I do have an adventurous spirit but one might wonder why it was inspired by rocks? A red rocks panorama in Sedona, Arizona inspired thoughts about natural beauty as I blogged with Owldragonash today.The imaginative scenes of natural beauty in her virtual entry, “Do You Have an Adventurous Spirit?” reminded me of an unusual title I earned on a camping excursion across the Outback interior of Australia. Here is the story about how I was given that name.

My American name is James but I more commonly am called Rockman. It is advisable to pack lightly for long distance travel but my bags of stones could never be left behind. I had not realized the importance of rocks on earth until I completed an Introductory Geography course in college. Everywhere I traveled after that, it seemed I needed to analyze geological patterns of color shape, and origin in rocks that surrounded me. No pebble was too small for a quick inspection and a boulder could occupy my time forever it seemed.

On a camping tour of Australia then, I felt I had entered rock heaven .As our bus completed the long journey across the reddish rocks across the Outback, I amassed a sizeable collection of Aussie rocks. They became increasingly difficult to carry. I often consulted my guidebooks for facts about my samples and became somewhat of a rock expert in my conversations with my traveling companions. I was truly a rock nerd among these friends and thus was bestowed the title of Rockman.

It would not occur to me then how I might be missing the real magic of rocks. I more recently learned through practicing yoga that there is beautiful energy in rock presence that no geological inspection could ever reveal. I also recognized that because of my new awareness, I did not have to travel far to experience the magical aura of a lonely rock whose smooth touch seeks to comfort me in troubled times. So take a hike today and be open to the presence of your Rockman soul.

I have always loved to drive. Time restrictions of career, though, had dictated that car trips meant arriving at my destination quickly. Blinded by such ambitions, I had never pondered if this travel paradigm would ever change.

Picture me now as I settled into retirement. When the pressures of work ended, I now wanted to discover this country mile by mile in the adventurous spirit of the Western pioneer.  I yearned to experience the sun as it rose with red bravado in the desert. It made perfect sense for me to reject the distractions of city life so I could become more cognizant of nature’s calling. It was time to travel on my terms now.

Turning to my family past, I considered a hard- working father. After a distinguished career as an Air Force Bombardier in World War II, he had returned home to raise a family with little time to see the country that he had fought courageously for. “Give me a light Vic”, I recall him often saying to my mother when he smoked his Winston’s on our once a year vacations from Ohio to Florida. As he casually flicked the ashes of his cigarette into the lighters not those occasions, it was always full speed ahead to our nightly motel destination.

As his tragic path to urban mindlessness haunts me today, I observe a red crag on a dusty road to the right  ahead. I will not allow the mechanistic calls of my GPS to deter me now and must trust my intuition to guide me where I wish to go. Realizing that there will be ample time to reach my intended destination later, I slowly veer toward this paragon of natural beauty. I have never felt so alive!

One would expect the American prairie of Nebraska to be a flat and monotonous ride across endless farmland. It was to my surprise then that a conspicuous sign appeared, “Fort Morgan – boyhood home of Glenn Miller”. My curiosity had become aroused in a time warp of old time America and I had to find out why.

Stopping at the next rest stop, I noticed an amazing array of literature describing towns to visit by car. To my surprise, I read that a “The Lincoln Highway” still traversed Nebraska as a reminder of a time when Americans cars first traveled America’s transcontinental highway.It’s parallel path along the North Platte River provided evidence of how dangerous waterways paved the road west for 19th century pioneers.

Stopping for lunch, I then noticed differences in vocabulary. A touchdown did not refer to a football score, but a place where a raging tornado would reach land from the sky. Pop became a refreshing drink rather than a convenient term for a father. I became fascinated to know if such terms were signs that these prairie people were not up with the times.

With this thought in mind, we now visited a past neighbor who had recently moved to Lincoln Nebraska. Expecting the typical tourist trap tour, I gazed wondrously at slickly rebuilt glass towers with grassy gathering places nearby. Silicon Valley in Nebraska could not be far from the truth.

