Pat, Margaret, Sue, Jani

But after I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of attending. Maybe I would finally get to know people who I should have made friends with during that troubling period in my life. I must confess that I wanted to visit with Donna Ewert Dubsky and Margaret. Both of them had read and enjoyed my book, Growing Up in Mama’s Club, which describes my childhood.

My wife Helen and I organized our summer so that the class reunion would be the frosting on the cake. We left our Tucson home on June 30 and spent fifteen days at a rental home in Estes Park, CO. Then it was off to stay with friends in Long Pine, NE. (If you’re interested, I blogged that visit in July.) We followed that with four days in downtown Chicago and over a month in Grand Rapids, MI where we raised our children and where I spent 33 years of my working life. We arrived in Columbus Thursday evening and enjoyed an excellent meal at Dusters. On Friday morning, I visited with my 90-year-old mother, who still believes Armageddon is imminent. We showed up at the VFW Hall at 5:30 PM, where the reunion commenced.

When I walked into the Hall, I felt a positive, happy energy. I immediately knew that I’d made the right decision to attend. I had something in common with everyone in the room—our high school experience—be it good, bad, or indifferent. And as Jani Fey Stukas said, “we were the lucky ones as we were still vertical.”

Ron Graus was the first one to greet me. His smile was contagious, but of course he knows how to “work a room,” something that does not come easily for me. Mary McEnerney Goc greeted me with a big hug. I later learned that Jani had dubbed Mary, “The Generalissimo.” In spite of what Jani may tell you, Mary is the real deal, a hard-working “worker bee” and the kind of person I would want on my team. But there was one disconcerting moment: While I was making small talk with her husband, Dick, I told him how pleased I was to see Mary. The moment I mentioned her name, he immediately stiffened, came to attention, clicked his heels, and saluted. Maybe Jani and Dick know something I don’t.

I was impressed by the hard work and due diligence of Mary and Jean Treinies Munson who put together the “Class of 1961″ Binder. This was one of their many contributions, making the reunion a major success. It was definitely helpful to see pictures and bios of fellow students. (Donna did the cover art for the binder.) During those dead moments, as classmates circulated, it gave them time to digest what all had happened over the last fifty years. But there was plenty of time to visit. I particularly enjoyed good, lively conversations with Donna, her husband Dennis (a very cool guy), Bob Hughes, Gail Ballew Walters, Margaret, Bernard Hay, Kurt Leininger, Ed Loseke, Herb Peterson, Gerald Whitcomb and more. Remember, I wasn’t one of the “popular kids” in high school, so it was a bit of a challenge for some people to figure out who I was.

Jean, Bob, Karlyn, Sue, Kurt

I would like to thank Lois Davis Rosacker and Diane Swan Amenta for making trips to Columbus to help Mary put the picture boards together. Special kudos go to Vera Lutjelusche Cromwell for finding some of our long-lost classmates.

Rose Parade marchers: Margaret, Diane, Karlyn and Lois

On Saturday morning, we toured the newly renovated high school—a very impressive facility. Then it was lunch at Maximus; and dinner and socializing at the New World Inn. After dinner, we were treated to a nostalgic presentation by Brian Kluck and Jani. Helen and I said our goodbyes at the Sunday Brunch.

Brian, Margaret, Maryanne Whitcomb

Okay, you must know that I had a great time. But just why can I lay claim to that verdict? As a socially stunted teenager, I had to bide my time before I could finally utilize my God-given talents. Perhaps it’s why I espouse satire and irony so passionately and why I can be self-effacing and comfortable with ambiguity. Life is too short not to laugh – particularly about ourselves. You tease people you like. At least that’s my M.O. I don’t think people should take life too seriously, and I don’t. The way the reunion was organized, it was a big stage for a performer, especially a big tease like me who is also a writer looking for a story. But what clinched access to my creative comfort zone was that at no time did I hear anyone say, “Woe is me.” Religion and politics were never discussed. What I heard were unassuming, happy people. What you see at age 67 or 68, if you’re still vertical, is about as good as it will ever get. You can no longer con anyone into thinking you are anyone other than who you are. You are as happy as you will ever want to be.

As my wife and I drove back to Tucson, I got it into my head that some awards needed to be handed out to the brave classmates who attended the reunion and to one who didn’t. But remember, I’m a little boy at heart and I love to tease. I admired people like Kurt, Mary, Brian and more back in high school and still do. But no one would go unscathed and my satirical awards would contain a little bit of truth in all of them. Everyone should be able to see themselves in each roast. In other words, my intentions would not be to offend anyone, but rather to entertain.

