A week ago, I talked to a friend at our local Kroger. The check-out line was very long, so we started catching up. For reasons I’ll never know, we talked about our relatives and childhood memories at one point.

In this course, my friend mentioned that his uncle served on submarines in WW2. Coincidentally, he served on a sub at the same time as Edward Beach, a war hero and subsequent author of the book Run Silent, Run Deep was assigned. Now, you ask: what does that have to do with a movie and the Geneva Drive-In?

In high school, my girlfriend Diana (of Junior Prom fame) and I double-dated with another couple and headed to the drive-in to see this movie. Like every other teenager at the drive-in, we were far more interested in making out than watching the movie. We probably rolled and dived more times than Clark Gable did during the film, yet we came up for air regularly and returned home thrilled with our encounter.

After conversing with my friend at Kroger, I found the movie on a streaming platform and watched it again without distraction. Boy, those submarine crew members had a tough life; my friend’s uncle had a lifetime of proud memories to reflect upon.

We had the Geneva Drive-In.

Some time ago, a friend gave me a book as a birthday present. It resides, every day, on my bed stand; little did my friend know that this book’s title was my mom’s iron-clad daily rule for me.

This book was written by a US Navy 4-Star Admiral, who headed up, among other things, the US Navy SEAL program. He wrote this book to offer words of encouragement and simple wisdom. If he only knew that my mom’s advice pre-dated his by decades.

Every day of my life, I make my bed; leaving it unmade is unthinkable. My mom accepted no excuse for an unmade bed. Illness, anxiety, a surgical procedure, or laziness didn’t matter to her; over time, I took her mandate as a part of life.

On page one, chapter one of his book, the author says: “Start Your Day with a Task Completed.” My mom never wrote a book, but she impressed me with the importance of starting each day with a feeling of accomplishment.

Thanks, Mom; the Admiral agrees with you.

Église Saint-Germain-des-Prés is one of the oldest Churches in Paris and is in the middle of one of the most exciting, historic neighborhoods. Whenever I visit Paris, I hop on the Metro and zoom over to the Church.

It’s always one of my first stops in town, primarily because I still always light a candle there in memory of my Grandmother. I took the image above, and tucked into the middle is one candle taller than the rest.

That one’s for you, Grandma.

On one of my visits, it was a cold, dark, and rainy day, and the Church steeple was covered in mist. I walked up the steps and pushed against the closed front door. It was stuck, so I had to press harder to open the door.

Behind the door is a small vestibule before you enter the Church. I stood there momentarily before opening the second small door to enter. The door opened a couple of inches, and as I entered, I had one of the most amazing experiences of my life.

The Church was rather dark, and suddenly a ray of sunshine poured through one of the windows like a beacon directed at me. At almost that moment, I heard an organist begin the opening notes of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” The music became louder and louder, with notes soaring to the very top of the Church.

I was transfixed. I thought, “Wow, is this a sign?”

I sat down for about 20 minutes while the organist continued the practice. The music started and stopped during that time, and each time, I was stunned that there were only three people in the Church for that one session.

The organist, my Grandmother, and I.

When we lived in San Francisco, I decided I needed a motorcycle, specifically a Honda 550-4 model like the one shown here. Never mind that I didn’t have 10 minutes of experience riding a bike like that, nor the required driver’s license.

These were minor details in my plan. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before a friend took me to a Honda dealer in Alameda, across the bay from San Francisco. Once at the dealership, I had a brief discussion with the salesperson, signed some papers, and in a frightening length of time, I was (with my bank) the proud owner of a brand new, blue Honda motorcycle.

Emboldened by my lack of experience and knowledge I hopped on the motorcycle (no helmet, please) and wobbled around their parking lot for about 30 minutes. That was plenty of instruction for me and shortly found myself blasting across the San Francisco-Oakland-Bay Bridge on my way home, going at least 60 miles an hour.

Miraculously, I made it home in one piece.

My confidence grew and, I came to love that motorcycle. My three daughters took turns riding with me as we discovered the hills and streets of San Francisco. We’d go on rides up the coast to Point Reyes, Bolinas and Sonoma for top-class picnics. As I write this now in retrospect, it’s highly unlikely, to say the least we’d do this without safety gear.

However, since I was now a skilled driver, at least in my own opinion, I wanted a regular, enthusiastic riding partner. Who better qualified for this than my youngest daughter; she was the most fearless and she was up for anything I cooked up for us. To her, nothing was too ridiculous or dangerous.

She was my perfect match.

One Saturday morning I woke before dawn; I went to her bedroom and shook her awake. I told her to quietly get dressed and meet me downstairs in front of our garage. Ok, Dad, this is another great plan waiting in the wings.

