It was six months ago tonight that I checked Facebook one last time before going to sleep, and my heart just collapsed as I read the status updates: RIP Casey, Casey I <3 U, Miss U Casey, among others. I started texting friends, then making calls, then realizing that this world just lost a most beautiful person.

My life has not been the same since.

A couple of days later, I wrote a memorial to Casey in my own efforts to come to terms with her death. The writing helped me get through those tough hours, but sitting here six months later, the pain of her loss is still strong, the memories forever in my mind and heart of a loving individual who struggled with depression. She never asked for that; nobody with depression ever does. It is one of the most misunderstood illnesses that affects nearly 20 million Americans. Those who suffer with it find its grip unbreakable at times, and those who don’t understand it wonder why people who are “sad” just don’t get over it and be happy.

When will we recognize that depression is not something we just “get over”? Isn’t it enough that 20 million of us are struggling?

I want to put a few things in perspective for us to consider.

Less than three months after Casey died, on April 23, word of the Swine (H1N1) Flu traveled fast around the world after two cases were identified in California. Six days later and three months after Casey died, with 91 confirmed cases, the World Health Organization raised the worldwide pandemic alert level to phase 5, stating that this is a “strong signal that a pandemic is imminent and that the time to finalize the organization, communication, and implementation of the planned mitigation measures is short.” The next day, April 30, the CDC (Center for Disease Control) posted this statement on their website:

The United States Government has declared a public health emergency in the United States. CDC’s response goals are to reduce transmission and illness severity, and provide information to help health care providers, public health officials and the public address the challenges posed by this emergency. CDC is issuing and updating interim guidance daily in response to the rapidly evolving situation. CDC’s Division of the Strategic National Stockpile (SNS) continues to send antiviral drugs, personal protective equipment, and respiratory protection devices to all 50 states and U.S. territories to help them respond to the outbreak. The swine influenza A (H1N1) virus is susceptible to the prescription antiviraldrugs oseltamivir and zanamivir. In addition, the Federal Government and manufacturers have begun the process of developing a vaccine against this new virus.

On June 17, in addition to the $1 billion already set aside by President Obama to combat the flu, the House of Representatives approved nearly $8 billion in additional funds. As of July 24, 2009, 43,771 cases of the flu had been reported.

And to think that it all started, just three months ago, when two people were diagnosed with the flu.

Contrast those statistics with these. The UPLIFT PROGRAM published these statistics on their website about depression:

Depression Statistics

• Depressive disorders affect approximately 18.8 million American adults or about 9.5% of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year. This includes major depressive disorder, dysthymic disorder, and bipolar disorder. [1]
• Everyone, will at some time in their life be affected by depression — their own or someone else’s, according to Australian Government statistics. (Depression statistics in Australia are comparable to those of the US and UK.) [2]
• Pre-schoolers are the fastest-growing market for antidepressants. At least four percent of preschoolers — over a million — are clinically depressed. [3]
• The rate of increase of depression among children is an astounding 23% p.a. [4]
• 15% of the population of most developed countries suffers severe depression. [5]
• 30% of women are depressed. Men’s figures were previously thought to be half that of women, but new estimates are higher. [6]
• 54% of people believe depression is a personal weakness. [7]
• 41% of depressed women are too embarrassed to seek help. [8]
• 80% of depressed people are not currently having any treatment. [9]
• 92% of depressed African-American males do not seek treatment. [10]
• 15% of depressed people will commit suicide. [11]
• Depression will be the second largest killer after heart disease by 2020 — and studies show depression is a contributory factor to fatal coronary disease. [12]
• Depression results in more absenteeism than almost any other physical disorder and costs employers more than US$51 billion per year in absenteeism and lost productivity, not including high medical and pharmaceutical bills. [13]

Stunningly, despite these statistics, little is being done to combat depression, a disease that now affects directly nearly 10% of the American population. Programs such as Active Minds are struggling all across the country for funding to reach out to teens in need. Other wellness resources are being trimmed back because of budget constraints. School systems around the country, from preschools to universities, are being forced to limit, divert funds from, or eliminate entirely programs aimed to helping children and young adults cope with the stresses placed on them and manage their depression.