What I saw was an opportunity for classmates to see themselves in two time dimensions: Back in high school as teenagers—naughty, presumptuous and terribly naïve—while at the same time being the responsible adults and grandparents that we are today. After all – why does anyone go to a 50-year class reunion?

But I can be serious from time to time. So first, I would like to crown Donna, Rita Speckmann Kafka, Bernard, and Mark Loseke as the best looking physical specimens at the reunion (and Mark is a cancer survivor). They all looked pretty damn good for the amount of tread wear they have on their 68-year-old vehicles. I would like to suggest that Mary Goc run as an Independent to be the next governor for the great state of Nebraska. She would have my vote. The award for the two most unassuming, this-shit-didn’t-go-to-my-head College Blue Bloods from our class go to Margaret and Brian. The classmate spouses that earned gold medals for attending go to Dennis Dubsky, Dick Goc, Danele Peterson, Josette Kluck, Darlene Asche, and my wife Helen. But after checking my “Johnny Carson crystal ball,” the Purple Heart Award has to go to Bob Hughes’ wife of fifty years, Darlene A. Hughes.

Jean Munson, Dianne Swan Armenta, Connie Meyer Czaplewski

The biggest No Show Award goes to Roger Cooley. If everything I heard about him at the reunion is true, perhaps there was good reason for him to spend the weekend with his family at the lake.

I saved the most prestigious award for last, and it goes to Matthis Asche. I never knew Matt while in high school. But when you sit next to an outspoken cancer survivor for two hours, you learn a lot about a person. And he is definitely LOUD! But that could be because he is hard of hearing. He had to tell me what he had to say while we were herded and seated into a noisy bar-like environment. Matt’s award is for being the classmate, in my opinion, for what Mark Twain says gets most people in trouble: He knows way too much stuff that ain’t so. If you don’t believe me, ask him how safe the neighborhood is around Wrigley Park in Chicago, or what news network presents the most unbiased news. That’s just for starters. In spite of his obvious handicap, he has lived all of his adult life with one woman, his wife Darlene. And it is not difficult to see that she loves and adores him. So his faults must pale in comparison to his strengths.

So fellow classmates, what did I miss about the Reunion? What else needs to be said? I hope you will take the time to comment on what for me and my wife was a remarkably good time. Our 50th-year class reunion was definitely the best.

P.S. If you have had your fill of my awards and silly insights about fellow classmates, you may want to stop here. But if you’d like a little more frivolity, my consummate satire, and an occasional “blue light” moment, please read on.

The award for “After all these years there is still a fire and sparkle in her eyes along with a contagious laughter” goes to Donna Dubsky.

Donna and Dennis Dubsky

Brian Kluck is the most likely classmate to be indicted in the near future for sexual harassment. And I know the woman—Xena is her name—who will file the lawsuit.

Posthumous awards go to Bob Mann for “When you start believing your bullshit you will get yourself into some serious doo-doo” –  and Dale Risk’s skills at getting classmates to ask him, “You want me to do WHAT?”

Karlyn Kuper Carson wins the “Miss Hoity-Toity look-a-like” contest. But then, that is the fabric of good designers.

Herb Peterson wins the: “It’s all right for guys to hug” award. He is also a finalist along with Brian Kluck, Larry Ball, Bob Ahrens, and Brant Egger for the “Pizza, Pizza, Pizza – I never met a Pizza I didn’t like” award.

I personally won three awards. They are: “I liked this guy better when he was in high school” award; the “I didn’t like the guy when he was in high school – and now, fifty years later, I know why” award; and ”Mr. Potty Mouth.” I am a bit concerned about always being singled out for my colorful language.

When I asked Gerry Whitcomb if he thought his second marriage would work, he responded with a loud, clear, “Fucking A.” (Okay, he may have said that in one of my dreams.) But if you spent any time with Gerry’s wife, Maryanne, you would easily see why he thinks she is a keeper.

Kurt Leininger was nominated for “Am I running out of gas or did I lose a marble along the way?” (Okay, we could say that about everyone at the reunion. But Kurt has some pretty broad shoulders.)

A classmate we will never see at a reunion, Gordon Bahner, made either the most inane or most profound statement as he reflected on his high school years: “I neither appreciate nor regret my years at CHS. I do not believe they prepared me for the real world.”

And with some regret, I am deeply saddened that while he was serving honorably in the military, shortly after high school, Jon Swanson unwittingly earned the “I’m from the government, and I’m here to help you” award.

