If you live in any of the Southern States, chances are y’all will hear this phrase used every single day. The phrase is used by Southerners of all ages and gender. It’s considered the Gold Standard of social commentary and may be customized in many ways.

One may say: ‘Bless her, his, their and your” hearts. Regardless, this pie chart identifies some of the thinking ones uses when launching this phrase, and their underlying motivation for using it. You may say anything at all that comes to your mind like: “that’s the ugliest dress I’ve ever seen” or “that house is painted the worst color, ever.”

So long as you quickly add the “Bless” word, everything is beautiful, and no one will take offense. I was once at a funeral service of a friend. I was sitting in a pew next to the owner of the funeral home and a friend of hers. I knew both ladies very well, both socially and from Church.

As the service was beginning, one of the daughters of my now deceased friend walked up the aisle. She paused for a few moments at the pew we were occupying. My two lady friends nodded politely to the daughter, and she proceeded up the aisle.

She wasn’t 5 feet up the aisle when the owner of the funeral home started in with her own observations and commentary on my friend’s daughter. First was the dress: “how could she show up here dressed like that.” Then, “will you look at her hair?” “What was she thinking?” “I’d be mortified to look like that.”

This went on for a few minutes; then, the owner of the funeral parlor said in a pretty loud voice: “Isn’t it nice she’s here; her daddy would be so proud, Bless Her Heart.” That immediately made every preceding comment irrelevant, and all was well.

I love living and learning here in the South.

During this virus pandemic, just about everyone is still looking for ways to feel better. One of my favorite pastimes is looking after the various flowers and plants that I nurture along. I do love orchids, and, as anyone who’s tried to raise them knows, they need a lot of nurturing and attention.

I’ve had the orchid in the image here for several years; at various points, in time, the plant had no flowers and actually looked like it had passed on. Fortunately for me, I didn’t throw it away; I kept watering it, talking to it, and encouraging the plant to do something.

One day, tiny blossoms began to appear; in a short time, 5 new and beautiful flowers bloomed. They lasted a long time before dropping off; leaving behind a plant that’s gone back to sleep for a while.

I have another orchid plant on the same window shelf; that one has 3 new blossoms. With light watering and occasionally talking to the plant, it’ll be around for some weeks.

That always, always, makes me feel great.

While we (and IBM) have moved far beyond typewriters, I am always surprised at how many of their legacy machines I see, often in the strangest places. This gem was a workhorse at the Kennedy Space Center in the day.

In the early days of my career (pre-computers, even), IBM introduced a series of electric typewriters that were revolutionary. Of course, I had to have one. I started off with an IBM Selectric; it had that fantastic type of ball that flew across the machine; it was loud, kinda’ heavy, expensive, and a must-have item for any progressive office.

At one point in time, Pan American World Airways even used a Selectric as part of their earth-shaking, industry-leading, innovative reservations system, called “Panamac.” Boy, were they ahead of the times. In every PanAm office and check-in counter, you could hear the machine clattering away in the background.  This marked serious progress.

I once worked in an office where I supervised office equipment purchases; this is where I managed to buy and install the most fantastic IBM typewriter of all, The Mag Card II. This baby had a built-in memory that would hold a gigantic pile of 8,000 characters. Man, letters were pouring our of this machine.

Gee, I wish I’d been able to keep that phenomenal Mag Card model.

August 6, 2020, marks the 75th anniversary of a terrible event.

On August 6, 1945, an Atomic Bomb was dropped on the city of Hiroshima in Japan. It was devastating and in the aftermath, it was learned that hundreds, if not thousands, of American-born Nisei adults and children, were killed in the attack.

These were, for the most part, families who returned to Japan for visits, education, and reunions. I just learned a new word; the Japanese describe people who survived as: hibakusha — Japanese for “atomic bomb survivors.”

Prior to this, in February of 1942 (the year I was born), FDR signed into law Executive Order 9066. At the time, the war was raging and many were concerned people from Japanese and Japanese-American families were potential enemy aliens.

In San Francisco, and on the West Coast, where I was born and raised, this was a particularly sensitive issue; it affected hundreds of Nisei (US-born) sons and daughters of Japanese immigrants who were living and working on the West Coast. Never mind, they were American citizens, born in the United States, just like me.

Entire families were moved, against their will, to “relocation centers” like Manzanar, which is probably the best-known site today. Their properties were seized by the US Government, and the families moved, for the most part, with few personal possessions. Only in 1988 was a fund established by Congress to pay damages to these families. The fund totaled $1.6 billion. Some received nothing.

How does a Nisei like Tyler Tanaka, born in San Diego, and I fit into this?

Tyler and his family were relocated to Manzanar, losing all of the farmland they owned near La Jolla, California. Tyler was about 7 years old at this time. While Tyler was “relocated,” he was befriended by an American Army officer who was stationed at the same camp. As the years went on, this same officer became Tyler’s foster father, bringing Tyler into his own family and seeing that he went on to graduate college.

Tyler ultimately became a very, very successful tour operator, based in Southern California. He specialized in group tours to Asia (including Japan), and he became a client of mine. Tyler was a wonderful guy, and I enjoyed being with him in many professional and personal settings. Through our friendship, he never mentioned Manzanar to me.

One day I was in Alexandria, Virginia, for a travel industry event that involved both Tyler and myself. Before the meeting, we were having a drink together, and he asked me if I’d like to meet his brother, who happened to also be in town. Shortly after that, a man who was as Caucasian as I am walked in; Tyler introduced him as his brother.

The brother was, of course, a son of the very same Army Officer who looked after Tyler when he was “relocated.” This was a pretty incredible event for me; I’ve subsequently read a lot about the Executive Order, the aftermath, and the pain thousands of people were subjected to.