It was just about dawn when we started our journey; she had no idea where we were going, but it didn’t matter. The Golden Gate Bridge was a short distance from our house and, soon we were zooming across the bridge as the sun started to rise. It was a beautiful sight and for a moment, it seemed we were flying. We were, in a sense.

She wanted to ride forever; however, we crossed the bridge and returned home, stopping at our favorite bakery, Ahren’s for a bag of doughnuts to share with our family. We made it back home before anyone was up or knew we’d gone anywhere other than to the bakery. Neither my daughter nor myself mentioned our sunrise ride.

Some things are just too special to share, I suppose.

Last night, I watched another rerun of the PBS showing of the annual Lawrence Welk Christmas show. It was, and is, a spectacular collection of music, incredibly corny skits, and an army of talented, charming children of cast members.

My mom loved the weekly Lawrence Welk shows; she never missed one episode. We had a Motorola television set (black and white, of course). When it was time for the show, my mom would quiet everyone, and we’d dive into the music and entertainment.

A show like his wouldn’t have a chance in today’s media market. However, at the time, he (and the show) was one of the most popular ever. How Lawrence Welk went from his Honolulu Fruit Gum Orchestra leadership to Champagne Music is beyond my imagination. I saw a live show decades ago; it was terrific, and the other guests around me were a rainbow of early 60’s fashion.

He was pretty strict with show members. However, he featured and introduced some of the most talented, professional, and famous musicians ever. The performers radiated talent even in the early days before the color broadcast. As the show grew and improved, artists like The Lennon Sisters, Norma Zimmer, and Myron Cohen kept their train moving ahead and on time.

Around the time the program moved into color broadcasting, we bought a new television; now, my mom was thrilled. The show had the most incredible costumes; the dance numbers were spectacular, and the audience grew. Now, the show is one of PBS’s most-watched weekly programs. It’s possible to see fantastic performers like Ava Barber, Lynn Anderson, Bobby Burgess (from the Mickey Mouse Club), and Jo-Ann Castle.

From time to time, PBS features one of the earlier shows, sponsored by Geritol; now that’s a name brand that will live on forever, just like the show itself.

 

 

 

 

Today, I learned about the passing of my friend’s wife after a long illness; it is, coincidentally, her birthday.

The couple have been married for more than 60 years. They have a wonderful family; she was a delightful person, a revered teacher to thousands of children, a mom, a grandmother, and a dear friend to all (she also loved banana pudding most of all.)

A passage from the Bible (John 16:22) beautifully reminds us: “So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again, and you rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” It’s a comforting message about hope and the promise of joy returning.

Her smile, laughter, and goodness will remain with us always.

There are things about living in the South that is special and unique. Language, accents, heritage, history, and small country stores are a part of this patchwork of people and places. Stores like this were the supermarkets of the day; serving up bologna sandwiches, shoes, soda, smokes, and gossip.

Everywhere, towns have thrived, died, and returned; a small town in the South reflects generations of relatives, all doing their very best to make do with what they have. Religion, faith, and family form the backbone of the people and towns, although a love for barbecue, high school football, and farm equipment runs a close second.

The family that owns and operated this store have lived in the area for generations. Both the mother and father of the family had limited education. Yet, they ran a very successful business; they encouraged their children to graduate college, raise families in a tangible, meaningful way, and to respect and nurture the land that they own to this day.

When the extended family is together for a holiday or celebration, there’s always enough food for more families to join in; no one is ever a stranger to these folks.

Even me, a native Californian.

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 saw the movie “The World of Suzy Wong” in San Francisco, and it transported me to a place I never imagined I’d see: Hong Kong. Even the name of the city excited me. One of the more memorable scenes in the movie takes place on one of the famed Star Ferries named “Twinkling Star.” I loved that name and imagined what it would be like to be aboard. Fast forward many years, and what do you know? I moved our family to Hong Kong.

One day, I was standing at the Star Ferry Terminal in Hong Kong waiting to board that very ferry for the first time. The ride offers up one of the great bargains in the world, especially if you opt to ride in second class, which is on the main deck. Occasionally, I’d splurge and go first class on the top deck, but that wasn’t where Suzy (and Bill Holden) rode, so neither would I.

I lived in Hong Kong with my family for four years, and over that time, I had ample opportunity to ride the many Star Ferries back and forth. More often than not, I’d wait for the next one if it happened to be “Twinkling Star.” My daughters thought I was nuts, but in time they also came to understand my quirks (one of many, I assure you). Who knew how much that movie would affect my life?