The last award is titled: “You got to be kidding!” It goes to Donna Ewart Dubsky. How is it possible for a responsible, intelligent, God-fearing woman like Donna to tell her classmates that one of the highlights of her high school years was when Nikki Gibbs smeared peanut butter all over a toilet seat in the girls’ bath room? Now I can see why some guys would say that, but not this classy grandma. Then again, wasn’t she a carhop at Y-Knot Drive-In in a previous life?

I would also like to recommend that our class of 1961 adopt as our song: We Did it our Way. The lyrics:

P.S.S. Brian Kluck and I never had a conversation before this class reunion; not for the first 68 years of our lives. I don’t know if he knew that I existed. That all changed shortly before we had dinner on Saturday night. I could see that he was eyeing me curiously as we talked for ten minutes. Maybe he recognized me as a kindred spirit. However, as Helen and I were about to leave to go back to our motel, he whispered something quite profound in my ear. If I can remember his exact words, it went something like this. “So I see that you like irony. And it is with that in mind, I want you to know something that I observed over the course of this evening’s activities. Your wife, Helen, and Mary Goc have a lot in common. Both of them have been married to real Dicks all of their married lives. And I think you are a much bigger Dick than Mary’s husband. How ironic is that?” (Okay, Brian never told me that. But I think that’s what he was thinking.)

To see full size, click on photo. Click again to move to next photo.

The Hake’s three-year-old, well-designed 900 sq ft cabin is the perfect destination point for two couples who want to get lost in nature, play games and to get to know, to really get to know, each other better. The cabin is located in a pristine forest of ancient Ponderosa Pine on the edge of a fertile 260 ft canyon wall. While we couldn’t confirm it, Ken claims that a meandering stream teeming with native brown and rainbow trout awaits anyone who ventures a long slide down the steep canyon walls. The official mailbox is Long Pine, NE, but to access their forest home, one must drive ten miles on a dirt road north off Highway 20.

If you were blindfolded and airlifted into the cabin, it would be easy to believe that you were in the mountains of Colorado. It’s a very special place with a plethora of both whitetail and mule deer, giant turkeys, porcupines, blue birds, pine martins, rattlesnakes, bobcats and more. At night, the stars come to visit and put on a spectacular display of lights. The sunrises from our bedroom are what I would love to see when I wake up in the morning every day for the rest of my life.

Ken and Maureen brought in food supplies and wine for the three days and two nights we spent with them. Once you get to this special secluded spot, you want to stay put and enjoy some of the best that Mother Nature has to offer. The Hake’s knew this in advance and planned accordingly.

We knew that Ken would be passionate about winning any and all games that we played. I think it has something to do what with him being raised in a small rural town, Leigh, Nebraska. Perhaps it was the water or it could have been the DDT he brushed his teeth with as a child. But little did we know the passion; I mean THE PASSION that he has for everything he decides to do.

Ken and Maureen own the 200 acres of land that surround the cabin. And when Ken walks his property, he truly becomes THE ERADICATOR. If he sees a weed he doesn’t like, he destroys it with a passion; and “Not in a shy way!” as Frank Sinatra croons in one of his songs. Ken’s ultimate passion, perhaps hatred is the better word, is reserved for the dastardly, invasive red cedar that populate his land. He becomes a pyromaniac if need be and much more when it comes to these scum bags. And I must say, he makes a very convincing argument for why these bastards need to die, and to die now, before they destroy his sanctuary.

I guess in two words, Ken does everything “His Way.” Most people eat almonds. Not Ken. He prefers to scarf almonds. Many people are quite competitive and will at times beat up on their opponents. Not Ken. He prefers to fleece them. If he loses two times in a row, he will attempt to enlist Maureen’s support with, “Now, let’s fleece the Kelly’s.” However, Maureen does not always take Ken seriously and often refers to him as The Fabricator.

In spite of Ken’s unique personality, one of his most redeeming features is his passion of 47 years for his wife, Maureen. It is a joy to be around a man that radiates his love, admiration, and friendship for his best friend, his life-long companion, Maureen Foley Hake—the Eradicator’s sweet thang.

P.S. Oh, I must not forget. When you stay with the Hake’s at their cabin in paradise for two days, you will be required to participate with them in one of their most sacred of rituals. At 4:30 PM, Monday thru Friday, the best wine and cheese is served and the television is turned on for thirty minutes. Get comfortable because it’s time to watch Jeopardy. And the best entertainment is watching Maureen, not Ken or the three contestants on the large flat-screen television, come up with the correct answers first. Man, she is good! But then, life is good with the Hake’s.

