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)

  • Island Life

    “The beauty of memories
    lies not in their clarity,
    but in the warmth
    they bring to our hearts.” 
    Author Unknown

    On Saturday, August 24, 1974, my friend and high school classmate, Dan Pasini, and I boarded a 10:00 p.m. flight from San Francisco to Miami. From there, we took a connecting flight to the Bahamas. We arrived at Nassau International Airport around mid-day on Sunday, August 25th. That was fifty years ago today. After going through immigration and customs, we were greeted warmly by our host, Father Elias Achatz, a 63-year-old Benedictine priest who served as Prior of the St. Augustine’s Monastery community. Dan and I had met Father Elias at a social gathering in Kingston, Jamaica in July 1971. Much to our surprise, in April 1974, he invited us to teach at St. Augustine’s College in Nassau during the 1974-75 academic year. We accepted his offer.

    At that time, Dan and I were completing our second year of college. I’m fairly certain that the term “gap year” had not yet emerged, but that’s exactly what the opportunity turned out to be for us. There we were, two 20-year-olds, embarking on the experience of a lifetime.

    St. Augustine’s College is a Catholic, 7th through 12th grade comprehensive high school. Dan and I were both given full teaching schedules in the Religious Studies Department. In addition to our academic responsibilities, we took on additional roles as coaches of various sports, and I was asked to serve in a quasi-administrative position overseeing the academic and social involvement of one-quarter of the SAC student body. 

    The experience at St. Augustine’s was transformative for me, and I know it was for Dan, too. One cannot help but be changed when given the opportunity to live in a different country for a year and to immerse oneself in a new culture. 

    The memories of that year are still vivid for me: SAC students in uniform transitioning from one class to the next; getting acclimated to the heat and humidity of September days in classrooms with no air conditioning; preparing for the arrival of Hurricane Fifi, which fortuitously shifted course and passed well south of the Bahamas before crossing the Gulf of Mexico and devastating the small country of Belize; and having seasoned Bahamian veteran educators such as Mr. Lou Adderley and Mr. Winston Carter to mentor us throughout the year. 

    Dan and I also enjoyed the camaraderie of a number of other young Bahamian and expatriate teachers with whom we enjoyed an active social life throughout the year. We joined them for many Friday evening happy hours at The Bridge Inn, followed by music and dancing to the tunes of Kenny & the Beach Boys at The Rum Keg, a small night club located on the lower level of the Nassau Beach Hotel. 

    Of course, we took advantage of some of the beautiful Bahamian beaches, too. Our favorites were Cabbage Beach on Paradise Island and Cable Beach on West Bay Street. Occasionally, Dan and I would drive to the Palmdale district after dinner to get milkshakes at Dipper Dan’s before driving out to the end of the Nassau wharf where the large cruise ships docked. The unobstructed view from Nassau harbor of the sun setting on the horizon was awe-inspiring. On other evenings, we would hang out at the casino on Paradise Island watching the tourists trying to beat the house in craps, blackjack, and roulette. (Locals, and those of us with Bahamian work permits, were prohibited from gambling in the casino.) And it was not uncommon for us to drive out to Howard Johnson’s restaurant, in the Nassau Beach Hotel, for a late-night snack.

    The friendships made, the experience gained, and the memories associated with Nassau and St. Augustine’s College are as vivid and valued today as they were when I first experienced them fifty years ago. I will be forever grateful for this amazing, undeserved opportunity. 

  • Something New

    “There is no trouble
    so great or grave
    that cannot be diminished
    by a nice cup of tea.” 
    Bernard Paul Heroux

    I grew up in a tea family. The rich smell of coffee brewing in the morning permeated our home only when my paternal grandmother stayed with us after a number of hospital visits. For this reason, perhaps, while I find the taste of coffee repugnant, the aroma calls up wonderful memories from my childhood.

