dr. Gerald Stein’s post – Our Questionable Progress, and I thought how appropriate it was as I was feeling overloaded starting the day. Sunday is always a busy day for me I never seem to get everything I need to get done. So today, I am going to breathe and get done, what I can and leave the remainder for Monday. No pressure.
It’s my youngest brother’s birthday – all three of us are sequential 61-62-63 until my birthday in November when I will be two to the sixth power. It’s also my 34th wedding anniversary and it seems like the other day when a ray of light beamed in through window above us and illuminated the two of us just as we took our vows.
Today is going to be an amazing day, I am sure of it. So, I’d better jump up, jump in, and seize the day. Today is going to be a great day. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, being patient, focused, and purposeful.
I am a history buff. When I was dreaming of becoming a teacher, I dreamed of teaching American history and sharing my love of the subject. Instead, I’ve taught other subjects as my primary assignment – ELA (or English), Geography, and Science. In my twenty-seven years of teaching, I’ve been able to teach American history as my primary subject for one year. It was glorious.
It was during that year that I first heard of PFC James E. Wickline. It was the 2015-16 school year, and it seems very long ago.
I can only remember a few of the names of kids in my classes from that year. When I pass the framed class photos lining the main hallway, I sometimes stop at the 2016 class photo and read the names, the photos jog the memory, but sadly I recognize only a few of the hundred and twenty or so from the class I had in my classroom that year.
Interestingly, one of the people I volunteer at Loaves and Fishes is the mother of one of the boys from that class. He’s grown, graduated from college, and is working in Atlanta as an actuary. I sometimes wonder what happened to the rest of them. They were the class whose high school senior year was derailed by the COVID lockdown and many of their freshman years at college were spent isolated in remote learning.
When my wife and I were planning this past summer’s European trip she asked what wanted to do and see. My list was short, but it included visiting PFC James E. Wickline’s grave in the Netherlands American Cemetery near Margraten, Netherlands.
The tower at the entrance t the cemetery
the American flag flies among the graves
lily pads in the reflection pond of the tower
lily pads in the reflection pond of the tower
it was 2016, when I learned about Maarten Vossen, a Dutch man, who had adopted Wickline’s grave in the Netherlands American Cemetery when he was thirteen years old in 2002. The people in towns surrounding the Netherlands American Cemetery adopt the graves of fallen American servicemen and there is a waiting list.
Since 1945, the Netherlands American Cemetery is the only cemetery where the locals have adopted every single one of the fallen U.S. Soldiers—all 8,288 headstones as well as the 1,722 names on the Tablets of the Missing in the cemetery’s Court of Honor. In fact, he explained, the waitlist to adopt is so long that people are waiting more than 10 years, and the organization heading up the project is no longer taking new sign-ups. Read more at Honoring our legacy: Locals adopt graves of U.S. Soldiers.
As I learned more about the story, the more I wanted to learn, and the more I wanted to share.
Marten Vossen turned adopting Wickline’s grave into a mission to learn more about the soldier. Eventually, he traveled to Wickline’s home in West Virginia in 2012, and again in 2014, when a few in the community learned of his mission and began to help Vossen realize his dream to honor the fallen soldier. In July 2015 a bridge was dedicated in his honor as the PFC James E. Wickline Bridge near his home in Osage, West Virginia. (video at the end of the post)
In 2016, Marijn Poels, a Dutch independent filmmaker, released the documentary Ageless Friends about Vossen and his dream to honor Wickline. It’s an inspiring story.
In 2017, when we arrived at that point in American history I shared the story with my history classes and we watched the video and completed an assignment. I refined the assignment – making changes and adding and removing parts which didn’t work in 2018, 2019, and to finish the COVID year in 2020. I think the story impacted a more than a few of students and for a moment they were able to think beyond their 8th grade selves.
I went back to look at their reactions to the story, here are a few….I didn’t edit any of the remarks except the perfect generation comment….
Why do you think Maarten Vossen was drawn to adopt James Wickline’s grave marker in the Netherlands American Cemetery?
Because he was a solider and american solders are the reason he has freedom.
He was probably drawn to adopt a grave because he wanted to pay his respects to the people who served in the war. He wanted to be a part in what happened and help the people who were in the war. He probably was also intrigued to what happened to the men who fought. He wanted to help the people who helped his country.
