A Beacon of Light

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  • My name is Kevin Carroll. I was born and raised in San Francisco, California, where I attended Saint Ignatius College Preparatory. I am a graduate of both Santa Clara University and the University of San Francisco. Following a 40-year career in teaching and pastoral ministry, I launched a new career as a writer and speaker.

    I live in San José, California. My wife, Kathy, and I have three adult sons and five precious grandchildren. I have much for which to be grateful.

    I can be reached via email at kmc43sjc@gmail.com

    My books are available for purchase online from Amazon. I also have copies of some of these titles at my home for those who would like to buy them directly from me.

    A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude  (2017)

    Cherries in the Summer  (2021)

    The Ambassador of 38th Avenue  (2022)

    Dad: 12 Questions…  (2023)

    A Focus on Gratitude  (2024)

    Through the Lens of Gratitude  (2024)

    A Bahamian Odyssey (2026)

  • Clunk!

    “Thunder is good,
    thunder is impressive;
    but it is lightning
    that does the work.”
    Mark Twain

    Kathy, and her traveling companions on the KLM flight from San Francisco to Amsterdam, received quite a greeting as they descended into the Amsterdam airport. Without warning, there was a loud “Clunk!” sound. This was not a sound that could be easily ignored. Soon after, a flight attendant made the announcement that the plane had been struck by lightning. She assured passengers that this was not a problem, and, in fact, that it happens all the time. 

    All the time? To the best of my knowledge, I have never been on a plane that’s been struck by lightning. Scientists claim, however, that it really does happen fairly regularly — once every 1,000 flight hours, in fact.

    One might rightly believe that this would be cause for concern. Apparently, it’s not. The last time a plane went down due to a lightning strike was in 1967. Since that time, aircraft design has been improved to deal with such acts of nature. When a plane is struck by lightning today, modern aircraft are designed to withstand such strikes. The energy from the lightning strike follows a conductive path, typically on the exterior of the aircraft, and exits at another point without entering the cabin of the plane. 

    What a way to begin a trip! No matter what Kathy experiences during the remainder of her travels in Spain and Italy, she already has a shocking story to tell the grandkids when she gets back home. 

  • The Phone

    “All that we deeply love
    become a part of us.”
    Helen Keller

    How often do you wish you could pick up the phone for just one more call to someone you love who is no longer with you?

    The Great Highway, a 2.3-mile roadway which paralleled the Pacific Ocean in San Francisco, was recently closed to motor traffic and transformed into what is now called Sunset Dunes Park, a recreation area for walkers, joggers, runners, bikers, scooter riders, skateboarders, and people on roller blades. Some like the change. Many do not. What I do know is that one of the most beautiful, peaceful walks in San Francisco is along this roadway between Sloat Boulevard to the south and Lincoln Way to the north.

    The new park includes a few unique features: hammocks, benches, exercise equipment, a small skatepark and bicycle skills course, artwork, occasional live music, and… a telephone. Yes, a telephone, but not just any telephone.

    Where Ortega Street ends at the beach, there is a phone booth, of sorts. It’s not your typical phone booth. (Do such things even exist anymore?) This phone invites passers-by to make a call to someone they love who is no longer with us.

    Ocean Calling offers a unique opportunity to speak words of love, grief, and remembrance into the wind and waves of the Pacific Ocean. The phone is not connected to a land line. It’s a prop, one which may be used, or not, to connect with a loved one.

    Just to the right of the phone booth is a small sign, easily overlooked. I happened to notice it for the first time last week. The sign reads:
     
    “Here, at the edge of the continent, where the Pacific Ocean’s power is palpable, you are invited into a portal for speaking to your lost loved ones. When you offer your words through  the wind and waves, you join an interconnected web of people who have made and received calls.”

    The intention of Ocean Calling is to make grief visible and communal, to replace shame and isolation with the possibility of catharsis and maybe even connection to others.

    Sunset Dunes Park is more than just a recreation area. It is a sacred space, a venue which invites and encourages visitors to engage in thoughtful reflection and prayer, to express joy and grief, to enjoy companionship or solitude, and to experience the awesome power of nature. It is also a perfect location to take a moment’s pause… for gratitude.

