In Search of Christmas

Do you ever need to "feel" Christmas? I am not talking about the excitement of giving and receiving gifts and other Christmas traditions, I am talking about the real feeling of Christmas.

I am probably not making any sense to you, after all I am not making any sense to me. I remember as a boy having that feeling. I can't explain it to you if you have never had it before. I find that as I grow older, that the feeling is harder and harder to find. I do not know if life has caused that feeling to be dulled or if the marketing of our modern times has dulled it, or if just age itself has caused the fire to burn down.

I told my wife the other night that I would really like to find some small little church or community putting on an old fashioned Christmas pageant. I thought that maybe there I could spark that "feeling" of Christmas and relive for a moment what is so hard to hold on to. So we kept our eyes open for something that might fit our hectic schedule and what do you know, a small community right down the road about ten miles was putting on a living Bethlehem promotion as a community event. I thought that surely I could find that "feeling" in this atmosphere so we tentatively penciled in this date and went about our daily lives.

Late that afternoon we were frantically working on Christmas projects that we were growing short on time with when my wife's phone rang. It was her mother and father and they were coming through town and wanted to meet us for supper so we said sure because we truly love being around them and we enjoy their company. My wife and I knew that this would put us short on time on the Living Bethlehem, but we thought that it would all work out. Well, supper ran longer than expected, the visit was nice but we were really cutting it close now. So we swung by to gather up our grandson and off we went to find that "feeling" of Christmas. Needless to say, as we arrived in the little community expecting to see a large group gathered somewhere and cars everywhere our first pass through town yielded just a small sleepy little town. Disappointed we turned around and hit a few side streets until we finally found it. The wise men and the shepherds were all gone as were the host of singing angels and all that was left was the empty stage where everything had been. People were gathering up and loading stuff into their cars. We had missed it all.

I feel like that is how it has been for me for a while. Christmas has been elusive to me. I do not know nor do I understand what sparks that feeling that I have spoken of, but I hope that you have found it this year. As for me, personally I am still in search of Christmas.

Secrets

We all have them. Some we guard better than others, some we really don't guard at all. Some we will take to the grave with us and some, ..................some were destined to be found out.

When I first began this blog back in May, it was my little secret. It is not that it was anything bad or something that needed to be hidden, it was just mine. I never had any intention of anyone knowing who Ghostwriter really was. The problem with that is the same problem that you usually encounter with most secrets. A slip here or a slip there and suddenly your secret is no more. Such is the case with my blog. My plan was to never tell a soul about it and then a friend of mine asked me point blank if I had a blog and I stuttered and stammered and then I simply said yes because I did not want to lie. That seemed like no big deal. I have never met this friend and we only speak on a rare occasion in the business world. Next my wife and I sat down at my computer one night and ghostwriter was stilled logged in, so naturally the question was "who is ghostwriter?". Next was my daughter, after my wife found out I would occasionally leave my blog up on my home computer while I was working on it, never thinking that someone would come by and see my work. Needless to say she came by. Oh well, I write things that mean nothing and amuse only me so who cares if a little secret has escaped.

My wife and I have a few secrets of our own. They are not bad secrets, they are funny secrets. Occasionally one of us will do something really stupid and we will look at the other one and say "this will be our secret". Sometimes even years down the road all we have to do is just make a little comment and the other will laugh and know exactly which secret we are laughing about.

Sometimes secrets can be a beautiful thing between people and sometimes it can be this monster that is ruling your life. This all goes to show that secrets have a life of their own. Mine was a harmless little secret that was found out. What secrets are you hiding and hoping against hope that they will never be found out? Secrets can and will come to life when you least expect them to.

The one thing that I have figured out is that a secret only has power while it is still a secret. Once it is revealed, it's power and it's allure is gone forever.

GW

The Old Goats Club

As I walked down the hall today, I saw him sitting in the customer lounge. He was patiently waiting for an opportunity to visit with me about a small ad in the local American Legion newsletter that is put out every month. As I approached, he reached out his hand and we shook in the customary way that men in our society do. Then I sat down by his side and we began to visit.

He recently celebrated his 87th birthday but you would never know it by the way that he acts and carries himself. Yes, his gate is slower than when I met him over 20 years ago and he walks with a cane, but his handshake is still firm and mind is very sharp.  He had been a successful businessman in our community for more years than I even know, but now he is semi-retired and he still stays very active in the community.

