groundlingdotme

In the middle of a cold, long winter, our thoughts inevitably turn to “Where are we going this summer?”  Growing up firmly rooted in the Deep South town of Columbus, travels for me usually involved trips to Memphis, Birmingham, or, if lucky, to the Florida or Alabama Gulf Coast.  Thanks to Uncle Sam and the U.S. Air Force, that all changed.  After two tours in Germany, a tour in Korea, and a tour in Italy, we racked up the lists of places we visited—and fell in love with—from medieval villages in Germany to  exotic Buddhist temples in the mountains of Korea, to postcard perfect coastal towns on the Amalfi Coast.  Returning to a permanent—retirement—home on the East Coast of Virginia just meant that we would have to somehow continue these adventures.  The “bucket list” has grown, places have been checked off, other places have been added, but the lesson for us is that it is not the destination but the adventure itself that is important.

Some favorite memories:

London—One of my favorite places to visit!  Something in my DNA that makes me feel as though I have somehow come home.  The taste of “pub grub,” the antiquity of the buildings, the theaters—particularly The Globe—all resonate.  No matter how many times we visit, I always find something “new” in this old city.

Cody and Abby

Lhasa Apsos, described by AKC as:

The Lhasa Apso is a small, hardy breed with a beautiful cloak of hair that parts down their back from head to tail. Their temperament is unique: joyful and mischievous, dignified and aloof. An independent breed, the Lhasa’s goal in life is not necessarily to please their master. Popular in the show ring, the breed also excels at activities that provide constant challenges, such as agility.

Since 1972, we have owned five of these charming little dogs, or maybe “owned” is too optimistic a word.  They have more likely “owned” us.

Memories of childhood snows….”Babe, it snowed lsat night.  School is cancelled.”  Running to the window for “ocular proof” that the Deep South’s version of snow had truly fallen and being rewarded by several inches of heavy, wet, pure white.  No time for breakfast.  Layers of clothes and cheep rubber boots and out the door.  Snow angels, snow men, snow balls checked off the list before the magic disappeared.  Save the pure, clean snow on the patio table for snow ice cream, a rich concoction of sinful hot custard and snow.  We had no idea about acid rain or pollution in that part of the world.  Only when I was soaking wet, and chaffed by the frozen rubber boots, did I sheepishly make my way in the house for hot chocolate.

Snow has kept its magic but for different reasons.  A sneak vacation from work and fingers crossed that the day does not have to be “made up.”  A chance to catch up on work, read, and maybe even take a nap.  No snowman for me as I do not like the cold, but I still enjoy the beauty and pristine whiteness of the day.

SNOW-FLAKES
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.