    Tea was the drink of choice of my parents. I can easily recall the day I attempted to surprise my mother by making tea for her. I was in second grade. I’d seen her make tea many times, so I did my best to replicate her actions. I filled the stainless steel teapot with water and put it on the stove. When the teapot began to whistle, I turned off the gas and poured the contents of the teapot into Mom’s favorite cup. I was surprised to see that it was still clear. It wasn’t tea at all. It was just a cup of hot water. That’s when Mom introduced me to the magic of Lipton tea bags!

    Throughout most of my life, my go-to hot beverage of choice was hot chocolate. It’s only in recent years that I’ve transitioned to tea. I began with Lipton, of course, but as time went on, I was introduced to flavored tea by Bigelow (Lemon Lift, Earl Grey, English TeaTime, Orange & Spice, and Perfect Peach), and Celestial Seasonings (Peppermint, Country Peach, Cinnamon Apple SpIce, and Black Cherry Berry.) 

    In my teaching years, I relied on Throat Coat tea to get me through the first week of school each year. After a summer of casual conversations, each new academic year required that I project my voice to the back of a classroom for five periods per day. The annual strain on the vocal cords was soothed by the medicinal tea.

    In the fall of 2017, after publishing my first book, A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude, I was invited to participate in a video interview on the topic of gratitude at Santa Clara University’s Markkula Center for Applied Ethics. The morning of the interview, I woke up with a persistent cough. On my way to the interview, I stopped at Starbucks and asked if they had anything which might soothe a sore throat and minimize my cough. The barista immediately responded, “Yes. Sick tea.” On the Starbucks menu, it’s actually called Honey Citrus Mint Tea, but whenever I order sick tea, they know exactly what I want. (In Seattle, they call it Medicine Ball!)

    Yesterday, in a conversation with my dental hygienist after a routine cleaning, we shared our mutual enjoyment of the Orchard Valley Coffee Shop in downtown Campbell. Daniela asked if I had ever tried their Masala Chai Latte. I had to admit that I’d never had any type of latte. I thought anything called latte was a coffee drink. Masala Chai Latte is black tea infused with fragrant spices such as cinnamon, clove, ginger, cardamom, and black pepper. The beverage, which originated in India, has gained popularity throughout South Asia and, more recently, in the United States. In addition to its unique flavors, Masala Chai Latte is said to have numerous health benefits, including reducing one’s stress and anxiety levels. 

    I enjoyed my first Masala Chai Latte this morning. The fragrance was delightful and the taste was pleasant, with a bit of a bite to it due to the spices. It paired nicely with the cinnamon almond croissant I ordered. 

    I may be getting older, but life continues to surprise me with new experiences.

  • A Mother’s Love

    “When you look at your mother,
    you are looking at the purest
    love you will ever know.” 
    Mitch Albom

    My mother died two years ago today. Her death was not unexpected. Mom, who was less than a month shy of her 93rd birthday, passed away peacefully in her home at the Villa Siena Retirement Community in Mountain View, California. She had lived there for just over ten years.

    The death of a parent has a particular sting to it. My father’s unexpected death in July 2008 was like a punch to the gut. I didn’t see it coming. The intense grief I experienced in the months following his death was more painful than I would have imagined. I felt as though my life had been derailed, and it took quite a while for me to get back on track. My experience of Mom’s death was different.

    While there was still a sense of tremendous loss, my response to Mom’s passing was, and continues to be, intense gratitude. She was the emotional switchboard of our family. If I wanted to know how my Dad was doing, I most often found out from Mom. With my three siblings and I immersed in our own lives, even though we communicated regularly, it was not unusual for me to learn about the news of their lives from Mom.

    People often refer to the cycle of life. More so than anywhere else, I experienced this reality in my interactions with my mother. In my childhood, Mom held my hand. Mom helped me to do the things I was not yet capable of doing for myself. Mom drove me to the places I needed to go until such time as I was able to do so myself. And Mom loved me — unconditionally.

    By the time Mom reached the age of 90, the cycle of life had come full-circle. There was an increasing number of things Mom was no longer able to do for herself. I held her hand. I helped her with simple tasks which had become challenging for her. I drove Mom to the places she needed to go, mostly to medical appointments. Through all this, there was a tangible sense of mutual love and respect.