As we sat and visited about the typical odds and ends that we would visit about, such as how my family was doing and how business is and those such things, the conversation somehow turned to the morning meeting of the "Old Goats Club". You have to be from our community for this name to mean anything to you. You probably have a club like this in your own town, but you probably know them by another name. The "Old Goats Club" is simply a group of elderly retired men that gather on a daily basis at the local coffee shop.

As the conversation turned to the subject of their meeting, he slowly grew quiet and spoke more as a man removed than the man sitting before me. He said "you know, there are only three of us left in the club that served in the war". They had spent the majority of their coffee time today talking about where they were and what they were doing on this day 69 years ago. I had been so busy with the day that it had eluded me that it was "Pearl Harbor Day". I almost felt ashamed when I realized what he was speaking about. He relived with great clarity where he was and what he was doing as the news began to break about Pearl Harbor. As he stirred himself from his trip down memory lane, he stood up and apologized for taking up my time because he knew how busy I was. I, on the other hand was compelled to hear more, so I told him that I loved to hear those stories and I told him that my uncles used to share their stories with me about the war. Upon seeing my interest he slowly sat back down and the fog of the past again enveloped us as he continued to speak of that day. Finally, he had spoken all that he had time for and again he apologized for taking my time and he went on his way.

I did not mention to him that the Uncles that I had made reference to were both gone now and their stories and their memories that they shared with me are about all that I have left of them. As he walked away I wondered how much longer we would have men like him who were a walking history in our midst.

I spent the rest of today reflecting on his stories and I thought about the men around our nation that are just like him. I thought about my uncles and the stories that they told. I thought about all the different men that I have known and met through the years who served in that war. I heard a startling statistic the other day that every ninety seconds we lose another veteran of World War II. I hope and pray that if you have a chance to visit with one of these precious veterans, you will slow down for a few minutes in your busy schedule and soak up the history that will soon no longer speak from their lips but simply be written in books for people to see but never understand.

Mr. Thompson, my day was richer for you having taken the time to share the past with me. It was men like you that have made our future what it is.

Thank you.

GW

Traditions

Webster defines Tradition as "an inherited, established, or customary pattern of thought, action, or behavior (as a religious practice or a social custom)"


To me and my family the holiday season that we have entered into is all about traditions. As a boy growing up in central Texas, we had a few things that you could call traditions. Things like we would eat a large meal on Thanksgiving day somewhere and that we would have a Christmas tree up at some point in the holiday season if my brothers and sister and I were persistent, and somewhere on or around Christmas, we would eat another big meal and open our presents somewhere. These things might sound like traditions to you, but to me they were just tendencies given to the winds of convenience around the holiday season.

I love to go to lunch periodically with each of my children as the time allows for both them and myself. Needless to say, I am always busy with my work and lunch is something I only get to escape a couple of times each week My son is a paramedic in a neighboring community with a wife and a son and my daughter is a full time college student with a full time job as well. When that rare moment lines up where I can do lunch with them, I jump at the opportunity. It was on one such luncheon a few weeks back that I realized how my wife and I had firmly established traditions in our lives and the lives of our children that have given them peace and security in the holiday season. My son was venting his frustration at the ever changing plans of his in-laws for the Thanksgiving celebrations. He looked at me and said, "that is one of the things that I love about our family. I know every Thanksgiving day exactly where we were going to be and at Christmas I knew exactly where we were going to be. I never had to worry about it, we just knew where we would all be". 


Wow, as I soaked up that nostalgic moment of traditions, it took me back to the early days when my wife and I were first married. We each came from broken homes and then were each blended with new families from our parents second marriage and yes, quite frankly I hated the holidays and I especially hated Christmas. We never knew for sure where we were going to be and the only thing I could count on for sure was a pair of socks from somebody that just wasn't sure what I liked or wanted. My wife and I decided on that first Christmas that on Christmas morning, come what may, we were going to be at our home for Christmas. God has been gracious to my family and he has allowed that tradition to have never been broken in the 27 years that we have celebrated Christmas together. On Christmas morning, my children (while they were home) knew that on Christmas morning they were going to be in their beds waking up to their presents and to their family. There have been a few times that for one reason or another since they have left home and began families of their own that our children were not there on Christmas morning. That made me sad, but their was great comfort to me knowing that if they decided the night before to come home for Christmas, that their mother and I would be there. After all, where else would we be on Christmas morning, It is our Tradition.