  • Focus on The City

    “San Francisco itself is art.
    Every block is a short story.
    Every hill a novel.
    Every home a poem.” 
    William Saroyan

    A friend pointed out to me the other day that I’ve been blogging quite a bit recently about San Francisco. I hadn’t really given this much thought, but she’s right. She inquired as to why there was such a focus on The City in my writing. Since our conversation, I’ve given this a great deal of thought, and there’s no one answer.

    The fact that I’m retired, and that I have the time and energy to venture up to San Francisco on a regular basis, certainly plays a role in this. It also helps that I picked up a Senior Clipper Card, which enables me to ride CalTrain, San Francisco Muni, and even the ferry boats on San Francisco Bay for half-price. Trips to The City, therefore, are affordable. 

    Another contributing factor is that it’s summer time. When the temperature here in the Santa Clara Valley warms up beyond my comfort level, I can escape the heat by visiting The City. 

    I am also doing quite a bit more walking than I’ve ever done before. In the past, I either didn’t have the time or I lacked the motivation to get out and exercise on a regular basis. My goal each day now is to walk a minimum of 10,000 steps. When I walk in San Francisco, my step-count is more often between 14,000 and 30,000 steps, depending upon the weather, my energy level, and how many people I run into along the way.

    Walking in San Francisco, as Armenian-American novelist William Saroyan points out in the quote above, provides a plethora of writing ideas. With each block I walk, and every path I take, thoughts come to mind which are often viable ideas for future blog posts.

    For several days after the conversation with my friend, when I contemplated why I was writing more about San Francisco, one word kept coming to mind: buffering. Most of us are familiar with the frustrating experience of waiting for a video to load onto our computer. The little icon appears informing us that the process of buffering is taking place. This, however, is only one understanding of the term.

    Jean Moroney, president of an organization called Thinking Directions, offers a different understanding of the term. She explains that buffering means “doing a pleasurable activity to avoid feeling negative feelings about something else.”  

    For some, this understanding of the process of buffering involves alcohol or drugs. Others might rely on any number of other addictions to buffer the pain of life’s challenges — eating, gambling, binge TV watching, video gaming, shopping, etc. Each person is charged with their own strategy for coping with the struggles in life that cause them distress.

    Buffering strategies I employ to avoid negative feelings about someone or something include walking, writing, reading, sleeping, listening to either music or podcasts, and prayer. A change in venue is also helpful, so my visits to San Francisco provide the time and environment I need to do this. A little ice cream now and then helps, too.

  • What Now?

    What’s there to say? Yet another school shooting, this time at a Catholic elementary school in Minnesota — while the children, their teachers, and a number of elderly parishioners were attending the first school Mass of the new academic year. How does one make sense of such a cowardly, senseless act of violence? 

    Perhaps now is a good time to revisit Dr. Diane Dreher’s article in Psychology Today (May 2024) which addresses this question. Her words are certainly more appropriate than anything I might be tempted to write today.

    Here’s the link: What Good is Gratitude When There’s So Much Trouble in the World?

  • August 22, 2025

  • A Gathering Place

    “Coffee smells like
    freshly ground heaven.”
    Jessi Lane Adams

    I don’t drink coffee. I don’t like the taste. I do, however, love the smell of freshly-brewed coffee. It reminds me of my childhood when, after a number of hospital stays, my paternal grandmother would stay in our home for a few weeks before returning to her own home. 

    Since getting married forty years ago, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee has been part of my daily experience. Kathy is a coffee drinker, as are our three sons. Despite the fact that I never developed a taste for coffee, I thoroughly enjoy the aroma.

    This might be one reason I enjoy hanging out at coffee shops. Of course, there are other reasons, too.

    Clinical psychologist Laurie Helgoe pointed out, “One of the best places for a shy person to meet people is in a coffee shop. If you are a reader, bring a book and read it there. That gives a guy something to ask you about. Same goes for sketching, writing, or any hobby you can take with you.” Well, I wouldn’t describe myself as “shy,” but the rest of Helgoe’s statement rings true. Coffee shops are a great place to meet people.

    I had the pleasure of hearing Canadian author Malcom Gladwell speak in Seattle a few years ago. He sees a tremendous value in coffee shops. He said, “People who are busy doing things — as opposed to people who are busy sitting around, like me, reading and having coffee in coffee shops — don’t have the opportunity to kind of collect and organize their experiences and make sense of them.” It’s true. The coffee shop atmosphere is quite conducive to making sense out of life.

