After transversing 3,373 miles through nine states in three weeks, where Judi and I visited old and dear friends and distant family and relatives, witnessed two college football games (USF lost both to the universities of Louisville and Cincinnati respectively), watched in different parts of the country our beloved American League home town Rays baseball team come out on the short end of the World Series, Trick & Treated with our 6 and 8 year old granddaughters, were delighted witnesses to our son Christopher's marriage to his new bride Jennifer, sat patiently before the television waiting the final defining results as American at long last finally elected its 44th President-elect, and experienced some of the most breathtaking scenery made so by blankets of rioting fall foliage, we are now safe and sound back in good ole St. Petersburg, Florida. We're glad to be home. A couple hundred photographs were taken to document our travels and experiences, a small sampling of which I will begin to share to highlight places and folks that have proven to be worthy subject matter for up-coming posts. I wish to pay special homage to my new friend John "Coffeypot" Coffey who, in his misguided description of our two day sight-seeing excursion around historic Atlanta, suggested that he was merely serving as a "baby-sitter" on Judi's behalf as she attended a three day seminar. The man
has a great sense of history, but very little regard for the truth. I will also compose a post to honor my oldest and dearest friend, Norman "Buddy" McColl, in whose martial bed we spent one restful night and were regaled with a explanation as to why he and his wife Jeanene have yet, after eight different attempts, to settle on a mattress that they both can tolerate. (There is a special surprise waiting for them that will only be revealed when I compose my post about them). And for sure I want to share a few words about my dear 80 year old Mother, a genteel southern lady who defines the term. Hopefully the stories of these persons will prove entertaining. It is the people who cross our paths whose personal stories seem at first to be ordinary until one begins to peal back the layers of their personalities and histories to reveal a many layered substance that bespeaks of their worthiness to be celebrated.
has a great sense of history, but very little regard for the truth. I will also compose a post to honor my oldest and dearest friend, Norman "Buddy" McColl, in whose martial bed we spent one restful night and were regaled with a explanation as to why he and his wife Jeanene have yet, after eight different attempts, to settle on a mattress that they both can tolerate. (There is a special surprise waiting for them that will only be revealed when I compose my post about them). And for sure I want to share a few words about my dear 80 year old Mother, a genteel southern lady who defines the term. Hopefully the stories of these persons will prove entertaining. It is the people who cross our paths whose personal stories seem at first to be ordinary until one begins to peal back the layers of their personalities and histories to reveal a many layered substance that bespeaks of their worthiness to be celebrated. In the mean time, there's unpacking to be accomplished, photos to be catalogued and stored, and two resident cats that after three weeks of our prolonged absence are not yet convinced that Judi and I aren't interlopers to be very wary of. "Here Kitty, Kitty..."
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