In other words, the message I get is this: Unless you can spend billions of dollars on it, make a vaccine for it, administer it quickly, and then move on with your life and look really good and heroic about how you saved us all from certain tragedy, it’s not a pandemic. Twenty million vs. 90,000 makes no difference if the results aren’t immediate and heroic, or fit nicely in a 4-year term or seasonal time frame.

Just weeks after Casey died, a few of us recognized that help wasn’t easy to find for teens suffering from anxiety, depression, and addiction. We started a foundation called Lines of Love to build a bridge to those resources, and we had several successful events this past spring to begin our outreach program.

We’re still in our infancy stage, but on this six-month mark of Casey’s death, I ask you to join me in making that commitment to do everything in our power to reach out to those in need. Become a line of love with us. Get involved with local wellness programs that can provide help for our friends and loved ones, if not for ourselves as well. Join the Active Minds chapter at your school. And, if there isn’t one, find out how to start one. Lines of Love is committed to supporting you in your efforts to be that bridge to our loved ones suffering.

More than ever, in the memories of all of the beautiful people who have lost their battle with depression, I am committed to building this bridge.

Please join me. We cannot wait for federal declarations of emergencies or impending disasters. We’re already there, and our loved ones need help today.

photo: http://alittlecrafty.com

I’ve always been fascinated with Chinese characters, and the symbol for Tranquility is one that means a great deal to me.

Quite literally, the symbol depicts male dominance in the Chinese tradition, where the smaller symbol of a man’s “roof” hovers over the symbol for “woman.”

I like the explanation provided in The Spirit of the Chinese Character, by Barbara Aria. She writes, “…[the symbol] has a richer meaning, reflecting the parallel between microcosm and macrocosm. Just as a harmonious relationship between man and woman brings tranquility to the heart, peace comes when universal energies are in harmony—the forceful, creative energy of heaven above, and the gentle, receptive energy of the earth below.”

Growing up in the Chesapeake Bay region, I have lived my life surrounded by the more natural forces of tranquility, as land and water constantly battle for domination among the brackish tributaries of Chesapeake. I know. That sounds so contradictory, doesn’t it? Talking about forces and battles and domination when it comes to tranquility just seems so…unnatural.

Tranquility, though, is rooted in discipline and respect; it is the reward for the efforts put forth to achieve such a balance.

The hard part, of course, is reminding ourselves that the battle to find that balance is well worth the tranquility that follows.

My wife is gifted in the kitchen; she has the patience and natural talent to take somebody’s culinary creation and make it her own. It doesn’t come without a great deal of labor, though. She might spend hours contemplating the right spices—and their exact amounts—to compliment the main ingredient and make the meal just exactly perfect.

After all the hard work is over and we finally sit down at the table to enjoy the meal, we savor the labor and the sweat used to reach such perfection. Tranquility achieved.

Tranquility does not come without that hard work. We all yearn to find that peaceful view atop that faraway mountain or shore when the sun descends into the horizon, leaving us breathless; we forget the labor it took to take the long walk to get there in the first place.

As writers, we face that battle all the time, struggling through drafts and revisions to reach that moment of order where our writing might be considered even marginally close to providing a sense of tranquility for our readers. There’s nothing more comforting than finishing a good story and appreciating that order, that balance. We forget about the struggles the writer went through to achieve such balance.

As individuals, though, we don’t get the opportunity to display our “final drafts” of who we are on a daily basis. We live our lives in draft mode, battling that balance in full view to find those rare moments of tranquility as a result of our hard work to find that balance. Understanding that we are all in “draft mode” striving for that balance, that tranquility, might make us all a little more aware that our friends and loved ones (and even those we struggle with) are not too different from who we are.