I looked further into the irony of my surroundings. A plethora of people from many nationalities inhabited spacious parks that day. Modern Refugee Centers had been strategically placed to serve those that had recently arrived. Downtown slum areas had been replaced by rows of new housing in oddly shaped barn frameworks. Front doors were left open to suggest trust in the safety of their neighborhoods.

I then became distracted by hunger. Growing tired of endless fast food establishments, we spotted a lonely donut shop. As the shop was closing soon, the donuts were already packed away. Surely we would be told the shop was closed. To my surprise, after I ordered my one pastry limit, the waitress warmly greeted us with an entire box of gourmet donuts for free. The owner then arrived to warmly entertain me with travel tips in Lincoln although I suspected there was a catch to her cordial ways. Visions of Norman Rockwell rang true then to vanish these doubts.

With eyes turned eastward, I realize that these hallowed flatlands have given me a sense of history that is often not found in my crowded, urban life combined with a surprisingly cosmopolitan friendliness of the places I saw. The plains will never be plain for me again.

I walk quietly along the Seine with no destination in mind. I crunch along the fallen leaves and gaze starry. – eyed at the sheer elegance of an earlier time. Stately buildings surround my view inscribed with illustrious names from French past. A royal chandelier shines brightly from a passing window with ghosts of sumptuous feasts of emperors. I continue along this stony path of Kings and As the French flag flies proudly on a passing barge, I feel truly fortunate to be in the presence of such undying grandeur now.

In the distance, I hear the eerie call of Notre Dame. It reminds me to consider my spiritual connection to the tragedies of this great city. Many followers of faith have been persecuted here in the presence of this great cathedral. The spirit of lost such souls speak to me in hope that such intolerance of difference will not be repeated in my own life.

The geometry of shape mesmerize me now as a grand footbridge draws closer. Gilded bronze decorations of ancient goddesses reveal a time when Rome ruled the Western world. Ornate cast iron streetlights remain as a vestige of Beau Arts gas lighting in the late 19th century. A perfect symmetry of arch is formed as a tourist boat quietly emerges from mysterious shadows.

The Parisian landscape that I have observed today on this simple walk along the Seine reveals a moment of truth. I desire to find my fate in the natural beauty that surrounds me. As an autumn leaf rustles in the wind, I now see an energy to experience my life more fully.

Jonathan knew the routine well. Ever since he had been diagnosed with his kidney condition, he knew that his home health visits would be highlighted by endless paperwork routines and personally negative interrogations. During catheter insertions, each nurse was likely to say” tell me when it starts hurting;” Regrettably, this tactic often filled his mind with thoughts of dread.

Predictably, he waited impatiently for each appointment. A nurse either got lost in finding his house or phoned him to re-schedule his appointment. His insurance provided no help as it limited him to only one visit per month. It was only logical that a spirit of pessimism had possessed his soul.

One month, a new Haitian nurse, Malila, arrived for his monthly treatment. Jonathan immediately sensed a difference. Unlike the others, her quirky Haitian accent combined with the kindness in her eyes suggested to him a spirit of optimism. “Where would you like this done” she softly asked him. He felt relieved when she had skipped the blood testing and paper signatures for sure that day.

Malila was easy to talk to. When Jonathan explained the history of his condition in great detail, Malila responded with the idea that he could cure himself by finding the right doctor. She went in to explain her view that it was a rare to find doctors who took the time to fully understand their patients condition.

The catheter insertion went well and for the first time he had no thoughts of fear. Malila then handed him her personal phone to call in case he ran into a problem making his next appointment. He then realized that Malila would become the key to curing his condition.

The following month, a home health service provided by his current doctor refused to authorize any more face to face appointments. Malila would now be past history. But Malila had given him the power to be strong in her once only visit. A new doctor would in fact heal him one year later.