    I think of Mom pretty much every day, not with grief, but with gratitude. The way she lived her life continues to inspire me, and to provide me with a valuable blueprint for how to live my life to the fullest. Mom taught me the importance of self-care, compassion for others, honesty, kindness, and gratefulness. She taught me to be confident in my own abilities and to use those abilities to serve others. She taught me how to be assertive without being aggressive. 

    Mom taught me how to be financially responsible, as well as the importance of never giving up on myself. She taught me how to live a life of integrity, and how to love unconditionally (a lesson I’m still struggling to embrace). And Mom taught me not only to be grateful for the many blessings I have received in my life, but to express my gratitude to others appropriately and often.

    As the opening words of the traditional Irish ballad claim, “A mother’s love is a blessing.”

    It most certainly is. 

  • Unplug

    “It takes courage
    to say yes to rest and play
    in a culture where exhaustion
    is seen as a status symbol.” 
    Brené Brown

    In his book, Live Life from the Heart, Mark Black writes about the importance of relaxation. He cites that rather than being an indicator of laziness, relaxation can actually be both beneficial and productive. When we take care of ourselves, we are better able to improve our overall health and well-being, while enjoying an increased sense of balance and focus in our lives.

    I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again here. Self-care is not selfish. Just as the batteries in our tech devices need to be recharged, so do we. Given the demands of everyday living, however, finding time for re-creation, time set aside to nurture our soul, can be a challenging task. There’s so much we need to do, right?

    Stress management expert Elizabeth Scott echoes Black’s concerns in her own book, 8 Keys to Stress Management. She urges readers to let go of any feelings of guilt associated with self-care and to embrace the practice as an essential component of a healthy life.

    There’s a wonderful concept which has the potential to change and improve one’s life. Working for the Catholic Church for more than forty years, I know of many individuals who have taken sabbaticals — extended periods of paid leave from their usual work. The large majority of those I know who have been given this opportunity are members of the clergy. The purpose of a sabbatical is to offer a period of rest and relaxation, and to provide an opportunity for the professional to work on a dedicated project, acquire new skills, or participate in some type of professional development. Sadly, such opportunities are rarely, if ever, provided to dedicated lay women and men who tirelessly serve the Church in various capacities. 

    Despite the biblical root of a sabbatical, the practice is not reserved for the exclusive use of ordained men working in ministry in the Church. A small number of people I know, who live here in Silicon Valley and work at some of the well-known tech companies, have been offered such an opportunity. A number of these workers have been given the option to take six months off with full pay, or one full year off with half-pay. This practice is certainly consistent with the words of local author, Anne Lamott, who wrote, “Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.” Powerful words from a wise woman.

    Even in my retirement, I have a strong desire to set aside some time for the purpose of enjoying a period of intentional rest and relaxation, and to devote a fair amount of time and energy to writing in an environment void of the distractions of everyday life. How long of a sabbatical would I like? I’ve given this considerable thought in recent years. One month would be ideal. Where would such a sabbatical take place? That’s the big question, one I hope to resolve before the end of 2024. 

  • Dad’s Last Ride

    “They say that
    time heals all wounds,
    but we never live
    long enough to
    test that theory.” 
    José Saramago 

    Sixteen years ago tonight, I gathered with my mother and siblings at San Francisco General Hospital to say goodbye to my father. Earlier that evening, Dad had taken a fall down the back steps of our family home. He sustained major head trauma and was officially pronounced dead a little after 11:00 p.m. It was July 31, 2008. Dad was 82 years old.

    In the days, months, and years following Dad’s untimely and unexpected death, I struggled to cope with the loss. Even though I was well-aware that, at some point, Dad would die, I was totally blindsided when it actually happened. The emotional pain I experienced was brutal at first, but over time, the level of grief would dissipate and I would feel better. Then, without warning, something would trigger the memory of his death and I would find myself overwhelmed with grief yet again. This pattern continued for several years.