    Author Mark Driscoll has a very different opinion of coffee shops. He explained that the coffee shop is “the place where socially isolated, lonely, needy people gather together to ignore one another.” Yeah, I guess there’s that, too. 

    For the most part, though, I have experienced the coffee shop to be a healthy environment which offers myriad opportunities to interact with friends and strangers alike. 

    My favorite coffee shops are Java Beach Café on Sloat Boulevard in San Francisco, and the original Java Beach Café at the corner of Judah & LaPlaya Streets in The City. I have spent a considerable amount of time in these establishments through the years, and I cannot say that I prefer one over the other. Both venues offer excellent breakfast, lunch, and beverage options to satisfy the eclectic community of customers. 

    Back in 1993, when owner Patrick Maguire had a vision of opening a coffee shop on Judah Street, he dreamed of a place where people could gather, get to know each other, enjoy each other’s company, and get the best cup of coffee in The City. The “lower Sunset” (some refer to it as the “outer Sunset”) was in need of renewal at that time. Maguire envisioned a coffee shop which would bring the community back to life. And that’s exactly what has happened with Java Beach Café. 

    With the Great Highway recently being converted into a recreation area for walking, running, and biking, the two Java Beach locations offer a respite for those looking for a place to relax and enjoy a cup of coffee at either end of the park. 

  • Three Years

    One Last Touch

    Mom was sleeping in her bed,
    we knew the end was near.
    Although she knew that death would come,
    she had no cause for fear.

    For Mom had lived a wondrous life,
    with joys and heartaches both.
    It seems each challenge raised the bar
    promoting faith and growth.

    As she progressed throughout the years,
    her courage slowly grew.
    She stood her ground with confidence
    with everyone she knew.

    For setting boundaries was a task
    which challenged her for years.
    And yet, she raised a family,
    despite her pain and tears.

    Mom gained her independence
    on the night my father died.
    Although it was traumatic then,
    I don’t know if she cried.

    She loved my Dad, but he had been
    ignored when just a child.
    He graduated high school,
    then things got a little wild.

    His college years didn’t go so well,
    but still he worked quite hard,
    and when, one night, he met my Mom,
    he couldn’t let down his guard.

    A deep fear of rejection
    played a part in all he did —
    those memories which haunted him
    when he was just a kid.

    Despite it all, my parents lived
    a mostly happy life.
    They lived together peacefully
    avoiding useless strife. 

    I know Dad did the best he could
    despite his limitations.
    He put forth effort every day
    to meet his obligations.

    And when he died, my Mother knew
    that things wouldn’t be the same.
    She learned to thrive, not just survive,
    but never placed the blame…

    on Dad, for he’d provided
    all we needed to get by.
    His dedication to my Mom
    I simply can’t deny. 

    And then one August evening
    in twenty twenty-two,
    I sat beside my Mother’s bed
    and tried to talk her through…

    the doorway she’d been waiting to
    pass through for several years.
    I knew it was her time to go.
    My eyes were filled with tears.

    I held her hand so tenderly,
    as she had once held mine.
    I squeezed it gently now and then
    to give a little sign…

    that all her kids and grandkids
    knew it was her time to go;
    and that we loved and cared for her.
    Her breathing was so slow.

    I said goodnight, and knew quite well
    that this might be “Goodbye.”
    She lived to see another day.
    I’m sure she wondered why.

    That afternoon, she entered Heaven,
    this I know for sure.
    For anyone who loved so much,
    there could be no detour.

    It’s been three years since Mom passed on,
    and still she’s in my heart.
    I think about her every day
    although we are apart.

    Her portrait on my office wall
    reminds me of her love.
    I know she’s watching over me
    from Heaven up above.

    ©kmc2025

  • Bonding Time

    “The family is the
    first essential cell
    of human society.”      
    Pope John XXIII


    There’s a clever little sign I’ve seen in a number of novelty stores through the years. It reads: 

    Grandma & Grandpa’s House:
    Where cousins become best friends.

    I’ve always appreciated that quote. It certainly makes me think back to the 1960s when my siblings and I would gather with my cousins, most often at my grandparents’ home. Those were times I always looked forward to, always enjoyed, and still recall fondly. My experience of the past 24 hours has confirmed that this generational phenomenon is happening again — with my own grandkids.