Sometimes in our busy lives we reject strangers who appear in our life as unneeded distractions. We feel we have no time to listen to those who do not really know us. But in this account, it is clear to me that such unexpected encounters can provide us with honest answers to our most serious problems. Our eyes must stay open when we meet the nurse from paradise.

I hugged a tree today. One might wonder about the logic of this act but if you spend some time in the stillness of the Redwood forest you might have be similarly affected. As I begin my walk among these proud giants, I observe each tree with curious wonder. My senses overcome me as I absorb their timeless message of human endurance and renewal.

My pace slows as I approach the crumbling remnants of a fallen giant.As I ponder my path around it, I observe great crevices cradling other forms plant life. I then think how selfish we are as humans to believe our own existence as apart from others!

The silence is broken as a swirling wind arrives to greet me in this moment. I gaze up to the sky at the gentle rustling of each towering branch. As leaves crackle in the broken sunlight, I imagine that my presence has finally been noted. .

I then notice a face in the gnarled bark of an ancient tree.” How shall I return this sign of recognition? A handshake would surely not suffice as wood and arm meet. “Tell me your story old tree, I wonder, so I can understand the meaning of life?”

I suddenly realize that every day is Earth Day and have already been given an answer. I now hug this tree in the silence of the Redwood Forest as a testament to the idea that as humans, we are a part of nature, but do not control it.

“The one constant throughout the years, Ray, has always been baseball.” (Field of Dreams)

Football junkies be aware. I know there are many of you now who are suffering from a serious case of post – Super Bowl depression. No more NFL excitement until July and the groundhog predicts a prolonged winter .On this dreary Sunday, we frantically search in vain for the any kind of gridiron action .Sadly, there is no escape from the thought that the American football experience lies dormant in our mind.

While this void in our life persists now, let us nostalgically turn to the game of our youth. Remember the crack of the bat as it resonated on a glistening veil of green grass. Swallow the caramel taste of Crackerjacks as it teased your tongue while you eagerly searched within the box for a hidden surprise. Your senses have now reawakened to the anticipation of a new, baseball summer.

It seems that baseball continues as America’s pastime for a sound reason. Let us be confident that the “grand old game” will always be there for us. Our baseball cards will continue to gather dust in the closet but we will oddly refuse to part with them .New stars in baseball will ceremoniously arrive, but the game’s heroes of our childhood will never be forgotten. Opening Day is surely on the horizon again as our fantasy of youth lives on. Play Ball and smile.

As a former educator, I found blogging an excellent way to connect with my students in a non -threatening way. Since I left teaching two years ago, weekly blogs have helped me transition to a non-academic life. Typically, my weekly blogs combine text and photos that center around unusual or unexpected sightings.  I encountered in travel. My best blogs yield some statement about the human condition in the 21st century. I would love to connect with those who have had similar travel experiences. I also value feedback on my writing style to avoid excessive word use and use of flowery, academic jargon. My one year blogging goal is to compile my blogs in a travel book of a non – fiction or historical fiction nature.

A ghost had spoken to me today as I arrived at the Virginia White House of the Confederacy. On this cold, December morning in Richmond,Virginia, a black servant led me through a great door and I entered a time of Confederate glory. In my imagination, this gray-bearded host had been patiently awaited for my presence today. His name was Robert E. Lee.

“Thank you for visiting our beautiful capital in Richmond. I appreciate that you took the time to understand how difficult it was for me to leave my Virginia home to remain true to the Southern cause in 1861. You might have been experiencing a similar confusion about your allegiances as you left friends and family in your travels. Imagine how it felt in my time to see the anguished eyes of a rebel soldier as he realized he might never return home to his beloved family homeland.”

“How could the loss of these brave warriors in this war ever be understood? In your time, such bitterly contested battlegrounds as Petersburg, Shiloh, and Antietam were distant curiosities.To the men in gray, however, I watched in horror as our chosen path of secession brought unspeakable bloodshed upon our people”.