    Today, perhaps for the first time since Dad’s death, I did not experience grief. I was certainly aware of the date and its significance, but that awareness did not trigger a renewed sense of grief. Instead, I was able to think of Dad today with gratitude.

    I took time to reflect on the many sacrifices he made throughout his lifetime to provide a good life for our family. I thought about how proud I always was to tell people that my father was a San Francisco firefighter. Dad’s diligent preparation for promotional examinations resulted in his appointment as a lieutenant in 1967, then captain in 1968. After several years working at Truck 8 on Bluxome Street, Dad was promoted to battalion chief. My pride for his professional accomplishments is as strong today as it was during his lifetime.

    It was a long drive back to my home in San José that night sixteen years ago. I cried. A lot. The most difficult challenge, however, awaited me when I arrived home. Despite the late hour, Kathy and my three sons were awake, awaiting my return. I don’t know that I’ve had a more painful experience than sitting on the edge of one of the beds and telling the boys that their Grandpa had died. 

    It is now 11:45 p.m. As I head off to bed tonight, I am able to embrace the memory of Dad with gratitude, rather than grief. It took me a long while, but I’ve finally accepted the death of my parents (Mom passed away two years ago) as an inevitable part of the cycle of life. What a blessing it was to have them in my life for so many years.

  • Eight Teachers

    “In the middle of every difficulty
    lies opportunity.”
    Albert Einstein

    I began my elementary education as a first grader at Saint Gabriel School in San Francisco in September 1960. I had attended kindergarten at our local public school, as Saint Gabriel did not offer a kindergarten program at that time. My brother, Tom was in 5th grade that year, and my sister, Cathy, was in 4th. They, like my Saint Gabriel classmates, all have their own memories of their elementary school years. My memories are mine alone. I accept full responsibility for them. When I began to write this piece, I decided to write about the first memory that came to mind for each grade level.   

    1st Grade

    My only memory of 1st grade is being put in the corner after making a hat out of my art paper. One of the girls in my class had made a hat out of her paper and she got a few good laughs. When I did it, hoping for a similar reaction from my classmates, Sister James Mary made me sit in the corner of the classroom facing the walls for the remainder of the day.

    2nd Grade

    The fear of God was put into me by Sister Mary Sharon that if I did not successfully memorize three prayers — the Act of Faith, the Act of Hope, and the Act of Love — I would not be allowed to receive my First Communion. I was sure that I was going to be the only kid in my class to be denied this sacrament. In the end, it didn’t matter. Although I had not successfully memorized the prayers, I was still allowed to participate in the special event.

    3rd Grade

    Sister Mary Roberta was older than the other teachers in the school. It wasn’t until many years later that I learned just how much older. She was born in Santa Clara, CA in 1889!  She was the best teacher I had at Saint Gabriel School. When I was struggling with math, specifically the process of “borrowing” in subtraction, I was invited (required?) to meet with Sister in one of the parlors inside the entry of the convent after school for several days. There, she patiently and compassionately tutored me one-on-one until I mastered the concept.

    4th Grade

    My most vivid memory of 4th grade is one shared by many, I would think. On November 22, 1963, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. I recall the details of that day vividly even today. Word of the shooting started going around the school cafeteria while I was eating lunch, but some claimed it was just a rumor. When the boys in our class arrived at South Sunset Playground for our lunch recreation period, the two adult supervisors, Mr. Grove Mohr and Mr. Don Ybaretta, were sitting solemnly on the grass at the corner of 40th & Vicente listening to the news on a transistor radio. Tears rolled down Mr. Mohr’s face. It was then that I realized that the president had actually been shot and killed.

    5th Grade

    The unexpected death of my best friend, Mike Celeski, is the most vivid memory I have of 5th grade. I was sitting at the kitchen table in our home when my mother told me of Mike’s death. My parents, along with Sister Mary Roberta, took me to the Carew & English Funeral Home on Masonic Avenue after school a few days later. Mike’s body was lying in a casket in the small chapel where the wake would be held later that evening. Sister Mary Roberta and I walked up to the casket and knelt down on the kneeler. I had been to enough wakes to know that I was supposed to say a prayer, but I don’t think I did.

