An old African saying – “GPS tells you the road. It does not tell you there is a hole in the road.” OK, maybe not an old saying, but we did hear this advice in Africa from Harry, one of our safari guides. I was thinking about Harry recently, as someone stuck his truck in our field, while following his GPS.
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Unpopular opinion: You don’t need a ‘New You‘ this January. We’re told every January 1st that we need to reinvent ourselves from scratch. What if this year isn’t about starting over, but about leaning in? I’m talking about perseverance over perfection.
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Cath and I have been watching two or three episodes of the old TV show “Cheers” each evening. Cathy recalled it was the same way we watched it in the late ‘80s. We were stationed in Germany and our friend Howard was a lifeline to America. He sent us VHS tapes every couple of months with recorded TV shows and movies. We were binge watching before they invented the term.
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Cath and I are among the diminishing number of people who send out Christmas/Holiday cards. In our busy digital world, fewer people send them, and among the younger generations, it is almost nonexistent. That is just life today. Me? I still enjoy the annual “old fashioned” event of exchanging Holiday cards.
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Yep. I was an Eagle Scout. A God and Country Awardee. A member of the Order of the Arrow. It turns out approximately 20% of West Point cadets are Eagle Scouts. I was not surprised, but nonetheless appalled to recently learn Secretary Hegseth plans to sever all military relations with Scouting.
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It is one of my favorite photos from our time in the Army. I say “our time” because that is what it was. I was the soldier, but Cath and I were both a part of Army Life. To me, the picture brings back the memories of the great joys, along with the intensity of everything in the Army of the early ‘80s.
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I know it’s hokey, and I know it’s not fine wine, and yet, I could not resist buying a bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau at a local wine shop a year ago in November of ‘24. In the ‘80s when stationed in Germany, the annual November release of Beaujolais Nouveau was something we looked for, and looked forward to.
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My friend, Jennifer, and her husband have three children. She is a hair stylist and has her own shop. You can imagine her shock and horror when she received a work text saying, “… I hope you don’t recover from that surgery and it fucking kills you you fat fucking gay white bitch.”
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Each October at Rohan Farm, we have a sign of cold weather’s impending arrival – the day Cathy plays god with the outdoor plants. Which ones come in the house, which are on life support in the barn tack room, which are left dormant in the garage, and which ones die on the patio with the the first frost.
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And just like that, a decade has passed. I started this blog ten years ago, on October 19th, 2015. I was 60 then. I’m 70 now. The blog started because of a death*, and a West Point classmate’s admonishment to “Live Life Exuberantly.” I have tried to do so, although not always successfully.
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Live Life Exuberantly 