America’s bird.

It’s hard to believe the symbol of America was almost a turkey. Sure they are fine birds, but with their skin hanging down, and their inability to fly over the land, they really don’t bring too much to the American spirit. Yes to the dinner table and leftover sandwiches, but that’s really about it.

Up until recently I had not really seen a Bald Eagle in any environment. I know they are found near rivers to the north of us, and my father-in-law has told me they migrate near his home in Idaho, but since I don’t live near either location, they didn’t hang out in our front yard with the Robins, occasional Cardinals, and other random birds. I wish they did.

There must be something very appealing about being the symbol of our country; whether it’s the Bald Eagle, apple pie, or even Chevrolet---being synonymous with such an important country as the U.S. must put you on a power trip. Sure we have French fries, Italian bread, English muffins, but they don’t even come close.

I was in Philadelphia this past week and I saw symbols of America all over the place; whether it was the buildings in downtown Philadelphia, the images of the Liberty Bell (I didn’t see the real one) or reminders of the role this city played before Washington D.C. took it over, was quite impressive. It was when I crossed the border into Delaware and was reminded I was entering the oldest and first state of the Union, that I realized I was far from home. History lives in this region---it was fun to be a part of it.

I am very proud to be an American. Yes we have our faults and views on a lot of things---but as I drove around I was very happy to be on American soil and not another country’s.

There is something to being free that we really do take for granted---stepping back in time, and knowing that Valley Forge was only a few exits away, made me feel like I had missed a lot in my life.

The photo above was taken recently at a local zoo. Having never seen a Bald Eagle, I had to ask where they were housed---when I saw them, I felt a rush. It was discomforting to see them in a cage, but it was wonderful to be only a few feet away from a powerful symbol of our country. Funny, every Thanksgiving I am much closer to what could have been the replacement---glad I am not having an Eagle for lunch.

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The Wonder Years.

"Once upon a time there was a girl I knew, who lived across the street. Brown hair, brown eyes. When she smiled, I smiled. When she cried, I cried. Every single thing that ever happened to me that mattered, in some way had to do with her. That day Winnie and I promised each other that no matter what, that we'd always be together. It was a promise full of passion and truth and wisdom. It was the kind of promise that can only come from the hearts of the very young." -The Wonder Years.

When I was growing up, I was like any other boy. I was certain about many things and uncertain about many more. Unfortunately I later found out, what I was so sure I knew, I really didn’t. For me, these are the times I treasured because these were unexplored and so innocent---simply put, these were my, “Wonder Years.”

The neighborhood where I grew up was as suburban as suburban can get; a bedroom community where Dad’s went to the office, and most Mom’s stayed home.

A lot changed when I was in my early teens. My Mom went to work, there was a war separating our country, and we found out there were lands far away that could effect the lives that sheltered us. I will never forget the day I had to pay a $1.00 for a gallon of gas---it had been discussed for years, and finally the day had arrived---suddenly when we kicked in for gas, the dollar that would buy 3 gallons, now barely made a dent.

On our street we didn’t have a Winnie Cooper (the love of Kevin in the Wonder Years)---we had families with older boys, older girls, but no one I really connected with. Honestly, with the way I looked, there was little chance it would have happened, but like Kevin I could dream. And dream I did. I will never forget, there was a girl who lived in the house across the street from where I lived. There were many families that lived in the house and for the first time, there was a girl who was almost my age---she was older by a year of what I recall. If I only knew then what I know now---I would marry a woman with her same name.

The photo above is what growing up in Chesterfield, Mo was all about. Removed from the realities of life and sheltered from war--- we would see the rest of the world from a black and white TV and place our trust in Walter Cronkite; for me, and for many boys and men my age, these were our Wonder Years.

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Sometimes I feel like, somebody’s watching me.

No I am not feeling paranoid, that’s the name of a song that’s in my head right now. Well, maybe I am paranoid about that? No, just kidding. It was on the car radio last night, and as I have experienced (as we all have) it just kind of sticks with you until finally it goes away. I am very hopeful it will be removed from my head quite soon!