    6th Grade

    6th grade was my first experience of feeling absolutely certain that a teacher strongly disliked me. I have very few memories of 6th grade. I cannot help but think about the well-known quote by Maya Angelou, who said, “People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel.” That’s the truth.

    7th Grade

    Back in the ‘60s, we didn’t use the terms “junior high” or “middle school” to refer to students in grades seven and eight in catholic schools. We were simply called seventh or eighth graders. The now well-known characteristics of the middle school experience, however, were just as much of a reality in the catholic schools. Social cruelty, bullying, exclusion, and cliques were part of the everyday reality at Saint Gabriel School for many students. Sadly, in 7th grade, my teacher was an active participant in these things. She catered to the popular kids and turned a blind eye to the social cruelty taking place in the classroom and on the school yard. Just as I had experienced in 6th grade, I have no recollection whatsoever of what I learned in 7th grade, but I will always remember how I felt.

    8th Grade

    Sister Mary Brigid was my 8th grade teacher. She was new to Saint Gabriel School, having taught in a catholic school in Imperial Beach, California the previous year. She was young. She was kind. She was compassionate. She seemed to have a good understanding of the social dynamics going on among the students and did her best to neutralize the situation. Sister Mary Brigid believed in me. She encouraged me when I didn’t believe in myself. She empowered me by giving me tasks to do in the classroom. She restored my faith in humanity. 

    Despite the challenges, my years at Saint Gabriel School had tremendous value. I learned to write well and I developed excellent organization skills. I wish I had read more books. I also wish I had felt accepted enough by my peers to participate in school sports after sixth grade. I made a few good friends through the years, though it took me many years (50 to be exact) to recognize this.

    The life lessons I learned at Saint Gabriel School were beneficial to me during my teaching career. I had a clear understanding of the dynamics of social cruelty, and, as an educator, I did everything possible to squelch it. I had compassion for students who struggled, both academically and socially. I was also uniquely qualified to offer a vision of hope for many of my students, and their parents, by sharing details of my own social/educational journey. I will always be grateful for the experiences that contributed to making me the person I became as an adult.  

  • Buffering…

    We’ve all encountered the icon — the spinning wheel notifying us that what we’d like to be doing on our computer cannot be done quite yet. In a world where we’ve come to expect technology to be instantly available to us, this can be a frustrating experience.

    According to PC Magazine, “In streaming audio or video from the Internet, buffering refers to downloading a certain amount of data before starting to play the music or movie.” It is an all-too-common experience. 

    Since I began blogging in December 2006, it has been relatively easy for me to come up with ideas for my writing. Such has not been the case, however, in the past few months. I certainly have the time to write. I always have the desire to write. But I don’t want to write just for the sake of writing. It’s important to me that my words have meaning for myself and for those who take the time to read what I’ve written. 

    I still set aside time to write on most days, and I continue to collect quotes, images, and ideas to share. When I’m out walking each day, I’m constantly reflecting on possible topics for my writing. Despite these things, however, the motivation to actually sit down and put the words on paper has been conspicuously absent. I’ve come to the realization that, perhaps, what’s happening is that my brain is buffering.

    In her book, Buffering: Unshared Tales of a Life Fully Loaded, author Hannah Hart writes, “Buffering is that time you spend waiting for the pixels of your life to crystallize into a clearer picture; it’s a time of reflection, a time of pause, a time for regaining your composure or readjusting your course. We all have a limited amount of mental and emotional bandwidth, and some of life’s episodes take a long time to fully load.”

    That’s it! That’s exactly what’s been happening. 

    I’m not losing it. It’s definitely not writer’s block. I’m simply waiting patiently for those pixels to crystallize, and when they do, I fully expect to get back into the flow of sharing my thoughts, observations, and feelings, with both insight and clarity, on a more regular basis. 