P.S.S. If you’re curious, we played Qwerkle, Euchre, Mexican Train, Thirty-One and nine rounds of Golf, a game of cards. And yes, the Hake’s fleeced the Kelly’s. Ken says the next time we play for money or mortgages, whichever is more solvent.

We started our journey on Sunday, June 13, and headed for Globe, a mining town so named because of a globe-shaped piece of almost pure silver found in the area in 1870. Several miles later, we were treated to a 30-minute drive through picturesque, 2,000-feet-deep Salt River Canyon. Here the colorful sedimentary rock layers are visible from the road for miles.

Then it was on to Show Low, elevation 6,500 feet, where Tucson Desert Rats like we’ve just become can escape the summer heat. Here you can bask under 100-foot-tall pine trees or fish for feisty trout in the pristine streams in the area, but this was not our destination for the day.

Our goal was the southern entrance—Rainbow Forest—of Petrified Forest National Park. And words can not describe the thrill of seeing so many brilliantly colored, petrified logs strewn over this first stop of what is a 93,533 acre park.

About 225 million years ago, these logs we could touch and see close up were giant trees clinging to an eroding riverbank before falling into a fast-moving stream that carried them to wet, swampy lowlands. They were finally submerged in water and buried under volcanic ash sediments rich in silica before time and Nature’s handiwork did its magic. Silica replaced the wood until the logs were virtually turned into stone, with iron oxide and other minerals staining the silica to produce rainbow colors.

We spent two hours exploring Agate Bridge, Giant Logs, Jasper Forest, and the Tepees, just four stops in the Park before seamlessly entering the Painted Desert, an area of badlands saturated with hauntingly seductive hues of pink, purple, red, beige and white. Here the soft, top layer of desert earth is thoroughly eroded from mineralized water flows and mineral deposits which create a surreal landscape.

Then it was a short drive on historic highway 66 to Winslow, Arizona – the city and corner made famous by the Eagles song, “Take It Easy.”

Here we spent the night at a Mary Colter designed Hotel, La Posada, and we enjoyed a delightful Rick-Bayless-like dinner experience in the Turquoise Room. The hotel was constructed in 1929 in the style of an 1869 Spanish hacienda and built to entice railroad travelers to discover the virtues of rural northern Arizona. It features stone floors, glass murals, spacious-well-designed outdoor gardens and feel-good, primitive Mexican art painted freehand directly on the stucco walls. We stayed in the Frank Sinatra room, although we limited our conversation as the walls were pretty darn thin. I won’t repeat what Helen said she heard from the young married couple renting the room next to ours.

Our breakfast at the Turquoise Room was one of the best we’ve ever had, although a bit pricey. And it served us well on our short drive to Meteor Crater. It wasn’t a stop we planned for, but we were told too many times not to miss it, so we decided to squeeze it in. And it made the highlight list on this mini vacation.

Over 50,000 years ago, a meteor estimated to be 150 feet across and weighing several hundred thousand tons slammed into this area less than thirty miles from Winslow with such force—26,000 miles per hour—it created a crater 700 feet deep and 4,000 feet across. While time and matter has filled in half of the original crater, it’s still an impressive awe-inspiring hole. And the large-screen theater presentation of “Collision and Impacts” is an eye opener to how vulnerable our earth is to meteors and asteroids—the most likely cause for the extinction of the dinosaurs.

With this awe experience to occupy us, we drove to Canyon de Chelly (da Shay) National Monument. We had been there before, taken onto the Canyon floor in open-air trucks by Navaho guides, but we wanted to explore this unique, mystical area on our own. Located on a Navaho Reservation 3 miles east of Chinle, it covers 83,849 acres. And while the 26-mile-long Canyon with its well-weathered red sandstone 1,000-foot walls and ominous Spider Rock is unlike any we’ve ever seen. The fact that you can explore and see up close the abandoned homes and pictographs on the Canyon walls of Indian civilizations as far back as 2500 B.C. make this a special place. We stayed at the Thunderbird Lodge, although I’d opt for more modern accommodations on our next visit.

During our stay, we had the pleasure of seeing two large jack rabbits with their Bugs Bunny ears and long back legs. And, we had to wait several delightful minutes stopped on a major two-lane highway as we watched three dogs herd a flock of 30 sheep across the road. This happened as we exited Chinle early in the morning. One dog led the flock and two dogs held up the rear with no human help. It was quite a sight.