We’re all just trying to get it right. We’re all looking for that moment that takes our breath away.

Let’s help each other breathe, so that we may enjoy the tranquility of being breathless.

Thank God for stop lights.

If you are like me, it’s not hard to get caught up in the whirlwind of life, sweeping you off your feet as you try desperately to keep up with family, work, and various social networks—real and virtual—that matter a great deal to you. In fact, we often get swept off our feet without even realizing it—sometimes for months or even years at a time. Our lives seem out of control, a pinball being smacked from bumper to bumper, rolling at unimaginable speeds toward the next event. Sadly, we don’t even know that we need to slow down.

But stop lights. They remind us the importance of seizing 30 seconds of silence to reclaim a fraction of what is most important in our lives. And, perhaps even more important, to take an inventory of the signals we’re sending out to others.

That is, if we choose to slow down.

Yesterday, with a car filled with family, I pulled up to a red light and felt myself wondering autonomously how to use that half-minute. Instinctively, I checked my Blackberry for incoming messages (with my Twitter feeds, there’s always something to read), took a sip of Coke Zero, skipped over a few songs on my iPod playlist, and half-heartedly nodded to something my wife was saying.

Really—I had no idea what she was talking about. I was too busy pushing buttons and making the most of my red-light pit-stop.

Or was I?

My daughter was saying something in the back seat, too. I glanced up into the mirror to give her a reassuring glance and nod, and started to return to my stare at the red light and begin the countdown: five…four….three…

But as I turned to look ahead, I caught a glimpse of my eyes in the rearview mirror. They were insanely intense, creased with crow’s feet with a heavy brow jutting forward in some Neanderthal-like manner.

I didn’t even recognize myself. Worse, I was shocked that I was sharing this face with those whom I loved the most.

Maybe we were all going through the motions a little—they, hopeful that someone would care; me, participating in the physical aspects of conversation; all of us, moving at the speed of light in our own little worlds, ignorant of the other life-pulses around us, just inches away.

I barely had a second to exhale and relax the muscles in my face before the light turned green, and I had to go forward once again. But that time between lights, I thought about the signals I’m sharing with the world when I let the whirlwind sweep me up.

I know this might sound crazy, but the only thing that I regret about the way I behaved during my mother’s funeral two years ago was the signal I was sending out to others at the service as I walked to and from the altar to deliver the eulogy. My face was tense; I remember thinking to myself that the message I was telling others was one of pain, sorrow, intensity.

I wanted to tell them peace, patience, gratitude, love.

At the next stop light, I put my hands in my lap and looked into my wife’s eyes while she talked about paint colors for our bedroom as well as for our daughters’—tea green for ours, a lighter, melon green for theirs. Suddenly, but without her realizing it, I think, her face relaxed a little, and she shared more about painting this weekend despite a hectic schedule.

The tweets could wait, the song was just fine, and my face relaxed.

And this time, when the light turned green, we were all going forward together, despite the whirlwind that nagged and tugged all around us. We can live our busy lives, align with the latest technology, and communicate instantaneously with the virtual masses that wait on the other side of our Blackberries and laptops. But we must also live our lives sharing peace, patience, gratitude, and love every chance we get.

Take the 30-second life check as often as you can, and offer the world the love so desperately sought. You may very well be the red light someone needs to make a change in his or her own wonderful world—a change that will last long after that light turns green.

Last week, while on vacation, I spent one mid-morning watching tv with my younger two children. They channel-surfed between PBS, the Disney Channel, and the Cartoon Network with the navigation of a highly trained professional. I was extremely impressed with their efficient use of commercial time to 1) find other shows not on commercial break, 2) sharpen their persuasive skills for toys they just had to have (toys that, conveniently, were being advertised at the same time), or 3) declare their absolute state of starvation, only to be remedied by the resumption of colorful characters bouncing around the screen, resolving this and that.