  • Healing Our Wounds


    “A wound does not heal
    by being told to heal.” 
    Joe Primo

    Dealing with wounds from our past seems to be a universal experience. Despite the fact that each person’s life is a gift, life inevitably involves challenges, suffering, loss, and grief. Coping with these realities can, for some, be overwhelming. To make matters worse, difficult experiences are not equally distributed. While some individuals seem to skate through life unscathed (most likely, we’re simply unaware of what these people have gone through), others are burdened with a plethora of painful situations which can challenge their faith and leave them with significant emotional wounds. How, then, can we heal from our woundedness?

    As Chilean-American writer, Isabel Allende, tells us, “Everybody has losses — it’s unavoidable in life.” Yes, it is. Yet, as our life goes on, we are challenged to find healthy ways to acknowledge and embrace our pain so that we are not paralyzed by it. Allende recommends that sharing our pain can be incredibly healing. This may be true, but does anyone really want  to listen to us complain about the painful experiences with which we’ve been confronted in our lives? Fortunately, there are therapists whose calling in life is to do just that.

    Keanu Reeves has had an astounding career as an actor, starring in The Matrix, Speed, Constantine, and many other successful movies. Just two years ago, Time magazine named him one of the 100 most influential people in the world! Despite his professional success, Reeves has endured both personal and professional setbacks which have tested his strength and resilience. The actor shares these words of wisdom: “Every struggle in your life has shaped you into the person you are today. Be thankful for the hard times, they can only make you stronger.” Reeves acknowledges that gratitude does, indeed, make a difference.

    Through all the ups and downs of his life, Keanu Reeves is known for being humble, kind, and down-to-earth. These admirable traits have endeared him to friends and fans throughout the world. They also remind us that we have the power to decide how to live our own lives, even when confronted with painful experiences.

    Jalaleddin Rumi, better known simply as Rumi, is remembered for being a great spiritual master. He, too, encouraged us to see the positive side of life’s challenges. He wrote, “Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life’s search for love and wisdom.” It is through our own pain that we are able to develop the empathy to care for others.

    The Greek philosopher, Socrates, also puts an optimistic spin on coping with life’s difficulties. Referring to the changes any crisis in our life might bring about, he said, “The secret of change is to focus all of your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new.” These words, along with wisdom from a number of other sources, empowered me to retire from teaching at the age of 61. Rather than resisting the misguided leadership in the school at that time, I chose to venture off into a new career as a writer and allow the future of the school to play out as it would. As I suspected might be the case, the school permanently closed at the end of the following academic year. Retiring prematurely is a decision I will never regret.

    Although it’s been sixty-one years since his passing, Swiss psychiatrist and psychoanalyst Carl Jung continues to be a powerful source of information, inspiration, and wisdom. These simple words can be of significant benefit to any person questioning their lot in life: “I am not what happened to me. I am what I choose to become.” Jung’s words serve as a gentle reminder that the responsibility for our life, and our outlook on life, is in our hands. Healing the wounds of our past may be difficult, but we have the power to do so.

  • The Gift of Time


    “It’s really clear that
    the most precious resource
    we all have is time.” 
    Steve Jobs

    When I was in my twenties, I was confident that I had a long life ahead of me. I was healthy, active, and optimistic. I played a lot of basketball and tennis, rode my ten-speed bike for both transportation and pleasure, and took advantage of opportunities to travel. Of course, the reality of the situation was that I was never guaranteed the next day. No one is. Despite this fact, I felt invincible and immortal.

    When I was in my thirties and forties, I was too busy to think about time or mortality. I got married, we had children, and our lives were filled with the predictable challenges of balancing our work commitments with our family responsibilities. Time passed quickly, but we were having too much fun to notice.

    During my fifties, our three sons were transitioning into confident young men. High school graduations, college classes, jobs, and participation in intercollegiate sports took up much of their time — and mine. It was an exciting time for all of us.

    Turning 60 didn’t bother me at all. I was still teaching, our sons had achieved appropriate levels of autonomy, and Kathy and I enjoyed a little more time to ourselves. As my sixties progressed, wonderful changes brought incredible joy and new challenges. Marriages and the births of five grandchildren have literally transformed our lives. All three of our boys (I guess I’ll always call them that) have settled into respectable, productive careers which provide for them and their families while also making a positive difference in the world. To say that I am proud of them would be an understatement.