“So many times on the battlefield I doubted my decisions to fight on for the Confederate cause. The determination of my loyal soldiers to fight on, however, gave me no choice but to inspire them to victory. Do the leaders in your own time find the will to similarly serve country and state for the good of their constituents?”

“I truly appreciate that you have chosen me to experience the reality of our antebellum existence. You must understand then that honor and principle must prevail in all life circumstances.Travel in peace, sir.”

The immense power of critical thinking has reawakened me today On a recent visit to Universal Studios in Orlando , I entered the world of Harry Potter sorcery , where possessing a magic wand provided the illusion of moving objects , opening doors and defying the effect of gravity. As I exited this land of Hogwarts fantasy , I reflect upon how the power of deception associated with tourist “hot spots” has influenced me as an itinerant traveler.

I begin by reassessing the tourist appeal of a ” Fountain of Youth” in St, Augustine, Florida. It seems odd that such an important monument in American History , is surrounded by tacky mermaid statues, celebrity wax museums , and exotic animal exhibits .The fountain’s timeless legacy of immortality makes a nice , marketing theme if you are willing to spend your money and time indulging in overpriced , “tourist trap” activities.

As I continue to reflect on the critical capacity of my mind , I am standing at the entrance of a popular , Natural History Museum , in Kentucky , that has decided to depict Biblical images amidst ancient , prehistoric animals as evidence of life’s evolutionary past. What would be a museum’s motive to show a dinosaur feeding nearby the sacred ark of Noah? I suspect that religious propaganda was used here as an emotional call to raise money for

The immense power of critical thinking has reawakened me today. On a recent visit to Universal Studios in Orlando, I entered the world of Harry Potter sorcery, where possessing a magic wand provided the illusion of moving objects, opening doors and defying the effect of gravity. As I exited this land of Hogwarts fantasy, I reflect upon how the power of deception associated with tourist “hot spots” has influenced me as an itinerant traveler.

I begin by reassessing the tourist appeal of a” Fountain of Youth” in St, Augustine, Florida. It seems odd that such an important monument in American History , is surrounded by tacky mermaid statues, celebrity wax museums , and exotic animal exhibits .The fountain’s legacy of agelessness makes a nice, marketing theme if you are willing to spend your money and time indulging in overpriced, “tourist trap” activities.

As I continue to reflect on the critical capacity of my mind, I am standing at the entrance of a popular , Natural History Museum, in Kentucky, that has decided to depict Biblical images amidst ancient , prehistoric animals as evidence of life’s evolutionary past. What would be a museum’s motive to show a dinosaur feeding nearby the sacred ark of Noah? I suspect that religious propaganda was used here as an emotional call to raise money for the Christian cause.

It is difficult to ignore the fantasy of opulence along the famous, Las Vegas strip. I often imagine becoming a multi – millionaire tycoon there, with the mere flick of a blackjack- playing wrist or possessing a lucky card combination. I am also well aware of this city’s tolerance of forbidden sins as made famous by the phrase “what goes on in Vegas, stays in Vegas”. As I turn my head beyond the neon glamour of the strip , to the barren desert beyond , however , I realize my modest , personal income and ordinary , social status, have not changed as a result of my vacations there. A more relevant question might be, has Sin City helped me be become a better person, in view of its notorious reputation?

My mind-probing journey ends in Southern California as the alluring decadence of a Hollywood movie past awaits me. My celebrity tour begins in Beverly Hills, as I saunter along Rodeo Drive and count the number of Rolls Royce sightings and who might be their famous owners. What would it be like to see my own cast of footprints in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater along Hollywood Boulevard or star in my own movie there? More likely though, my dream of reliving Hollywood, cinematic glories will now seem absurd as I increasingly experience traffic gridlock, smoggy air, and high crime slum conditions in the surrounding Los Angeles area.

There are no magic wands available for humans to conquer our imperfect world. Making the right choice to be prudent about “fairy tale” descriptions of travel is our own responsibility. Enjoy your holiday vacation but don’t forget the true magic lies in your brain as a critical thinker.