One show, though, struck me as having a rather thoughtful script writer. I am going to guess that it was Clifford, the Big Red Dog, but I cannot be certain. The main storyline was this: well-balanced happy Character A kept a journal, while not-as-happy Character B did not. Character B stole a peek at Character B’s journal and was mortified by what she read. Offended and upset, she shunned her friend for most of the show.

When the show reached the final showdown between A and B, happy Character A calmly explained that journal writing was good for so many things, but it was never meant for anybody else’s eyes. Character A said (and I paraphrase loosely): writing is a way of cleansing the mind and clearing the path for understanding. It’s not that what is written is the truth in another person’s eyes, or even my eyes, for that matter. It is the pathway to the truth. To interpret it literally is, quite honestly, impossible.

And then Character A suggested to B that she try it; it might help her better understand the powers of writing.

To imagine all of this was promoted in a show about a big red dog! Bravo, anonymous script writer. Bravo.

In nearly every workshop or presentation I give on writing, I ask my participants if they write daily. The responses, for the most part, fall into three categories:

• I don’t have time
• I don’t have anything to write about
• I don’t want others to read what I am writing

Now, these responses are from people who have chosen to take my workshops. There is initiative there to make a change; my heart shudders when I think about all of the people out there who believe so deeply in one of these three reasons that they don’t even venture out to see what this writing “thing” is all about.

I Don’t Have Time

I am always surprised by how much time I make for myself when there is desire or motivation to do something. The key is to stop looking for that big block of time that you might have once had when you were younger and responsible for little more than making your own breakfast and making your own bed. Big blocks of anything don’t exist in my life; I’ve stopped believing that great things will happen only if I had those big blocks. Instead, I piece my time together, and throughout the day it accumulates. Get up an hour earlier to write. Carry around a small notebook (Moleskine makes great little notebooks that slip in a shirt pocket, but an index card works just as well). Julia Cameron (The Artist’s Way) suggests that you make a date with yourself at least twice a week, at 2-hour clips, to write, among other things. Time exists for things that matter to you; if you want to write, then write. It’s that simple.

I Don’t Have Anything To Write About

You are blessed with a unique set of eyes with which you see this world, a mind to interpret what you see, and a heart to feel the good as much as the bad. The combination of those three makes you like no other human being, alive or dead, and therefore gives you the right to shout out what you see, think, and feel. We sell ourselves short by thinking we do not lead extraordinary lives, but our very existence is extraordinary. When my father died in 1989, I bought my mother a journal and encouraged her to write through the pain and the hurt. She resisted at first, struggling with what to write about. She kept thinking there was some audience beyond herself that she needed to impress. Once she started writing for no one but her, she could not stop. She lived for 18 years after my father died, and she filled twice as many journals in that time. She wanted me to take care of them and, someday, cull the deeper thoughts and “do something” with them. When I started reading through her words, I discovered the depth of her love for family, her thoughts on politics, and her strong belief in living fully for the day. My mother was once a cafeteria worker, a mother of five, a widow, and a shopaholic. It didn’t stop her from viewing the world in a wonderfully unique way. Once she discovered that she didn’t have to worry about impressing anybody, she wrote authentically.

I Don’t Want Others To Read What I’m Writing

Believe me, like the character on Clifford, none of us do. Reading other people’s journal writing makes no sense, because it’s not meant for anybody but the writer. It is raw, unpolished, imperfect, experimental, parenthetical, extreme, ridiculous, among about a thousand other things. Leonardo da Vinci wrote backwards to discourage peeping journal readers. Others have resorted to codes, symbols, and hieroglyphs to ensure nobody reads their thoughts. I don’t worry about it. The benefits far outweigh the risks. Just keep the journal close to you, and surround yourself with people who respect you (and your writing). Encourage them to write as well. You might want to take the time to explain to your loved ones who might be tempted to steal a peek that you are not writing about them, or about their lives. You’re writing about yours, and for that reason alone, you ask that they respect your privacy.