Last night I was watching a news program that used undercover cameras to see how people would react to situations. One of the segments was about flirtatious waiters and waitresses (they were actors) and either the man or woman at the table was in on what was happening. It was the third person that had no idea, and it was all designed to see how they would respond. That was interesting, however the best segment was about people parking in handicapped spaces; when a handicapped person wanted to park, and refused to give up their space that’s when it became interesting. Again, all actors, but the pedestrians were real.

I am very happy to report, people were really pissed when this happened. Of course there were some who walked by, but there were many who got in the face of these two young girls and read them the riot act. That’s the way it should be. As I always say to my kids, “you are only two feet away from the store, movie theater or restaurant---your right and left one.” My kids hate when I say it, but it’s true.

But there are times when you feel you are being watched and to say it is uncomfortable is quite an understatement. When I take photos for example at a professional sporting event, zoo, or wherever, I know people are looking at the camera and wondering, “what do the pictures look like?” How do I know? They will often approach and ask---or I can see them looking at me take photos. I will always break the ice and say, “Would you like to see the photos?” They are always caught off guard and they always, I mean always, want to look. The funny part is when they hold the camera---they put more care into than they would a child.

When I go to sporting events, like any photographer you hope for THE shot. The one that you would not normally find at an average game; when I was at Turner Stadium in Atlanta a few weeks ago, it was a pretty average game. No bean balls, no bench clearing brawls, no one ran on the field---so I looked around to see if I could find something interesting. I did take pictures of the guys who run around in the ridiculous sponsor outfits---Home Depot is the sponsor so I saw hammers, saws, and a giant Homer (their mascot)---and of course the cheerleaders who throw shirts in the stands. Not theirs, these are t-shirts that must have tremendous value. Or at least with the way people dive for them, you would think they do.

The photo above is part of the on-goings at the stadium. With every Atlanta Braves batter, they put their photo---electronically---on the back wall. The new baseball technology at work. What I liked about this photo was how the image was half a head, and the Brewers player was completely oblivious to what was taking place behind him. If only he knew---there was someone watching and hoping to hit the ball past him.

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Just a little off the top.

In the not too distant future, my youngest daughter will be getting her hair cut. Not something that would normally generate much attention, but this will be her second haircut. Ever. She will be turning 6 in October and I think the last time she had a haircut was more than a year ago. Funny thing, it still looks really good. She has really cool hair, kind of wavy with a lot of texture---in other words, she has killer hair.

One thing she does, and I have no idea how she handles this, but when she is not paying attention, her hair will fall into her face. That would really bother me, but with her personality and carefree way, you would have no idea if she notices it or not.

Have her turn around and you will see her hair is ¾ of the way down her back. Get it wet and let it straighten out and it’s much longer. As one who would no longer be able to grow his hair that long---unless it was a major comb over in several different directions---looking at all that hair kind of amazes me.

Many years ago, when I was in my teens, I had my haircut and to say it was a bad cut would be an understatement; it was horrible and I suffered with that darn haircut for six months. That would be six long months. Once it grew back I was very careful to never let that happen again. Now as I look at my hair, I realize that awful cut left me with longer hair than I have today.

So what will we do with all of her hair? I have to believe at least 9 inches will be removed once the scissors begin their journey. If that amount is removed, and knowing there are many young girls who would love to have their hair back, we will likely donate it to “Locks of Love.” Knowing Sophie, our youngest, she will be very proud to hand it over. I will be proud of her!

The photo above was taken recently near Milwaukee, WI---if I could read this horse’s mind, which I am not able to, I believe he would be saying, “please let me get a hair cut…these bangs are really bothering me.” I agree with him---it would really bug me. But then again, I don’t have that problem---my bangs are long gone.

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BFF’s.

Unlike what Paris Hilton has tried to accomplish through a reality show, there is a real difference when you have a true “BFF.” For those of you who have absolutely no idea what I am referring to, a “BFF” is “Best Friend Forever.” Although very difficult to find, when you do, it can be for life.

Recently my brother met up with a friend of mine from long ago. We would have to go back to junior high school, but Randy was my best friend. We had similar interests, lived near one another, and hung out during the summers and after school for several years of what I recall. He was a good guy and I am sure he still is. In 9^th grade, we had a falling out. For me it was traumatic, but like everything, you move on and make new friends.