However, I never, ever, expected to meet two brothers from different mothers who came from this “relocation” into my life. Sometimes amazing and beautiful things happen when you least expect them to.

This morning I heard a fantastic podcast and a clip from This American Life about pre-school children and their non-stop tattling on each other. I didn’t know this was a big deal, however, when I asked my daughter (who is a pre-school teacher), she said it’s a massive deal in class.

With the permission of parents and the pre-school staff, a journalist installed an old, red wall phone in the classroom that recorded the voices of the children. He put a sign over the phone that said “Tattle Phone” and recorded a message that thanked the child for calling and asked them to “Tell the Whole Story” of their complaint. This was a bit hit with the kids, and the phone was busy all day.

The comments are priceless; two of my favorites are from young girls. One stated in a soft voice about a boy: “who farted in my face.” Seconds later, she added: “and the worst part was he didn’t say he was sorry.” Another started by saying, “Thank you for taking my call. I have to go now.” About an hour later, the same girl called in again and said: “I just wanted to say I’m sorry I had to go.”

Children aren’t afraid to say what’s on their mind. We could all learn something from “Tales from the Tattle Phone.”

Before I came to live in the South, I had no idea that the State of Alabama had terrific beaches. Sure, people think of other destinations; however, I’ve come to love Orange Beach, Alabama. It’s kinda’ far from where I live; however we don’t need a Passport, a plane ticket or anything else to get there.

Once there, you’ll discover wonderful beaches (I took this photo early one morning). The sand is like talcum powder, and while the surf isn’t pounding away at high tide, you won’t miss it. While the Gulf Coast offers many, many other beaches along the way, this, my friends, is my favorite place.

Give it a try; perhaps it’ll become your favorite as well.

When I was a kid, I had a radio that looked like this one right next to my bed. Every night I’d turn it on (it had some wheezing sounds at first) and the dial would lite up. I’d begin to turn the dial and listen to different stations until my mom would finally come in and say, for the hundredth time, “turn that thing off.”

My radio was a magic carpet. There weren’t a lot of radio stations at the time. However, I’d listen to music and radio classic programs, like Inner Sanctum, Straight Arrow, and my favorite, The Lucky Lager Dancetime hour. My radio enabled me to listen and to imagine how the actors looked, and the scenes could be anything I wanted.

There was a super radio program called “Hawaii Calls” featuring a guy named Webley Edwards. Wow, what a name. He hosted and played a wide range of Hawaiian music (which fit right in with my love for pineapple juice.) He brought the sounds of Hawaii right into my bedroom on Vallejo Street. When I first visited Honolulu, I could see and smell all that I’d imagined it to be.

Thanks to that small, fantastic radio, I was introduced to a world far beyond the one we lived in. Who knew then I’d actually explore and enjoy so many places, experiences, and people in areas I could only imagine existed when I was a child.

Sorry, mom, I’ve never actually turned off the radio in my mind.

With all of the online photo sites available today, digital photo frames that require one to upload images have kinda’ faded away from the mainstream. However, I love my older one, and it contains about 11,500 photo images taken in places around the world. I update it regularly; it’s pretty current.

Mine sits on a desk next to my work area and is visible to me out of the corner of my eye; I barely have to move for a full-on viewing of the images. It’s like having a non-stop, a full-color story of my life and times going on 24-hours a day (I usually only turn it off when I’m away from home traveling.) It’s a collection of people, places, flowers, sunshine, beaches, festivities, funerals, snow, Cathedrals, street signs, and powerful reminders that there really is something just around the next corner.

Right now an image of a Blue Angels plane taxing down the runway in Pensacola flashed by, the next picture is of a damaged fire truck from the 9/11 museum in New York City. Now it’s a table set for lunch in a square in Florence Italy, followed by a photo in The Garden of the Gods in Colorado. Lastly, there’s an image of our American Flag flying high over the White House during last year’s Holiday Tour.

It’s beautiful to see the images appear and then fade to the next random one. Since I took every one of the pictures, in an instant I’m able to think of where it was taken and what was going on at the time.

What a wonderful way to travel without leaving home.

I often seem to have no sense of time. Days and weeks pass, and it amazes me when I realize how much time has actually gone by. I was once in Southern California, meeting a friend for dinner. When we were discussing where to go, I mentioned a favorite place and how much I enjoyed it. My friend said, “Hey, that place has been closed for years.” To me, it seemed I’d been there just weeks earlier.

As I was thinking of what to write here, I realized it’s been several months since my last attempt, so I’ll see if I’m able to come up with some new material. 

Please stay tuned.

When I was about 14 years old, I entered a contest sponsored by some teen magazine to win a date with Sandra Dee. I didn’t tell my Mom about this since I knew she’d want to come along on my time with Sandra. I planned this all very carefully.

It took hours for me to craft the perfect letter of introduction and a bio of my all-too-brief life to date. As I reflect back on the bio, I was entirely sure that my message (and the killer head shot of myself) would win the day.

I envisioned bags of mail waiting to be opened by Sandra. Since I knew most of the entries weren’t up to the quality of mine, it was only a matter of time before she called me to set up our date. This was certain to happen, and thousands of other 14-year old boys would be weeping from rejection. Man, I felt great.

I wasn’t sure how Sandra and I would get to the location of our date; however, I was confident that it was a minor detail. Hey, I lived in San Francisco – we could take a Cable Car.

Days, weeks, months, and years went by, and I didn’t hear from her. I was sure she was busy making movies, so I didn’t worry too much at the time. Then one day I read she was marrying Bobby Darin. Say what? How could she do this to me? At that point, I threw in the towel.

What fun we could’ve had, Sandra. Your loss to be sure.