Everyone (including me) had, at one time or another, a Rolodex on or near their desk. This was a critical item in every businessperson’s toolkit.

Many job interviews included this: “How’s your Rolodex? Is it up to date?” Nothing could compare to a bulging wheel of sales and business prospects. When one begins a new job, the first item out is a tattered, updated wheel of paper entries. It was a mark of success.

The critical companion to one’s Rolodex was, of course, an actual telephone set. Before every phone call, you had to flip through the cards, looking for the right prospect. If the person you were calling wasn’t with the company, you’d reach into the Rolodex and draw a line through their name. Very low-tech but hugely influential.

Sure, we have instant access to practically everyone on earth with our electronic devices; I use them daily. However, there’s nothing tactile to the process; I can’t look at an entry in my iPhone with the same sense of connection that I have with a Rolodex. After years of lugging one from place to place, I finally took the cards out and tossed them all into the bin.

While I do embrace change, I haven’t given up one other crucial business and social tool: my fountain pens. I’ll never stop writing actual letters and notes.

Until recently, I’d never used Facebook Marketplace; it seemed like I lived in a cave, but it was new to me. I needed a printer stand, so I signed up for the marketplace site to see what was available.

Well, I found a terrific one that’s perfect for my space, and it was a genuine bargain. It appears that I visited Bloomingdale’s, and a decorator assisted me. Since then, I often browse the marketplace site, and seeing the items folks put up for sale amazes me.

It’s like looking at people’s closets, garages, and reminders of past wins and losses. A case in point is the increasing number of wedding and engagement rings, bridal attire (worn only once, please), and shoes that look pretty tired out. Yet, the shoes are always offered as “new in the box” despite clear evidence that they are ready for the trash.

It’s fascinating to see the range of goods (and services) offered on the site. For example, just today, I saw a “nearly new” RV that looked like a home on wheels offered at $142,000. A few clicks later, I saw a 2004 SUV for $1,000, and the seller posted this comment: “Actually, the photos make the car look better than it is.” I like that guy.

The site is addictive. It’s like watching QVC beaming from a garage sale. Please don’t think I’m critical of the site: I sold a car on Marketplace in 3 days to a family whose daughter is beginning college, and it was her first car. She was thrilled, and so was I.

In a few months, the US Open Tennis Championships will take place. Since I was on a rant recently about the cost of food and feeding families, take a look at this. The event has a signature cocktail (of course) named the “Grey Goose Honey Deuce” cocktail. A key component of the drink is a garnish of two honeydew melon balls. Last year, they sold over 400,000 drinks at $22 each. That’s $8.8 million in Honey Deuce sales. The prices will likely be higher this year,

Moving on to other statistics, attendees will consume 90,000 pounds of beef (equivalent to 225,000 hamburgers and hot dogs), 85,000 pounds of poultry, 9,000 pounds of crab, lobster, and shrimp, 400,000 individual berries, and 12.5 tons of lettuce. They will consume 35,000 pounds of tomatoes, 66,000 bananas, and 7,000 specialty tennis ball cookies.

When I think of a recent posting from Costco, none of the above should come as a surprise. Apart from the drinks sold, the statistics resemble what Costco sells to fans for tailgating and barbecues before a football home game in Knoxville, between Tennessee and Alabama.

Every single thing about Venice is memorable.

Imagine boarding a plane in Atlanta and sitting in a really uncomfortable seat for 9 hours on your way to Italy. Finally, you land, staggering with an army of fellow travelers at immigration and customs, looking for the exit and a way to get to Venice.

You look for a machine that may or may not work to purchase a ticket on a ferry to Venice. You find one, and unfortunately, the instructions are in Italian, and the machine only accepts Euros. The signs point in different directions, and you hope to see a boat somewhere. None of this is familiar to you, even with your guidebook.

You persevere and find a boat that appears to be heading in the direction you want to go. Hop aboard and squeeze into a tiny space, and soon your boat races across the water toward the city. You aren’t sure where you’re going or where to get off, but this is one terrific ride, just like you imagined. You hang on and try to use your iPhone to take photos, all the while hoping you don’t drop it overboard.

Suddenly, the boat pulls in near Piazza San Marco (if you’re on the right boat), and you’re where you’ve always wanted to be. I took the image shown here while standing at that very dock, so if it looks familiar to you, great. You’re in the right place.

You’ll be surrounded by hundreds of fellow visitors. Since the streets of Venice are narrow, you’ll have to navigate (lugging your heavy bag) like salmon fighting to get upstream. It’s a challenge to see street signs, and GPS signals are unreliable, so you’ll need to stop about every 10 feet to ask where you’re and how to get to your destination. Don’t be concerned. Everyone does this. You’ll feel like you accomplished something extraordinary when you reach your hotel or destination. My advice is to take a brief rest and then head out into the city.

Now the fun part. Even with the zillions of people around you, there are countless places to visit, eat, and enjoy. Walk till you drop. Then stop for a snack and a drink. Repeat. Forget the tours and guides waving flags for you to keep up. Venice is a walking town, and literally around every corner is something to discover.

Buy an all-day ticket for the Vaporetto (which arrives and departs from docks throughout the city) and enjoy the ride. At some point in the trip, you’ll think you’re a bit player in the movie “The Talented Mr. Ripley.” When that thought strikes, immediately hop off the boat and head for the nearest bar for a Negroni. Now that’s being a Venetian.

Around dusk, the lights surrounding Piazza San Marco (the Heart of the city) come on, and it’s a spectacular sight. The square is enormous and surrounded on three sides by lovely old buildings with shops and cafes on their ground level. The beautiful St Mark’s Basilica faces the court, and the Campanile di San Marco towers over everything off to the side. It’s an incredible light show in a beautiful town.