Fading

The day is fading and for now so is the anger. It is not gone it has just relented to the day at hand. It has been a good  day.

I debated a long time about publishing my previous post. Then I decided that as I said when I began this journey, it is for me and no else, so I hit that nice big icon that says "Publish Post". I sincerely hope that if you have stumbled upon my blog that I have not offended you. I am just trying to make sense of it all and to get past the anger.

I spent a lot of the day outside because it was a beautiful day. I ended the day by sitting in the quiet evening and  I watched the sun go down and I just soaked up the remnants of the day. I managed to snap this photo in the late afternoon in a field next to my home. I love this photo. It is so simple yet I love it. It made my day. It helped to fade the anger and it brought a calm to my heart to see God's beauty.

Ok, so I let the door swing open today. I have reached out and grabbed the handle and pulled it closed. I hope that no one was in its way.

GW

The Anger



Oregon Coast

 It is early Sunday morning and all is quiet. I usually can calm the storm that I feel inside toward organized religion, but today is harder for some reason. You do not know me. You do not know what road I have traveled to get where I am at. I will not allow my life to be controlled by the anger, but there are days that I can feel it just below the surface like a wave that is rolling into the shore looking beautiful and peaceful then we are caught up in it as it crashes to the shore.

I understand that the anger I carry harms only the one that harbours it. I am a very passive person and I have dealt with the anger slowly as God provides me the grace and ability to do so. I know that one day that crashing wave will become a gentle rolling surf that is almost calming in the way it caresses the shoreline. Today, however, is not that day. Today I am angry. I just needed somewhere to say it and where better than a place that very few will ever see and no one will understand because they were not on the path that brought me here.

Proverbs 25:28 says "He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls." (King James Version) This is not my favorite passage, but it is in my top ten. I use it often when I need to be reminded about self control, what I say and how I say it. Just to be clear, I am a Christian. I know the scriptures very well. I am not one of your radical screaming from the roof top Christians but I am a Christian none the less, far from perfect and always in need of God's grace.

I am sorry if you have stumbled across this and found yourself with more questions about my anger than your understanding of it. Today is not the day to speak of the source nor the cause, Today is simply the day that I needed to tell someone else that I am angry. I have been angry for two years and as of yet, the anger has not subsided, but I know that it will. God is faithful. I know all of the Biblical principles involved in resolving the anger in my heart; but today, today I am just angry.

So just  to be clear to the world. Your DAMN right I am angry.

GW

Sunday Morning Drive





You have probably always heard about those "Sunday Drivers". I grew up quite familiar with the term never dreaming that I would become one of them. Yet here I am, finding myself on a regular basis heading out on Sunday afternoon with my camera to do just that, going on a Sunday drive.

I am not the kind of guy who wants to spend his whole Sunday watching football from pre-game to post game and not be bothered with the world around him. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a little football and I absolutely love baseball. That we will talk about in another post. I have found that I thoroughly enjoy getting out on a Sunday and just driving. Most of the time you will find me on the backroads, the old caliche county roads that are like a maze. You absolutely just never know where you will end up when you go with me. Sometimes my wife goes with me and sometimes she just says go have fun. She knows that when I get that itch, there is only one cure for it. When she does go with me she always takes a book along as a safety blanket just in case I get caught up in a photo session that runs on and on. I have to admit, sometimes I do get so caught up in looking for a specific photo when I have found some old abandoned farmhouse or whatever I have stumbled across.

This past Sunday proved to be a great Sunday drive. Instead of going on my traditional Sunday afternoon or evening drive, I went on an early morning drive. I am an early riser, I always wake early in the day. This past Sunday morning as I lay staring at the dark ceiling, I decided to be out driving when the sun came up. I rolled over to mention this to my wife, and needless to say, she really didn't care what I did as long as I let her get some more sleep. So I loaded my camera and my two grand puppies into the jeep and away we went. I chose to stick to some of my more frequent and familiar haunts. One of them is this old abandoned falling down house with an old fifties model Chevrolet wasting away in the tall grass out in front of the old homestead. You have to know about this house, you can't see it from the road and there is not a road that leads to it. I pulled up along side where I knew the old homestead was, looking for a place to pull off the county road. I slipped the jeep into the 4x4 mode and pulled off the road and eased up the hillside until I reached the old overgrown lane that I knew was there and drove on up to the old place just watching for any picture opportunity. The grass was four to five feet tall and you had to know where you were going or you could get in trouble in a hurry.