I think he wanted to adopt a grave to show his appreciation for the American soldiers that liberated the Netherlands. He also wanted to help care for the grave and be helpful to the family that can’t put flowers on his grave because they are to far away. Lastly, he was interested in learning about the grave he adopted and wanted to know the backstory of how he passed.
What surprised you about the story of Maarten Vossen and James Wickline?
I wasn’t expecting them to be so close to each other. The lengths Maarten took to learn more about the man, whose grave is the one under his care.
That Maarten did not stop when he found out that James hardly saw war. What surprised me about James is he had so many people that remebered him and told so many stroies to help out Maarten get more information on James.
Maarten did not even know James and he did all of this for him
I feel the same way, that is why I wanted to visit his grave and pay my respects to PFC Wickline and the Netherlands American Cemetery.
So, we did. Saturday, July 19th we left Paris by train and traveled across Belgium arriving at the Schiphol train station to rent a car for the day.
The journey took longer than I anticipated with a few wrong turns adding to our travel.
I may have found a bench for a future post….
We arrived after a little after four and with a closing time of five o’clock my visit was hurried. After a brisk walk and nervous few moments when I realized I had incorrectly interpreted the cemetery’s grid system for locating a burial plot; I found Wickline’s final resting place.
I took a few pictures and spent a moment of prayer and reflection.
the American flag flies among the graves
I had so many questions, with no one to answer them. Like my students from 2019 I was filled with humbleness and awe.
As I write and reflect, I know that this story could fill a book. Maybe one day this might happen, but there is more I need to learn, more I need to see and in the words of eighth graders from 2019…
What’s one important thing you learned in class today?
I learned that there are good people in the world that will do the utmost to make sure someone is given recognition
i learned that it is very important to remember our fallen soldiers and the “perfect (I think he meant ‘greatest’) generation”. I also learned that if you put your mind to it you can do anything.
I learned that you don’t have to contribute something big to be a hero. Heroes come from many things.
I don’t think I could have said it better.
I’ve been working on this post for a long while and I am setting it to go live midday on September 17, 1944. The day PFC Wickline jumped from a c-47 in Operation Market Garden 81 years ago today and his parachute didn’t open.
“May we never forget the sacrifice of those who gave their lives for our freedom.”
Making the days Count, one day at a time, telling the story of someone’s life to inspire others.
For more of the story, I have added videos about the cemetery and dedication ceremony for the PFC James E. Wickline Memorial Bridge in Osage, West Virginia.
Saturday, I took the longest hike in a long time – just under three miles with two dogs in tow. Or rather being towed by one dog and staying out of the way of the other.
In the past couple of years, I’ve gone on shorter hikes but I haven’t been getting out for longer hikes for more than a while. It’s a new year for the Take a Hike Challenge from the forest preserve and I skipped ’23 and ‘24’s challenges but I am back this year.
outward bound Herrick Lake Forest Preserve, Wheaton, IL September 6, 2025 3:53 EDT
Saturday Fern, Nova, and I walked through Herrick Lake Forest Preserve. It’s a favorite of mine, it’s close and a good length with forest and prairie landscapes with just enough up and down to get the heart moving while the feet are following each other round moving me from start to finish.
on the way back to the trailhead. Herrick Lake Forest Preserve, Wheaton, IL September 6, 2025 4:22 EDT
When I got home, I had enough energy to refresh the bird feeders and a few other chores before calling it a day. Fern and Nova were completely spent, too.
It is Wednesday and today is going to be a wonderful Wednesday. It’s the middle of the week and school has a late start with a faculty gathering first thing at 7:30 AM. The bells will ring before I know it, so I’d better jump up, jump in, and seize the day. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, one foot after another is way to tackle life.
Is there something you’ve recently re-started that you’ve been avoiding?
W^2 or W squared for Wordless Wednesday, August 13, 2025
The Great hall – Union Station, Chicago, IL Sunday, August 10, 2025 5:10 CDT
Summer break is finished. Every year when I get to this point, this day on the calendar, and I ask myself the question,
Did I do enough?
This year, I can answer yes.
Of course there are things I didn’t do, but I did a lot.
This past summer I passed through several train stations – Paddington, Swansea, St. Pancras, Gare du Nord, Amsterdam’s Schiphol, Central, and North, and this past Sunday – Chicago’s Union Station.
Sunday, I used public transit to attend a baseball game on the southside. It was a good game and getting to the city and back was easy and efficient.