We all find ourselves in situations where we want to do things but don’t follow through. I suggest you do this: go out and buy the cheapest spiral notebook you can find (most places have them for 25 cents or less in their back-to-school sales) and write about why you don’t write. Make that date with yourself and put the pen to the pulp. Write to an audience of one–yourself–and give yourself the right and the opportunity to rip those pages out and throw them away when your date is over. Chances are you won’t, but make the promise anyway. The important thing is to write–just for you.

A good friend of mine, whom I have not seen in many years, mentioned to me yesterday that my return to Baltimore was like coming back to reality. I understand her sentiment perfectly, as I have felt the resistance so many times to “return to reality” after a wonderful vacation. After all, the reasons why I needed the vacation in the first place had not changed. I have several projects that are at very critical junctures, and each of them needs serious attention to ensure they are successful.

One of the first things I did upon returning home was to re-read Lisa Knopp’s essay, “Braided,” from her book, The Nature of Home: A Lexicon of Essays.* In the essay, she writes of her braided hair (down to her waist) and compares its braiding (loose or tight) to the central Platte (winding through Colorado, Wyoming, and Nebraska) as well as to the plurality of God, most traditionally in the form of the trinity. Knopp points out that braids, in any form, must be balanced and appreciated for their overall effect. Break it down into individual strands of hair, and suddenly the effect is lost. The balance of the braid, as well, is equally important.

She writes that the central Platte, once balanced well for its braids of water, life, and land, has been thrown out of balance, and the damage has been significant.

According to Knopp, in the 1990’s, the Platte’s braid loosened due to manipulation for “flood control, power generation, and the growing urban centers that demand water for showers, dishwashers, washing machines, green lawns, and golf courses.”  Man’s contribution was detrimental to the nicely woven braid that nature had made for many hundreds of years.

A once-thriving place for migratory birds was now an overgrown forest with nothing more than a creek running through it.

Knopp states: “[Migratory birds] prefer broad channels and shallow water because they are protected from such nighttime predeators as coyotes, dogs, and foxes and not so long ago, wolves and cougars. They prefer wet meadows to woodlands because of the greater food supply. If the river becomes too loosely braided, more land than water, more trees than light, the birds will go elsewhere–though I don’t know where that might be.”

The very same thing happens to us in our own lives, doesn’t it? We get too stressed about one aspect of a project or aspect of our lives, and it throws everything else out of balance. A bad day at work can derail even the best of us, when we think that what we need to reset ourselves is a moment of indulgence–food, drink, maybe even a new outfit. After all, we deserve it. But too many bad days at work means too much of that compensation; you gain weight, you become too dependent on alcohol, or you start missing bill payments because you’re spending too much on those new clothes or electronic gadgets.

Thank goodness that the weave of Life, Love, and Home is not centered geographically for us, as we might believe. Coming back from Ocean City yesterday, I realized that I’m in control of how tightly weaved my braid is–a braid that I take with me as if it were literally flowing down my back. My attitude toward my projects is not geographical at all; in fact, our beliefs need to transcend the notion that their success lies within the physical boundaries of a workspace. The challenges we face are not the variables; what we bring to them are. With these three refreshed (life, love, and home), I am ready to handle the challenges that await, one at a time, and allow each of them to resolve in a wonderful new light.

*Lisa was one of my mentors in grad school (Goucher College, Master of Fine Arts Program in creative nonfiction) and lives in Lincoln, Nebraska. She, like all of my other mentors at Goucher, was patient, inspiring, and supportive with my writing.

What a magnificent day. From the early-morning shoot, to a day at the beach, then over to Assateague for a brilliant sunset, then back to the Boardwalk for a late-night walk, we could not have asked for a more complete and memory-filled day. Sunday served as our climactic “event” day of our vacation; now we wind down with a day at the beach, and them home on Tuesday. We will never be too grateful for the opportunity to be here, and for all of the wonderful times we have shared this past week.