I climbed out of the jeep and began to just wander around and just slowly enjoyed the morning as it unfolded. I kept looking for that special photo, but it managed to elude me as it often does. I did take the many obligatory photos that you do when you are in this setting, hoping to stumble across at least one that you like, but this morning it was to no avail. The grand pups looked at me like I was crazy as I slowly and carefully worked my way around the deep grass and the old homestead. They were smarter than I and stayed in the jeep where it was safe. The air was crisp and cold and the sun was making a beautiful entrance into the day. It truly was going to be a beautiful Sunday.

After I felt as though I had exhausted all of my angles and photo opportunities, I slowly headed back to the jeep and put my camera on my lap and slowly drove around the old place for a few more minutes and then headed back down the old lane until it faded away. Then I drove across the ridge that led to the old county road and I turned on it and headed East in search of something, not really knowing what it even was. The sun was rising nicely by this time and the dogs were thoroughly enjoying themselves, my wife was soundly asleep in her warm bed at home and me, I was just out for a "Sunday Drive".

Eyes, The Window to the Soul

I have often heard that the eyes are the window to the soul. I know that there is no truth in this even though I think that the eyes of a person tell a lot about them. Occasionally, as crazy as it sounds, I will see a photo where I feel that I can look right into a person's soul. That is the kind of photo that is rare and it is almost haunting in how it follows you for days and sometimes years to come. I personally have never been able to capture that. I have taken thousands of pictures and I can not think of one where I truly believe that I have accomplished that feat.

This past weekend, I went to the Amon Carter Museum in Fort Worth. It is one of my favorite places to visit. One of the exhibits that is currently on display is "American Modern: Abbott, Evans, Bourke-White". In this display of photographs, I came across one of the photos by Margaret Bourke-White that was one of "those" kind of photos. It seemed to somehow capture the soul of the individuals. I was moved by it somehow. I do not understand how it happens, but something about the photo speaks to you and you can see and feel that it is somehow special.

Each individual person sees things differently. I noticed that while there were pictures that I lingered at, others would barely even glance at and some that others would linger at, I would slowly pass by wondering what they saw in it. Each of us are drawn to their own haunts and thoughts as we interpret what the photo is trying to convey.

Photography is a passion of mine. I long to be able to capture the type of photo that as people see it, they stop and do not even speak, they just gaze into the photo as if they themselves were held captive by the shutter. I have found that I am my harshest critic. My wife laughs at me because of the number of photos that I currently have on my computer is somewhere around 15,000. As a rule, for every 100 photos I take, I can usually find about one that I like and about one in 1000 that I love. That means that I have thousands to delete, but as I go back through them, I look to see if there is something there that I missed the first, second, third,......time that I looked at them. I know there was something to start with or I would not have taken the picture. Are these pictures that I would slowly pass by while others would linger at? I guess I will never know.

Say what you will, but I truly hope that at least once in my life I will capture "that" photo that each of us are looking to capture. I do not know what or where it is, but my camera is always ready and my eyes are always searching. I learned the hard way that you should never pass up a photo opportunity when it presents itself. The photo that haunts me the most is the one that I never took. I was in the perfect place, the stage was set, the subject was perfectly posed. It was priceless. I had my camera at hand, ready to take the shot and I just didn't. It is a picture that I will always carry in my mind, but I will never be able to share. It is not that I was lost in the moment or too slow to capture what was before me, I was so moved by it that I felt like an outsider that was stealing something that was not mine to take, so I sat my camera down and allowed the moment to fade away. In many ways for years I have regretted that decision, but in some ways, that decision has brought me an unexplainable degree of satisfaction.

The photo that I have posted is one that I took in Jamaica. It is one of my wife's favorites. To each his own.

Ghost Writer

Fall is Here

You can feel it in the air you can see it in the trees. Fall is here. I love this time of year!!!! I am not exactly sure what I love so much about it, I just know that I love it.