Whether you’re in Venice for a day or a week doesn’t matter. It’s impossible to stay still. The sounds of Venice begin before dawn and continue until late in the evening. Whatever your interests are, there’s something here for you.

I always, always hate to leave this magical city.

Not long after we moved to Bangkok, Thailand, we bought a dog from one of my work colleagues. She was pretty small at the time and of dubious lineage. However, she grew to be a 60+ pound powerhouse, a mama of eight puppies (which she inconveniently gave birth to under our bed.) Our friends had named her Shaytoon, which meant something in another language, and rather than change her name, we kept it.

She immediately became one of the most fantastic family companions ever. When our youngest daughter was born, she fiercely guarded her, to the point that when a visitor bent down to touch my daughter’s hair, Shaytoon moved near the person and gently put her open jaw near the person’s arm. She didn’t bite our friend, but made it known she was there to protect our daughter.

In another memorable incident, a grocery delivery boy taunted her on deliveries to our house. One day he stood before our front screened door and started teasing her. To everyone’s surprise, Shaytoon charged at the screen door and went completely through it, racing towards the boy. He took off like a rocket, and when he returned another day, he made sure not to bother our dog.

A few years later, we moved to Hong Kong, and due to their strict animal quarantine laws, we had to keep her in the shelter for 180 days (yes, 6 long months) before she was allowed to be released back to us. We visited her regularly; however, this was a very long separation for all of us. Soon enough, she was home with us in our apartment, sporting a new tattoo inside her ear attesting to her British good health certificate. 

Fast forward to our return to San Francisco, our home. Of course, Shaytoon made the trip and quickly adjusted to the life of a City Dog, enjoying rides and walks everywhere. We were never apart, from picnics on Stinson Beach to runs on The Marina Green. I’m sure she didn’t think of herself as a dog, just another enthusiastic family member. 

Years passed, and like many dogs, she became ill and suffered from hearing loss and mobility issues. This is a horrible time in every family’s life, and we were faced with the prospect of having our veterinarian put her to sleep.

One day, when our daughters were at school and my wife was out, I took Shaytoon on her very last ride in our Volvo, sunroof open, and as usual, she had her head out of the passenger window. We went to the Marina Green for the last walk before heading to the Vet a few blocks away. It was time, and I was the only person in the family who could do this. It still hurts my heart to think about that day.

As I led her into the doctor’s office, I bent down to nuzzle the soft blond fur around her neck, something I’d done thousands of times over the years, to give her one last mighty hug. I removed her collar and San Francisco dog license before letting her be taken into the inner office; in seconds, she was gone. I was heartbroken and drove home without her in a daze, realizing we’d never spend another moment with her again.

I’ve kept the license tag all these years (it’s the image in this posting.) She was a valued family member for many years, and I’m delighted to have this reminder of our time together. Thanks for everything, Shaytoon.

I know you’re having a lovely time in Dog Heaven.

Before I moved to the South, I had no idea that the State of Alabama had terrific beaches. Although people often think of other destinations, I’ve come to love Orange Beach, Alabama. It’s a bit of a drive 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.

It’s inevitable that the older I am, the more I think back to memories that have disappeared before my eyes. Not long ago, I read an article about how few children today know the words (or the meaning) of our national anthem, the Star-Spangled Banner. Even more troublesome to me is the thought that children likely don’t know who Francis Scott Key is. 

Our church has a weekly discussion group that ostensibly serves as a Bible Study group; however, we stray far and wide with the topics we discuss. Except for one young man, we are all ancient. This week, we began discussing the Bible for about five minutes, then transitioned into how children were taught in the 1950s, which consumed the remainder of the session.

Next week, I plan to steer our conversation toward events that occurred in the 1970s. How exciting.

We began our journey with chunky wooden pencils and a lesson book where we traced letters. I always loved the smell of those pencils (and still do), and I kept asking for a new one more frequently than probably was fair! Luckily, in 1946, the San Francisco school system had an endless supply of them.

When I was a kid, cursive writing lessons began in kindergarten. Every school set aside time to learn this skill – if you were left-handed, too bad. You did the same sessions.

As I moved forward, we used real pens that needed to be dipped in ink, which is why there was a hole in the desk. Our classes were called penmanship, and I truly loved them. To this day, I still avoid using ballpoint pens; instead, I have a collection of fountain pens and Japanese-made felt-tip pens. Young Japanese students writing in Kanji or Katakana with a pencil just doesn’t seem right.

Students all over now write in a kind of printing that feels a bit strange to me. It all looks quite similar, no matter where I see it. I suppose they think my use of pens and ink is old-fashioned. I wonder what my family will do with them when I’m no longer here.

As I continue ageing, unwanted things appear daily. Sometimes it’s a different creak in an area that was working just fine the day before. Other times, it’s something like forgetting words, places, or events. It happens to me every day and is driving me crazy.

I can discuss anything with someone, from any topic to an activity or even what I’d like for dinner, and, like magic, my thoughts go away. It was as if the switch had gone off, and I had no control over it. It’s so bad that before I say anything, I announce to the person or group that I forget things, and I ask for their forgiveness.

Everyone is polite. I hate it. If I am in a meeting, I write down my comments beforehand and announce all my concerns. Wouldn’t you know that I am the communications chair for my church? Fortunately, in addition to writing things down, I have a spell-check app. So, I’ll up my posts on my blog; at least I am in control of that.

Each year, I angst about whether hummingbirds will return to my feeder. Around the time they are supposed to be in our area, I put the feeder out; this morning, I saw the first one of the season. It’s a small thing, but it gives me great joy.

Welcome home, little friends.