I have a lot of pictures to post from Sunday, so I’m going to jump right in. Because there are so many, I am going to move many of them to a new page, which you can go to by following the link after the photos of the Assateague horses.

After my morning shoot, I came back to the condo, and we were on the beach by noon. The waves weren’t nearly as intense as they were on Saturday, and high tide was still over 5 hours away. We set up close to the water, and the kids immediately began building sand castles and digging for shells that the low tide provided them…

Braeden, obviously hard at work, measures his sand grain by precious grain.

Madelyn took the bold approach of digging and diving for her shells.

Madelyn gathers sand for a new castle, as the incoming tide gathers her reflection.

We then moved back to the condo, showered and re-dressed, and headed out for an early dinner at Hall’s Pizza, Soup, Salad, and Dessert Buffet, all for around $40 for the five of us. Not too bad at all. :)

It was then off to Assateague Island, where I was eager to capture the sun setting over the marshes of Sinepuxent Bay. First, of course, were the horses and the beach.

The wild Assateague ponies are not shy in letting you know that you are on THEIR beaches, just in case there was any doubt.

Probably my favorite of the wild ponies. Love the brown/white coat!

Every time we come to Assateague, I am left breathless by their beauty.

Ok. Please follow the link here to the rest of the day’s photos, including those of the sunset that left us all a little more breathless!

Read the rest of this entry »

Good morning.

I just don’t think I’m going to make it for a sunrise while we’re down here, at least not for a photo shoot. Truth is, I don’t have the lens for it, or the tripod. No worries…. :) Gives me good reason to sleep in a bit!

I did get up at 6 this morning to do an early-morning photo shoot of the Inlet and of southside bay. I stumbled across a novice fisherman wondering what to do with the horseshoe crab he caught, then meandered here and there, capturing more of the natural side of Ocean City before the crowds commandeered the beaches and the piers. Enjoy…

After spending day three in the sun, the humidity, the rain, and then the colder winds blowing off the bay, I know three things:

1. My son can nearly read grafitti in bathroom stalls (because so many words look and sound quite similar to a word he knows well: Truck);
2. My son absolutely hates fast rides in amusement parks, and favors a bluish-purple tint to his cheeks mid-way through such rides; and
3. My days of eating buffet food are over.

Of this third point, I am absolutely certain.

Let me back up just a bit here. Today was Amusement Park day. We decided this would be the best day to hit the parks because the weather forecast wasn’t that great, and we knew most of the weekend traffic wouldn’t hit the parks until tomorrow or later. With that call, we could not have been more accurate. The parks were empty, for the most part, and the kids never had to wait in line for any one ride. This is something they’ve been wanting to do since their first memories of traveling east to the beach, and they were thrilled with all they were able to do today. Two parks–one at the pier and the other at 30th street–was just about all they could handle. It certainly is nice when your kids are telling you they are done at the park!

We then had dinner at the Paul Revere AYCE buffet. The food was fine. Really, it was. But I was not very good in my choices of food, and so I feel rather swamp-moose-ish right now. I don’t see any more buffets on our horizon this trip…

We then took a walk along the boardwalk, where we saw Randy Hofman’s sand sculptures of Christ. More on Randy below.

We ended our day by driving along Coastal Highway and into Delaware to see the Fenwick Island Lighthouse. More on that as well below.

We’re taking it easy tomorrow. I plan on waking at 5:20 to hit the Inlet for sunrise and see what Bellatrix and I can capture…Then it’s back home and then to the beach for the day with the family.

Huh. “Back home.” We’ve come to love and appreciate this wonderful condo so much that it feels like home to us. We wish we could express our gratitude for the gift they have given us this week…. <3

Ok. On with the pictures, annotated slightly for your viewing pleasure. :)

Holland kicked off the day with a ride on the roller coaster–the one her father will never get on because, well, it goes up and down and around really fast.