Our next stop was Bluff, Utah with some of the most unusual buttes and mesas along the way. Bluff lies in the shadow of the Navaho Twins, two massive sandstone turrets towering over the valley of the San Juan River. And if you should want to play Blind Man’s Bluff, this is not the area to do it. The impressive display of large rocks of all shapes and sizes everywhere would make for a very unstable environment if you were unable to see.

I would like to digress a bit as Helen and I got into a pretty giddy mood while we were in Bluff. She started it by telling me that she thought it would be pretty good stuff if I would “go in the buff in Bluff.” I responded by saying that I had “a nuff of that guff in Bluff” and “could be a bit gruff if I had to go in the buff.” And for about ten minutes we entertained ourselves with the endless possibilities of rhyming “Bluff.” Oh well, I guess that’s what happy old people can do to entertain themselves from time to time.

On a more serious note, if you want to begin a journey to see and explore the crème de le crème of giant rock monoliths, bright red sandstone buttes and mesas, you must start the journey from Bluff and head south on highway 163.

You will know you are someplace special, unlike anything or anywhere you have ever been, as you drive to Mexican Hat. This is truly magical southwest landscape. Interestingly, people stop along the way, but a camera cannot capture what their eyes and senses see and feel.

As you slowly work your way to Monument Valley you are awestruck. You have seen this scenery on the big screen before and your mind’s eye will see John Wayne riding a stage coach around the rugged, red rock monoliths that jut high up into the blue, big blue sky around you.

Monument Valley Navaho Tribal Park is the ultimate icon for the great southwest, covering several thousand square miles within the Navaho Indian Reservation. The Park contains Mystery Valley, where isolated monoliths of red sandstone tower as much as 1,000 feet above the valley floor. Anywhere you stop to walk on this hallowed ground of ever moving sand dunes is a spiritual experience. Some feel the power and majesty of God or gods in their presence. I personally was energized from a healthy high.

We stopped several times, got out of the car, and inhaled the dry, clean, invigorating, high-desert air, pinching ourselves to be so fortunate to be here in this hauntingly beautiful place. On our drive out of Monument Valley, we were treated to constant, eye-popping changes in the landscape around us while we were driving to our next destination – Page, Arizona – and the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area. Our plan was to stay two nights at the Lake Powell Resort’s Wahweap Lodge and Marina. But before arriving there, we passed in front of impressive Glen Canyon Dam—a dam that helps create more shoreline for its Lake Powell than the combined states of California, Oregon, and Washington.

Words cannot describe the post-card views from the Lodge of this gerrymandered, massive blue-green reservoir with an endless variety of shadowy yellow-white buttes and mesas guarding the shoreline of Lake Powell. Quite a sight!

We had confirmed reservations for a 6-hour boat ride early the next day to Rainbow Bridge and a 3-hour dinner cruise on Lake Powell. This was per the advice of our Ridge Four neighbors, Dan & Kathy Foster. But for now, it was time for a gourmet lunch and a glass or two of good wine. (No alcohol can be sold or served on an Indian Reservation, and we were wineless for 36 hours.) And, we treated ourselves to a two-hour nap before exploring the area around the Lodge.

The weather changed during the night, and on the morning of our first boat ride it was hot and muggy. However, we were able to find seats on the top deck of the boat, which also gave us a birds-eye view of key landmarks on our journey to Rainbow Bridge. An informative, professional narration of the history and geology of the area made the two-plus hour ride go by quickly. The last thirty minutes was negotiated through a scenic hard rock fjord. When we finally docked, the captain told us how to approach the massive, largest-of-its-kind-in-the-whole-wide-world sandstone bridge, which he explained was on a well-marked, one-mile trail.

As we started our hike, nothing in the surrounding landscape suggested the kind of phenomenon we were about to encounter. A quarter-mile into the zigzag walk, we saw the edge of Rainbow Bridge. And then it was gone. However, we kept moving forward. When we did seize our first full view of the natural bridge, it took my breath away.

I was not prepared for the powerful feelings, a spiritual awareness if you will, that engulfed me. While it’s probably not the best way to compare, it was a feeling similar to when our kids, Keith and Kim, were born. I was energized, alive, alert, and grateful—a very special time in my life!

We enjoyed our dinner cruise on a very elegant yacht, and our hostess made us feel like royalty. Wine was extra and not too expensive. My salmon dinner was good, although Helen’s meat entrée was over-cooked. But it was definitely a memorable, romantic evening in a drop-dead gorgeous setting.