After the game, I sat in the Great Hall of Union Station waiting for my train and mind wandered and I thought of another great hall, the main hall of the Musée d’ Orsay, which was once a train station. As I sat and took in the hall, I went back to look at the photos I took when I visited Paris. There were similarities.
Musée d’ Orsay main hall, Paris, France July 17, 9:50 GMT-1
Union Station, the Great Hall, Chicago, IL August 10, 2025 5:03 PM
Musée d’ Orsay the main hall Paris, France,July 17, 2025 9:55 GMT-1
While the Musée d’ Orsay is significantly larger the two stations were built in similar time periods at a time when train travel was the only way travel long distances.
Musée d’ Orsay, Paris, France July 17, 2025 10:00 GMT-1
Union Station, Chicago, IL 5:14 CDT
I wondered what these stations might have looked like in their heydays.
Musée d’ Orsay, Paris, France July 17, 2025 10:07 GMT-1
Musée d’ Orsay, Paris, France July 17, 2025 10:07 GMT-1
I am partial to the black and white, which do you prefer?
It’s the last day of summer break and I am going to finish strong and be ready when the alarm rings early tomorrow morning. Today is going to be like the last sixty-nine days have been – AMAZING. I know it and I can feel it, so I’d better jump up, jump in, and seize the day. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, especially when a last day leads to a first day.
We could not have made it very far on our Europe trip without these signs. London, Paris, and Amsterdam are HUGE cities, and they have remarkable transit systems. Chicago has a good system as well, but I don’t travel to the city often. Even with the train, subway, tram, and buses we averaged 20k steps each day on our trip.
Paris
paris
Paris
Paris
Boston
This past weekend in Boston I used Boston’s transit system and found it as easy to use as those in Europe. I was two stops from Fenway and used it to get to the airport with ease. Even still I averaged 14k steps over the weekend.
I live in a world with transit, but it is not practical from me. Last night at Loaves we had a bus drop off and pickup for a couple of clients and we have ride share clients as well, but the suburbs are car reliant. I was grateful for transit when I need it.
Next school restarts for another year, my twenty-seventh. Last night at Loaves and Fishes I ran into a fellow volunteer who’s I daughter I had in my first class in August 1999. We reconnected a few years ago when I recognized her name in the Loaves and Fishes newsletter. Since then, I’ve run into other volunteers whose kids I had or were former students. Serving others is universal and it makes our world smaller.
Today is going to be a great day, but I am going to rely on my car and my feet to get where I need to go and be. So, I’d better jump up, jump in, and seize the day. Today could be a million and six times better than yesterday. Making the Days Count, one day at a time making time to move with a purpose.
Is there reliable transit available where you live? Do you use it?
This past weekend I completed one of my bucket list items – I made to Boston and Fenway Park to watch a baseball game and my thirtieth MLB franchise. I have been looking forward to this game since last season. It was a great weekend, and I watched all three games between the Hoston Astros and the Boston Red Sox before flying home Sunday night. It was a full weekend.
Boston Logan peaks at me through the clouds
Fenway Park is the oldest ballpark in the major leagues and has been used by the Boston Red Sox since 1912. The Chicago Cubs home Wrigley Field is the second oldest having been in use since 1914.
Every ballpark is different. Each ballpark has its own traditions and routines, but in the end it’s that brings us all together. All the fans I interacted with over the weekend were friendly and fun to talk with during the game. They knew the game and enjoyed baseball and were passionate about their team.
Singing “Sweet Caroline” is one of the traditions at Fenway. It is sung in the eighth inning, and it is sung with gusto. I remember learning to play “Sweet Caroline” in seventh grade band. I was so excited to play something fun and upbeat, and my trombone part included playing the tune, rather than in the playing in the background which many of the scores we played had for the trombone.
Where it began I can’t begin to knowin’ But then I know it’s growin’ strong
I didn’t last long in band and quit when high school started. Like many of my peers, I was drifting and wouldn’t really find myself or my place until my junior year.
Sweet Caroline Good times never seemed so good I’ve been inclined To believe they never would
I took an early flight to Boston and landed before noon. I had hoped to use public transit to get to the hotel but was confused and chose a ride share to get to my hotel. It wasn’t until I left Sunday that I realized my mistake! Next time I’ll get it right.