Braeden, happy. Now this was taken before he went on any rides–after which, he was mostly: Braeden, sad and purple.

When isn’t Madelyn happy when she’s on a horse?

Ok. Things got a little interesting thereafter. In the next three shots, you’ll see the before, during, and after stages of Braeden on a ride that went around and around, a little too fast.

Awww….Look at how happy they are before the little ride begins to spin…

Please note how less than happy (and noticeably bluer) Braeden is, midway thrugh…

In the words of the Bubble Boy from Seinfeld, Braeden’s looking….Not. Too. Good. ;)

Speaking of purplish tones…Madelyn did NOT like the Morbid Manor ride. :(

She did manage to hang on to dear life during a ride on the Hurricane…

And she handled the Tornado in mid-air, mid-spin, as if she were almost bored!!!

Artistry no. 1: Colorful ducks dangling by a string….

Artistry no. 2: Around the Ferris Sun…

Now, to appreciate this fully, you have to understand that Holland believes that she is superior in every way to her sister. We have been telling Holland for months now that she’s just a few short years away from seeking out her learner’s permit to drive. She saw bumper cars as a good way to get some practice, especially when her sister was in the ring. What better target than to ram your helpless little sister at full speed (what? 1 mph?)…and not even get in trouble for it? What she didn’t expect was that her sister would have an agenda of her own (once she realized she had to depress the pedal on the floor to move the darn car…)

Ha! Little sister paybacks are priceless, aren’t they? :)

I leave you with five pictures that I took after the bathroom incident, which I will explain to you now. :)

Near the end of our wonderfully filling buffet at the Paul Revere eatery, my lovely son, as if on cue, told me that he had to go to the bathroom. I sometimes wonder if small children feel the need to pee in every new bathroom they might encounter, for some odd, territorial reason. Well, tonight was no different. And boy did he put on a show for all of the other men who found the need to pee at just about the same time…

Upon entering the stall, Braeden immediately noticed the “three words” that were written on the stall door. “The people who work here probably did that when they were bored, or something,” he said, to which I replied (as I always do): “Go to the bathroom, Braeden. Focus on going to the bathroom.”

The man waiting for his young son to finish up in the next stall smiled casually; he understood perfectly.

And that’s when Braeden began sounding out the words (Here’s where I find fault with such wonderful programs like The Letter Factory).

“Uck. Uck. With an F. Hey! That looks just like Truck! I wonder–”

“Braeden,” I interrupted. Please, I beg you. Just pee already.”

“Why would people want to write about trucks in the bathroom?”

Then he noticed that the second word began with my first name.

I cannot begin to tell you how much I wanted to rip that door from its hinges and read how my name could possibly be associated with That Other Word.

“That’s enough, Braeden. Just stop there so we can hurry up and get back to Mom and the girls…”

He agreed, and when I flung the door open to his bath stall when he had finished, , I found a lifesize graffiti of text and words, telling me–SHOWING me–what the carver would like to do with an undisclosed number of Russian women.

Niiiiice.

Ok. The final five. The first four are of the day’s sand castles created by Randy Hofman, who has been building such castles since 1981 on the boardwalk and 2nd street. Amazing artist. You can find out more about his mission and his artwork here. I have to tell you, that when I was shooting the FORGIVE photo, I got chills. I’ll have to explore that more later with you in another post.

The fifth and final picture is of the Fenwick Lighthouse. My sister and her husband are beginning an east-coast tour of all of the lighthouses on the atlantic shores, and we visited this lighthouse while thinking/missing them greatly.

Enjoy this blessed day. May it bring you the strength it brings me with each new rise of the early morning sun…

What a truly blessed day. We have just arrived home from spending the day and evening at the beach, where everybody had a wonderful time.

That is, once we finally secured breakfast.