As I mentioned before and as you can probably tell from my writing, it has been a long year for me in a lot of ways. I will not bore you with the details nor ply you with the complexities of life as I see them. Today, I just want to enjoy the fact that Fall is here and it reminds me that there are a lot of Seasons in our lives.

Every year we see Winter give way to Spring which is overpowered by Summer which yields to Fall which in turn surrenders to Winter which gives way to Spring which.... It is like a merry-go-round. You love it one minute and then you can't wait to get off the next because it has made it hard to clearly see anything.

I remember as a child that I would get the merry-go-round going as fast as I could and then I would jump on and lie in the center and just watch the sky for what seemed like an eternity until it would finally come to a stop all by itself. I loved that feeling. The world was moving so fast and then slowly it would all come to a stop. Nothing dramatic, nothing spectacular, it would just finally stop.

I will always be a child at heart. My wife tells me that I am like an eight year old little boy even today. I am not sure if that is good or bad, but who cares most eight year old boys that I know are having fun.

Today's blog is quite simple. It is Fall I am an eight year old boy at heart. It has been a long year and I just want to enjoy the day. I hope that you have a great day as well.

Cleansing Rain

I love the smell of rain in the air. There is nothing quite like that smell.

I stand there and I feel the winds begin to shift and stir and I see the clouds rolling in. Sometimes they roll in gently and softly and sometimes they roll in like a giant locomotive. I don't even care which way they roll in as long as they roll in.

I walked around yesterday in an old field and I was noticing how the ground was hard and dry and the dust was beginning to cake on everything the way it does when it has been a while since it rained. Everytime I took a step, a small cloud of dust would rise from the ground as if to reach and grasp my foot to gain it's attention. I walked to the edge of the field and saw where the dry dusty trail led out into the pasture. It was quiet and I thought of the rain that would come. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but I knew that it would come.


The rain has always come. It has not always come as we wanted or as we beckoned it to, but without fail it has always come.

Then, to our dismay, we are suddenly in a new world. The dust has settled the air is fresh and crisp. The flowers and trees have all been washed by the hand of their maker. For a moment, we see things in a whole new light, then the process begins all over again and once again we find ourselves waiting for that cleansing rain.

As I grow older, sometimes I find myself much like that old dry field in need of the rain. It is hard to explain how we feel sometimes and that is what I like about this blog. I do not have to explain it or defend it. I simply am allowed to voice what might otherwise lay silent in my heart. I need that cleansing rain so often in my life. I wait and wait thinking is it today that it comes? Is it tomorrow? Is it next week?

We all face situations and challenges in our lives that dry up our spirit and our passion. It is that cleansing rain that periodically falls upon each of us that allows us to seize the freshness that it brings and to move on toward the goal before us, whatever that might be to me or to you.

These are all random thoughts brought about by a beautiful autumn shower following a quiet walk in the grass. Enjoy the freshness of the rain while it lasts and long for its awakening return.

Do You Ever....

... go for a walk in the early morning while all is quiet and dark?

... look at the stars and get lost in their vastness?

... sit in the late summer evening and listen to the locust sing?

... listen to the trees as the wind soflty caresses their leaves?

... watch the ocean as the tide gently rolls in and out?

... smell the air as the summer rain clouds begin to build?

... see the lightning flash as it rolls through the clouds?

... marvel at the rainbow as the storm subsides and rolls away?

... whisper in the wind as you feel the season begin to change?

... miss the days that have slipped away and are gone forever?

... look in the mirror and say who are you?

... wonder why God is so quiet at times in your life?

Do you? Do you ever?

It Has Been A While

I have been so busy with life, that I have totally ignored my blog for months. This is just to say that I have not forgotten it.

There will be a day when I have a few moments that are mine and I will steal away to my computer and I will again sit down and pour out my thoughts to a keyboard that has no will or mind of its own. It will follow my thoughts and wanderings in a way that no one else can and suddenly there will be a new post.

Until that day, the passing thoughts that I have will be just that, passing thoughts that go unrecorded and unnoticed in this crazy hectic world that we live in.

Life is good, enjoy it.

Don't Step on the Flowers

It is amazing to me the things that we gleen from our parents. The way that we look at things, the way that we process things and in general how we feel about the world around us. Let me share the simple following story to demonstrate this.