Boston is one of the oldest cities in America, but its history pales in comparison to the cities I had visited in Europe – London, Paris, and Amsterdam. I spent Friday afternoon walking the historical areas in downtown Boston before the game Friday. It was a lovely afternoon, perfect for walking and exploring.
the Boston massacre Memorial on the Boston Common
‘The Embrace’ a memorial the Martin Luther King, Jr and his wife Coretta Scott King
The 54th Massachusetts Memorial – an all black regiment with fought in the Civil War, led by Bostonite Robert Gould Shaw
Benjamin Frankin was born in Boston
the Old City Hall
the memorial to visitors of the Irish Famine 1948-49
the old South Meeting House where the ‘Good Trouble’ began the original ‘resist’ movement
the site of the Boston Massacre, memorialized
I had great seats for Friday’s game – 7 rows behind home plate and on the aisle! There was a family behind me; the grandpa and I talked baseball throughout the game. Sadly, the Astros lost the game in extras 2-1, but it was the best game of the weekend.
the view from the ‘Green Monster’ the 37 foot high left field wall
pre-game view from my seat
the classic peanut photo….
And before I knew it, Friday melted into Saturday morning. Saturday’s game was a 4:10 start and I wanted to arrive early enough to walk the ballpark and take it all in, so I decided to go visit the Boston Museum of Fine Arts which has a special exhibit I wanted to see.
Yes, you guessed it Van Gogh. The exhibit highlighted the artist’s work in the south of France in the last few years of his life. He painted a postal worker and his family while living in the yellow house. I enjoyed the exhibit very much.
yep, it’s me
the postal worker – Joseph Moulin
the famous bedroom
another Van Gogh selfie..
and another selfie with a selfie
Joseph Moulin’s wife, Augustine
another Van Gogh selfie.. they are all very different
Joseph Roulin, the postman
Augustine and her newborn daughter, Marcelle
Saturday’s original plan was to go to the game directly from the museum, but I needed to return to the hotel before the game, and it worked out as I befriended a couple at the tram stop near the hotel. We ended up having a beer before the game.
I tried to connect with my favorite player, but was too late and batting practice was over when I arrived, but I did run into the Friday’s evening’s usher who recognized me and he exclaimed,
“You’re back!”
to which I replied, “You’re back, too!
And we laughed. The grandpa from Friday night had mentioned that he and the usher had gone to high school together and I mentioned it to the usher, and he said,
“Yes, but he went to Harvard.”
I asked where he went, and he replied,
“Williams.”
I smiled and I replied,
“Which is better?”
and he replied,
“Williams!”
And both we laughed.
Then I was off to Saturday afternoon’s seat. I decided to sit in the right field bleachers for Saturday’s game. I found my seat and talked with the usher, Ed, about Fenway and baseball. It is always fun to engage with folks at the ballpark.
Saturday’s game was fun, but like Friday my team ended up on the short side of the score 7-3.
Fenway is on the national Register of Historic Places and there are plaques and markers throughout the park
pre-game photo from my seat
scouting Sunday’s seat on Saturday
a great sign and good advice, and I love the colors of the wall it makes the sign standout, much like to colors in an art museum…
The game ended around 7 PM and I decided it was a nice evening for a walk back to the hotel.
Sunday’s game was an 11:35 AM start and I needed to cleanup, pack up, and checkout of the hotel before going to the game.
I was able to write a few postcards before checking out and taking the tram to the game.
I chose to sit along the first base side in the right field stands for Sunday’s game. I had scouted the seat Saturday and decided where I was going to sit the day before. There were two seats available – seats 12 and 13. I am funny about the number 13, so I chose seat 12. I also, thought (secretly hoped) no one would purchase seat 13. I was wrong, but the person who bought the ticket never showed up; nor did my team and they lost a third game in a row, 7-1.
another sign, filled with great advice
Sunday’s game view
another peanut photo for the collection
seen on the way out – we all have different name. An excellent 70th birthday gift for a baseball fan…
Sweet Caroline Good times never seemed so good I’ve been inclined To believe they never would, oh, no, no
That’s baseball. The season is 162 games long, which is a long time. The season begins in late March and finishes at the end of September followed by a month of playoffs ending in the World Series and a serason’s champion. It’s a long haul, much like my bucket list journey. It started with my first game in the 1970s and I added a second stadium in 1986, then a third in ’87, a fourth in ’88, and many more finishing in Boston. It has been fun; and I’ve enjoyed the travel, the people I’ve met, and the games I’ve seen.
a view of Boston Harbor on the way home…
Today is going to be a great day and it could be a million and six times better than yesterday. So, I’d better jump up, jump in, and seize the day. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, looking back and savoring the experiences, but with an eye on the present.