On Thursday, June 18, the fifth day of our mini vacation, we drove from Page to Flagstaff—a very scenic drive, stopped to shop at the Phoenix Ikea, and arrived home in Tucson at 1:00 pm.

The first leg of our semi-annual migration took us 1,275 miles to Houston, Texas, where our son, Keith, lives. This is always a treat because we not only enjoy visiting with him,  we get to spend time with his wife Amy and our eleven-year-old granddaughters, (and twins) Hannah and Katrina. Some of the highlights of our visit with them were hearing the twins sing with a group from their middle school, watching climbers scale the Matterhorn at an IMAX theatre showing, a tour of the traveling 125,000-year-old Lucy exhibit and her Ethiopian birthplace, and being treated to one of the best movies that I have seen in awhile, Michael Clayton.

The last leg of our journey took us 1,100 miles to our Tucson home. And as we neared our high desert home in the Catalina Mountains, we were most grateful for books on tape. We had listened to and thoroughly enjoyed two unabridged books, His Excellency: George Washington, by Joseph Ellis and Wild Swans, by Jung Chang. Both books were well written and narrated stories about how a single man can and did make a significant difference to the history of his country, the USA and China. One was very good and the other was a disaster.

When we arrived back in Tucson there was much that needed to be done to make our house a home. And we had only a week to prepare for houseguests. Visiting with us for five days would be someone I hadn’t seen in almost fifty years. John Hoyle and I were only kids when we last spent quality time together. Ironically, my parents were instrumental into bringing his parents into ”the truth.” Oops. There I go again. I mean the Club. That happened in February of 1952 and we last played together in the fall of 1958. John made contact with me via the Internet in July when he heard about my book, Growing Up In Mama’s Club.

To make a long story short, we had a delightful time with John, his wife Sharon, and their adorable, less than a year old Maltese puppy, Lilly. While they were here, we explored nearby Sabino Canyon, drove to the top of 9,200-feet Mount Lemmon, and just talked and talked and laughed and reminisced.

Now it’s back to writing full time. And I’ve made a decision (gulp!) to dramatically improve the third printing of Mama’s Club, which I expect to have ready by January 2008. What changes do I plan to make? I will report that in subsequent blogs.

Interestingly, in 490 BC the Battle of Marathon occurred at Schinias where the Athenians defeated the Persians. The Greek army sent a runner to Athens (where will be flying into from the States), near the Acropolis, to announce the victory. This historical event gave birth to the modern Marathon Run. Today, a four lane expressway pretty much follows the route of the original Marathon Run of about 40 kilometers (25 miles) from Schinias to downtown Athens. 

They tell me that if you only had a week to spend at this particular villa you would have to first go into the local town of Marathon for shopping and a taste of Greece’s famous cuisine with some of its great wine. Yes, Greece has excellent wine. They just don’t export much of it to the States. Then back to the villa to swim in the pool under the stars before retiring for the night. The next day could be spent in Athens, visiting the Acropolis with its Parthenon, the Temple of Zeus, and enjoying the people and food at the ancient market place at the foot of Acropolis. Before the week was over, a visit to Cape Sounion with its Temple of Poseidon would be a must. Next, a day trip to central Attica and Delphi. If one is attuned to the spirits of antiquity, he or she may hear whispers from the ancient oracles still echoing through the eons of time. Other sights to see would be ancient Corinth with its Temple of Appollo. Also at Corinth, the church that received Paul’s letters to the Corinthians still exists. And then, there still would be time to visit the quaint sea town of Nafplio, Epidaurus, Argos, Tiryn, and Mycenae.

Since we will be spending  several weeks in Greece, there is no end to the many spectacular Greek islands that we could visit. There’s the Island of Aigina with its well-preserved temple,  the islands of Mykonos and Dalos, the world famous cliffs and homes on Santorini Island, and the list goes on and on.

I plan to keep a journal on the trip. When you have a once in life-time opportunity to spend quality time with your spouse, children, granddaughters, and friends, in a country that sparked the fires of thought and freedom for people all around the world today, I want that experience to be put on paper. Photographers take pictures, writers write.

I would like to digress for a moment. Unlike Mama, I am not willing to sacrifice the opportunities afforded to me in this lifetime, hoping that I will be able to enjoy them in a new world, if I embrace the supercilious teachings of the Club. My new world is here and now. I want to enjoy and embrace every day of the life that I have been given. What a wonderful gift. And when I am in Greece with family and friends, I will be especially grateful.