    A little more than a month ago, I turned 70. Unlike any previous birthday, this one got me thinking about my mortality. I’m still healthy and relatively active, though not to the extent to which I was in my younger years. I don’t feel old, but there is no denying that I am older than I’ve ever been. My knees remind me of this fact on a daily basis. I am well aware that most of the sand in my hourglass of life has made its way to the bottom. The only question is how much sand (time) remains in the upper chamber? There’s just no way for me to know.

    Acknowledging the limitations of time in my life has allowed me to reorganize my priorities. Earning money is no longer a major consideration. I no longer have a need to be right. If someone disagrees with me, I’m finding that life is more pleasant when I simply recognize the disagreements and not let them interfere with my relationships. While it may be easy for me to think that now that I’m retired, I am no longer a contributing member of society, I wholeheartedly reject this notion. I am committed to making a positive difference in the world every day. The things I do don’t have to be earth-shattering. I do simple things, like acknowledging people I encounter each day. If I see a piece of trash on the ground, I’ll pick it up and dispose of it appropriately. I intentionally focus on the good in the world, since I am convinced that there is far more good than evil in our community. And I make myself available to others for support, friendship, and, at times, simple compassionate presence.

    At the age of 70, I am well aware that when I share my time with someone, I am giving them a portion of the limited time I have remaining on this earth. I cannot think of anything more valuable to share with them. Time truly is a gift. 

  • A Lazy Day


    “Rollin’, rollin’,
    rollin’ on the river.” 
    Creedence Clearwater Revival

    Kathy and I woke up this morning in The Dalles, Oregon aboard the riverboat American West. The boat departed The Dalles at 8:45 A.M. for an all-day cruise up the Columbia River. We will dock just after midnight in Richland, Washington where, tomorrow, we will celebrate the Fourth of July.

    Moving slowly up the river today has been incredibly relaxing. No stops or excursions were scheduled today, though we did enjoy the unique experience of passing through several locks along the way. A variety of on-board activities were offered throughout the day. This afternoon, Kathy attended a session facilitated by the executive chef on how to prepare shrimp scampi. After dinner this evening, she also attended a presentation by our on-board historian about the strange tale of D.B. Cooper. I opted to spend much of the day reading, relaxing, and socializing with other passengers. I also took advantage of the opportunity for a brief afternoon nap.

    We have been blessed to experience this trip with a delightful assortment of fellow passengers from around the United States. Just about everyone we’ve met has been friendly and positive. Most of the passengers are a bit older than Kathy and me, so we’ve learned quite a bit about cruising and life in general from these people. I’m confident that we’ll keep in contact with a few folks we’ve met long after this cruise has ended.

    I’ve also been impressed with the professionalism and hospitality offered by the crew — servers, housekeeping staff, deckhands, and the administrative team. They are consistently polite and friendly to the guests.  

    I’ve been told that the riverboat is traveling about fifteen miles per hour as it makes its way up the river between Oregon and Washington. The views along the first segment of the cruise were highlighted by trees… lots of trees, along with some spectacular riverfront homes. As we continue to make our way east, the terrain has changed dramatically. Brown hills and cliffs, interrupted by an occasional small community, line both sides of the river. Unlike the choppy waters between Astoria and The Dalles, the river is like glass this evening. As it works its way toward Richland, the America West gently rocks starboard to port. Before we boarded the vessel on Saturday, I was a bit concerned about the effect such rocking would have on me. Fortunately, I have not experienced any motion sickness at all. In fact, I find the rocking to be incredibly relaxing.

    Those of us on the cruise will enjoy a Fourth of July picnic in Kennewick, Washington during the day tomorrow. The predicted high temperature for tomorrow is 95º. That might seem a bit uncomfortable, but I’m feeling quite grateful. One week from today, the expected high in Richland is 111º. 

    Timing is everything.