Do you have a bucket list? If so, what is it?
“Sweet Caroline”
Was in the spring
And spring became the summer
Who’d have believed you’d come along
Hands, touchin’ hands
Reachin’ out, touchin’ me, touchin’ you
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
I’ve been inclined
To believe they never would
But now I…
…look at the night
And it don’t seem so lonely
We fill it up with only two
And when I hurt
Hurtin’ runs off my shoulders
How can I hurt when holdin’ you?
Warm, touchin’ warm
Reachin’ out, touchin’ me, touchin’ you
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
I’ve been inclined
To believe they never would
Oh, no, no
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
Sweet Caroline
I believed they never could
Sweet Caroline
Good times never seemed so good
Written by Neil Diamond
a great sign and good advice, and I love the colors of the wall it makes the sign standout, much like to colors in an art museum…
Today’s sign of the week is from the streets of Amsterdam. There are bicycles everywhere in Amsterdam, everywhere. My wife warned me to pay attention to the bike lane and I came close a couple of times, but I learned quickly – stay out of the bike lane and look left AND right when crossing it.
the sign reads, Moped not Allowed, but it really means you are in the bike lane, move to the right.
I had only been to Amsterdam once before this trip, it was when I was four in 1966. My dad had taken a six-month long assignment and moved us to Paris. My memory of our time in Europe is pretty limited. I do remember we flew from Houston to Amsterdam on KLM with a stop in Montreal. Somewhere I may have slides my dad took from our time in Europe.
Amsterdam is much easier to navigate than Paris or London. Amsterdam is smaller and one-eighth the size of Paris in terms of population but the trams and metro are easy to use. Also, there are fewer automobiles. The city is very walkable especially when you pay attention to the bike lanes.
Below is a clip from Ted Lasso, season 3 when Rebecca (Hannah Waddingham) discovers the bike lane.
Though our time in Amsterdam was short – three full days. We packed in quite a bit, much of it I am still processing.
But I did learn, be careful in the bike lane.
Today is going to be an amazing day. I am on the move again, this time to the lake and back Sunday. There are twenty days remaining in summer break and I am going to make and each an every one of them count, just as I have with the previous fifty. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, reading the signs and being careful.
W^2 or W squared for Wordless Wednesday, July 23, 2025
This is going to be the last post from Europe. It has been fun and we’ve seen and visited some amazing places in London, Swansea, Paris, and Amsterdam and places in between.
Me in a selfie with Van Gogh’s ‘Almond Blossoms’ in the background
We visited five art museums while we were exploring Europe. I saw lots of paintings, drawings, and I saw several of the thirty-five known Vincent Van Gogh self portraits. Neither of us created the selfie, it was around long before either of us. We just did it. Many years ago my friends ribbed me for the one-eyed selfie I would use with my social media posts.
One of the things I learned while wandering the museums and looking at paintings is that often the artist wasn’t painting a painting, they were practicing their craft. Yesterday, we arrived at the Vincent Van Gogh Museum to see the collection. I learned even more about Van Gogh while we toured the collection, then I found this – Vincent Van Gogh and the self portrait.
Seen at the Musee D’Orsay in Paris… Tuesday, July 15th
Seen at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, July 20th
Sunday, while touring the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, I was feeling a little silly and thought I’d capture me with Vincent Van Gogh so I took a selfie, with a selfie. I did it again yesterday.
The first selfie with a selfie
My second selfie with a selfie
Self-portrait, Vincent Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam, July 22nd
It’s the one-eyed selfie! Actually, the photos are edited to show more of Van Gogh’s work than the original photo.
“The only time I feel alive is when I’m painting.”
Vincent Van Gogh (1853-1890)
I read the quote in the Van Gogh Museum and it made me think. Really think. It was sad really, he was brilliant, creative, and deeply troubled. There are so many of us who look like we’ve got it together. I think sometimes making the days count helps me focus on the times when my days were a minus, not a plus.
These past couple of weeks have been awesome. Today we fly home, tomorrow morning I will awake bright-eyed and bushy tailed at three or four in the morning and spend a couple of days getting over the jet lag of a seven hour time change.