You see, I learned a very important lesson today: either update your GPS software when they tell you to, or simply open your eyes and look for the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts when searching for breakfast.

I thought I was playing it smart. Get in the Jeep, key in DD in the ol’ GPS, and slay our coffee and donuts with minimal effort. Unfortunately, The nearest DD was 106 blocks up Coastal Highway….a ridiculous drive for caffeine and sugar. Holland and I considered hitting the DD on the boardwalk, but we weren’t sure where we saw it last night, and we didn’t want to waste any time looking for it (for some reason (wink wink), it didn’t show up on the GPS).

So off we went to almost Delaware to get our coffee. It was really crowded once we arrived, and a little too claustrophobic for my taste. However, we got the joe and donuts and headed back home.

We passed the *first* DD at 81st street. That was pretty bad. Holland had a good time for about 66 blocks teasing me about the fact that we missed a DD closer to us….

And then, when we reached that 66th block south of 81st, we had to stop at the red light at 15th, just one block away from the condo. Holland looked past me and out my window and began to laugh.

There, just one block from where we were staying, was a Dunkin’ Donuts.

Needless to say, I’m walking to get the donuts tomorrow…. :)

Anyway…Here are some pictures from our day on the beach. Very muggy, thick air, so the pictures are not as clear as I would have wanted them to be. Still, Bella did a great job in the sun and the sand…

Holland, catchin’ a wave (and sittin’ on top of the world…)

Braeden, building castles in the sand…

Madelyn. Being Madelyn. OMG, honey…you are SEVEN. Ok? Seven years old.

Braeden “I’m David Hasselhoff” VW. :)

While the girls were swimming, we weren’t sure who was looking for lunch just a few hundred feet away…

Now, I’m no Finologist, but those fins could only be on two types of fish: dolphins and sharks. We took our chances… :)

I’m happy to report, we have no need to write the sequel to Soul Surfer…

Gull picture no. 1

Gull picture no. 2. At this point, I felt like I was in Nemo…. “Mine! Mine! Mine!”

Gull picture no. 3. Here’s where he started getting a little angry. Apparently, we didn’t spill enough Thrasher’s Fries for him, not to mention all of his happy-go-lucky friends… :)

Gull picture no. 4. At this point, we began fearing for our lives. Thank goodness his friend, Franklin the Laughing Gull, lightened the mood in the last gull picture, below.

I leave you with a photo that Amy took of Holland, just before sunset, after a meal and a walk on the boardwalk.

It’s amazing what a 3-hour drive will do to calm your tensions and anxieties. When we left Baltimore around 3 p.m., each of us was a little stressed about getting ready for the trip, packing, and taking care of last-minute needs around the house. As we headed toward Ocean City, MD, however, we could feel those tensions falling away with each passing town. By the time we reached the Rte. 50 bridge over the Isle of Wight bay that serves as the gateway to Ocean City, all of us had long-forgotten those worries that plagued us 160 miles to the northwest.

We are here in OC thanks to a most gracious gift from a family back home. I have had the honor to teach their children for the last 7 years, and they offered their condo to us in appreciation for the work we’ve done over the years.  To say we are grateful is quite an understatement; they have given a great gift to our own children, and we thank them.

After we unpacked our bags, I immediately set up the laptop to tap into my beloved world and friends across the globe. What shocked me most, though, was that I learned on Facebook that a wonderful friend, whom I have not seen in 10 years, was down here as well. Thanks to iPhones, Blackberries, and Facebook, we had reunited within the hour on the boardwalk at 8th street.

Andi and I have known each other since our awkward days in elementary school. She is absolutely one of the most wonderful individuals on this blessed earth, and I am so happy that we were able to see each other, even if it was for a few minutes.

As we walked along the boardwalk, Amy took wonderful pictures along the way with her brand new Blackberry Tour. Here are just a few pictures that captured “opening night” of our vacation in OC…