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Spend More Time Living

Thursday morning Baxter's barking woke me at 5AM which I took for a sign that I should go somewhere early. Packing my things quickly, I got on I-4 intending to head for New Smyrna Beach. I didn't make it that far. Not because of any problems, but while driving I had an idea about catching the sunrise under the St. Johns River bridge near Sanford. I got impatient. I got back in the car and drove along Lake Monroe, pulling the Honda over to catch the sunrise between palm trees. Running across the road into the grassy area alongside the lake, I was swarmed by bugs. When I returned to the car this is what it looked like:

My body looked like the side of the car! For a nice change, at least they didn't bite.

So here's the sunrise in full glory:

Alert readers may notice I said above that I wanted to get the sunrise between palm trees; the one with the old dock posts turned out better. Maybe a little less cliche?

I walked around the marina, got gas and headed home. By now it was getting warm--not so horrible as the previous week, but warm by most people's standards. While driving I saw a billboard with today's blog tile. It was for a local hospital which most days I'd start ranting about, today, however, I will spare you that sermon. In any case, I thought how ambiguous it is. What the heck does spend more time living mean? Isn't that most people's goal anyway? I mean really.

Still fussing about that in my mind, later on that afternoon I learned of Farah Fawcett's death. Yes, she tried to spend more time living, but unfortunately she was denied. The same with Michael Jackson. By now we've learned that MJ's death is under suspicion which is a shame. Aren't you glad you're not a celebrity? Aren't you glad no one follows your every move? What a weird life that must be. I wonder what drives people to strive for that kind of fame?

Speaking of fame, I read a small piece in the Times yesterday afternoon about Susan Boyle regarding her meteoric rise to fame. We all know how she's been affected; I expect never in her wildest dreams did she imagine what's happened to her. I love her voice, and her story, of course, I've always been a sucker for the underdog.

Saturday afternoon, Bruce's mom came over to spend the night before an early morning flight to New York. Her brother in law passed away, the second time this year she's gone up North for a funeral. It must be horrible to lose all the people you've known all your life. Bruce took her at 6 in the morning, worrying until he'd heard she'd arrived safely. Her knee was bothering her terribly, you know how big terminals are. Frazzled, but safe, she called to let him know she'd made it.

We spent the evening looking at one of the old photo albums my dad made. We were both amazed at the condition of some of the photos dating back as far as 1901. Still very sharp compared to some in the next album we looked at. Amazingly, photos from our early days together in the late 60's and early 70's are faded. I'd not looked at those for quite a while--a little trip down memory lane--our high school graduation, prom, the bike Bruce bought for me with lawn mowing money, our first Christmas get the picture. I think our story has been mighty good.
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