My mother-in-law has roots in Mullin, TX. We recently were trying to find a unique way to celebrate her 60th birthday. After many suggestions and ideas, someone thought that it would be neat to visit the old homestead there in Mullin, where she was raised as a little girl. The farm itself is gone, but an old hotel was moved from downtown Mullin to the old homestead site. They rent it out for special events and getaways. So with great anticipation, a surprise party was formed and we all planned on a trip to the country.

Upon arriving at the old homestead, we felt like we had gone back in time. The old Duran Hotel was a little two-story building with five simple upstair rooms and a small kitchen in the downstairs and an actual little parlor. It was sitting upon about 200 acres and it was just a beautiful little place out in the country.

The first evening, we all sat out on the second floor balcony and listened to my mother-in-law tell stories of when she was just a little girl. We all sat around and just soaked up the past as if it were a fog that had slowly crept in and enveloped us. It was actually quite nice.

The next morning, after a very hearty old breakfast, we each kind of planned out the things that we wanted to do for the day. Some wanted to relax and not do anything, some wanted to fish, some wanted to go canoing, and others wanted to explore the old homeplace. My mother-in-law wanted to go hiking to explore the places that she used to go when she was a little girl. So needless to say, many of us decided to go with her, including my daughter-in-law and my grandson. I was late getting started on the hike because I was one of the ones who wanted to go fishing. As I began to catch up with the group, I noticed my daughter-in-law and grandson dragging up the rear. There were wildflowers everywhere since after all, it was springtime in the country here in Texas, and my grandson felt like he had to stop and smell every one of them and to pick many of them for his mother. Shortly after catching up with the group, it was decided that some might be too tired to walk all of the way back, so I was nominated to go back and get the truck so that they could all get a ride back to the hotel.

So with that task before me, I decided to hoist my grandson onto my shoulders so that his mother could enjoy the hike with the others and we headed back for the truck. He is almost four, so his vocabulary has literally been exploding lately and he was thrilled will all of his surroundings and he was ready to talk to me about all of it, when all of a sudden, he said in a very dramatic voice "Don't Step on the Flowers". I was caught a little off guard and I repeated his statement to him almost in the form of a question. He again said "don't step on the flowers", but this time he followed with the clarifying statement "my mommy loves flowers".

It was at that moment that I realized the power of a mother and her influence on the generations to come. After all, here we were wandering around in a pasture just so that my 60 year old mother-in-law could relive her childhood for just a few days.

Maybe you will find it silly, but for years to come, I will probably step around the flowers because after all, "mommy loves flowers" and that was important to my grandson.

This Is Where The Road Begins

I have never blogged in my life, actually I have never even really written in my life. Yet here I am beginning a new blog. It doesn't make sense to me and it most likely won't make any sense to you, whoever you are. That I think is the compelling part of it. I really don't care. I won't care when you read my blog if you like it, hate it or are totally indifferent to it. The truth is, I am not writing for you, I am writing it for me.

Maybe it will help if you know a little bit about me. My name is Ghost Writer(the truth is that it really doesn't matter who I am). I am 46 years old at the time that I am beginning this new journey. I have been happily married for 27 years. I have raised two wonderful children. I have a grandson. I have been at the same place of employment for over twenty years. I have spent most of my life doing for others. All of this to say that I have lived a wonderful life, but in so doing, I have lived much of it for others and not myself. Let me be very clear. This Blog is for me. If by reading it, I somehow move you or inspire you, good; if I have no impact on you at all, so be it. Again it is for me and no one else in the world. I have chosen today to finally take something for me and no one else.

With that being said, let me begin. I have named my blog "Where The Road Ends". It is Ironic that my first post is named "Where The Road Begins". I am the kind of person who has always had a curious side to me. I can't tell you how many times I have been driving along and I see a road that branches off of the road that I am on and I wonder to myself "I wonder where that road goes". So when time allows, I wander down that road from time to time and usually continue wandering the different roads that it leads me to until I eventually find my way back to civilization or until the road ends. I never know when I make that first turn where I will end up. When it does bring me back to civilization, there is usually just a touch of disappointment. However when it leads me to a point where the road ends, I almost always feel that sense of question and intrigue as to what is beyond and who has been there before me.

That sets the stage for my approach to the rest of my life. I am not so curious as to where the road begins but more as to where the road ends. Along that journey I will write this blog as much or as little as I see fit. You may stumble upon it and find that this is the only post that I ever made or it may be the point in my life where the road begins.