Today is going to be an amazing day, so I’d better jump up, jump in and seize the day. I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed, unpacking, and putting away my suitcase. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, reflecting on being better every day, even a little bit.
This week’s sign comes from the Swansea train station. It’s where our train ride from London terminated for us. I noticed the signage everywhere was in two languages – Welsh on top and English below – when stopped in Cardiff, the Welsh capital. We asked our seatmate, who joined us in Reading and was on here way home in Swansea for a long weekend if she spoke Welsh. She replied,
“No, I don’t. Only a few words I learned in school.”
Later, I asked our Uber driver if he spoke and the answer was also, no.
It made me think of Juliana, she was Scottish and born in Aruba, her older brother was born in Mexico. Her father was much like her husband and my father, a petroleum engineer working for oil companies. She had strong family roots in Wales.
One of the lessons I want my kids to have learned from me is to ask more questions before it is too late. I guess we always think we have more time, but we never know. This morning, I was sad to read a person I know through my son, passed away. He was 66, far too young.
Juliana would have been 91 this past Sunday. We held her celebration Saturday and we were able to gather, though not as many as I had hoped. It was a wonderful gathering and I learned why she wanted her ashes dispersed where she did.
Once we arrived, we made introductions and sat sharing our stories of Juliana. Lachlan, her nephew, suggested a spot over looking the Bristol Channel on the Mumbles and we walked along the path overlooking the Bristol Channel.
It was solemn reunion of our only gathering some fifty years before.
As we walked along the path, we discovered ‘cat prints’ in the cement path. it was our sign, this was her place. Juliana adored her cats. In the time I knew her she had several cats, Lilac, Sambo, Porgy and Bess, and her last cat, Zorro a black Manx cat who kept her company.
Cat prints in the path mark Juliana’s spot…. I dropped a pin to share with those not present.
The view along the path overlooking the Bristol Channel
Christina (my brother’s wife), my brother Warren, Lachlan, his wife Kim, their daughter Lindsay, my wife, and me.
A cove along the rocky shoreline – Bristol Channel
Every one of us took a turn with words of love and celebration of all she had taught us and dispersed her ashes. It was a beautiful day. Afterwards we gathered for dinner before departing.
The sign in the train station reminded me of a time many years ago. It was after Juliana had moved to an assisted living facility. It was late February 2020, a few weeks or so before the COVID lockdown which would further rob her of her mobility and keep her from returning to her home in Oxford.
I was visiting her to check with her and her doctors to hear her about her progress. It was after dinner and she wanted to watch television, but there was nothing on. I suggested we watch ‘The Crown.’ She had heard of it but had never seen it, so we watched the first two episodes. In between episode, she opened up and shared she enjoyed the show and commented how it was quite accurate. She talked about the queen, being her ‘Queen.’
The next evening I came by with dinner and afterwards she asked if we could watch another episode, so we watched two more before bot of us were nodding off.
Last summer, I had a flashback when I was re-watching the series. I remembered our conversation from that night as she recalled her youth – Juliana was 18 when Queen Elizabeth II was crowned and remembered the events of the time including the content of the last we episode we watched. It was about the killer fog of December 1952.
A few years later, I watched the episode entitled ’Aberfan’ and during our next phone call, I made a point to bring it up. She shared so much and I had so many questions. She asked if there was a way she could watch the episode or the series and I told her the next time I Was down, I’d try to help her see it. Sadly, the technology was too difficult for her to grasp and we never were able to enable her to stream on her own.
Cyrmu is Welsh for Wales. It’s also part of the title of another episode in ‘The Crown,’ the episode is titled ‘Tywysog Cyrmu’ which means Prince of Wales.
I miss her stories and talking with her. She was with us this past Saturday and her memory will always be with us.
It’s Friday and our last full day in Paris. Tomorrow, it’s off to Amsterdam by train and a drive to the countryside and back before three full days in Amsterdam then flying home Wednesday and back to responsibility. It’s been a busy week and I’ve been micro-blogging at Instagram @makingthedayscount check it out for short busts of our trip.
Today is going to be an amazing day, full of new discoveries and experiences. So I’d better jump up, jump in, and seize the day. Making the Days Count, one day at a time, looking for signs to make think.
Is there a sign that made you think, or took you back to another time?