    Our home was full last night. Our oldest son, Tom, and his wife, Hillaray, dropped off their two children, Liam (10) and Emily (7). Steve and Morgan, who live just two doors down from us, came by with their three — Penelope (5), Scarlett (3), and Henry (1). We had pizza from Cicero’s Pizza in San José. The kids ate. They played. They had dessert. It was clear that they were all enjoying themselves immensely.

    Later in the evening, Steve and Morgan took Henry home to get a good night’s sleep. The other four were planning to spend the night on the living room floor. They talked, watched movies, played more games, and had a great time. When it came time to go to sleep, Scarlett decided that she would rather sleep at home, so Steve came down to pick her up. The others camped out here at “Club Panda” for the evening.

    This morning, Kathy prepared a breakfast fit for royalty — fresh fruit, French toast (with chocolate sauce for those who wanted it), a plate of crispy bacon, and hot chocolate. Everyone was happy… and grateful.

    After an early-morning visit to the pool, Kathy took the girls on a shopping excursion. Our granddaughters never get tired of going shopping with “Mama.” She spoils them.

    While the girls were shopping, Liam went down to Steve and Morgan’s place to hang out with Henry. The age gap between the two certainly doesn’t get in the way of their blossoming friendship. Henry idolizes Liam. It didn’t take long for Liam to realize that Henry enjoys books as much as he did at that age — and still does. They sat on the living room floor while Liam read some of Henry’s favorites to him. Precious moments!

    I can only hope that the memories our grandchildren have of spending time with their cousins at our home us will evoke the same type of positive feelings I have when I think back to my own childhood. 

  • A Simple Thought

    I believe that there are times when a blog post should be like a good Sunday homily: the fewer words, the better.

    For this reason, I’m going to let the message of this image speak for itself.

    Have a great day!

  • People We Meet

    Throughout my lifetime, I have had the pleasure of meeting people — lots of people. I’ve met them in my neighborhood, in schools I’ve attended, in workplaces, at parties or other social events, in coffee shops, in my travels around the world, and in my day-to-day comings and goings. I cannot pinpoint exactly when it happened, but at some point in my life, I began to realize that these seemingly random meetings were anything but random.

    I was thinking about how to explain this viewpoint to readers when I came to the realization that no explanation is necessary. Certainly, I am not the only person who has had this insight. Recognizing the significance of seemingly insignificant encounters with others is a universal experience. Still, I am fascinated by it.

    During my elementary and high school years, I met a number of individuals who are still very much a part of my life today. One person in particular, who I met on July 31, 1971, had a major role in the career path I followed in life. In the summer of 1972, while working a summer job at a fast food restaurant, I met someone whose friendship I have cherished for more than fifty years. In 1977, I was blessed to have a professor at Santa Clara University who made a positive impact on my life, and with whom I am still in contact today. For the past several weeks, I have had the privilege of collaborating with one of my former students who I taught back in 1982. He is now the principal of a Catholic elementary school in San José. He invited me to work with him and his vice principal to plan a faculty/staff retreat which focused on the theme of gratitude. The retreat was held in Santa Cruz this past Wednesday.

    Just last night, I received an email from a guy I met about 35 years ago when he was actively involved in the young adult ministry program at Saint Lawrence Parish in Santa Clara. (I intentionally set him up to work with a young woman as a small-group retreat leader on a Confirmation retreat… an experience which, in time, led to their decision to marry!) I haven’t seen Joseph, nor his wife, Jo-Ann, in many years, as they moved to North Carolina for Joseph’s job. We’re getting together for breakfast on Monday morning.

    When we meet someone, we just never know what impact they might have on our life, or how we might affect theirs.

    At the faculty/staff retreat this past Wednesday, two members of the school staff turned out to be former students of mine from Saint Lawrence Academy — and they didn’t know each other, as one of them was recently hired. One had graduated in 1987, the other in 2016. It’s a small world.

    Those who know me are well aware that I’m fairly outgoing. I love meeting people. I enjoy hearing the life stories, dreams, ambitions, and accomplishments of people’s lives. Kathy once told someone that I could “carry on a conversation with a fire hydrant.” While I understand what she was saying, that’s a bit of a stretch. I prefer two-way communication rather than monologues with inanimate objects!

    The quote above, by Susanna Kearsley, is a reminder to us all that every person we meet, even those we might perceive as being difficult at times, have come into our lives for a reason. Perhaps it might be worth the effort to reflect on our relationships with friends and acquaintances and to give mindful consideration to what that reason might be.