After my brother brought his name up for the second time, I thought, “I’ll look him up on ‘LinkedIn.’” Sure enough, there he was. He had seen a lot of the country having worked in the corporate world, and now has more of a “normal” life not far from where I grew up---at least I assume, as my brother saw him at a local health club.

This past weekend we were trading e-mails; he was at his son’s swim meet and I was shooting pictures at a professional cycling race. After more than 30 years, I learned about his life. Both of his parents are deceased, he has kids---one is a top-tier swimmer---and one, at least of what I could derive, is in Journalism school at the University of Missouri. The same program I was enrolled in a very long time ago. So much time had passed, but it was good to catch up even if it was through e-mails. As you might guess, we didn’t have this form of communication when we were growing up.

Back then we would actually go to the store, ride bikes and talk; Twitter, Facebook texting and other forms of social media were decades away.

Move forward more than 30 years and I look at my kids and their BFF’s. My son still is involved in fantasy football with his friends and comes home every year to pick his players---my daughters all have friends who they have known for a long time. Long depending on how old they are of course. Our youngest, for example, is 5 and 10/12’s (she just thinks she is 5 ½ and has a friend she has known for 4+ years. (That would be comparable to nearly 80% of her life---I can’t claim that I have had a friend for that high of a percentage.)

The photo above is of my youngest daughter and her BFF. Yes they do F-I-G-H-T, but like all friends they will hug and watch out for one another when they play or are with other kids. Will they be friends when they turn 50? Or even 15? Who knows. For them, today is forever and that’s okay by me.

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A long way from my Schwinn Continental.

Before we learned to drive, and after we crawled and walked, our way of travelling from point A to point B, is usually by bike. Often times seen as kid’s vehicles, the bikes of old are nothing like the bikes today.

I had several bikes growing up of what I remember; I had a tricycle, I think it was red, and several two-wheelers---the ones I remember were a blue bike with a “blue banana” seat on it. It sparkled and it was very cool. Then I graduated to a brown Schwinn 10-speed Continental. I remember it was brown because it is still stored in the house I grew up in. It has flat tires, cobwebs, and peeling tape on the handlebars---but it is the same bike I rode before I could drive. I loved that bike, however I really never understood the gears and how to make the most of how to take advantage of them.

Kids today don’t seem to depend on their bikes the way I did when I was growing up. Our kids ride their bikes, but when I was young, those were my wheels; today they share these wheels with their parent’s wheels (cars)---but these were the "wheels" I depended on and what took me into other neighborhoods around where I lived. One of our daughters rides her bike, however it is broken more than it works---she leaves it outside, kids have taken it to ride, and has been blessed with its normal amount of abuse. It’s a good bike---we are not going to get rid of it, but like her cell phone, she needs to understand that you take care of what takes care of you.

This past weekend, I shot pictures at the Alexian Brothers International Cycling Classic. Unbeknownst to me, this was a big time race that took place over 2.5 days in a nearby suburb. Because the crowds were not large, it allowed me access to wherever I wanted to go; it was obvious fans were very pleased to have this race in the area. I was, and I am not even a fan. For more than 5 hours I took pictures and learned a lot about cycling. For example, I had no idea you needed a license to ride, or how you earned points to be come a professional, and sadly how low the purses are when you win.

When I think about baseball, basketball and other athletes making tens, if not hundreds of thousands a game, the winner of the race received a paltry $9,000. In this world that is considered a lot of money. These athletes are in remarkable shape---they raced for 3.5 hours at full pace, and you could tell, they love this sport. In the end the love is what makes it so appealing.

The photo above was taken at the start of the last race; it’s when the professional riders take to the course---96 miles of adrenaline, guts and determination. When you are taking photos of these athletes, you not only know they are coming by you at a quick pace, you feel it. If you have a chance to attend a race, go for it---you will see the world has come a long way from the bikes with the Huffy, Schwinn, and Sears label on it.

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Weather or not.

I love clouds. I think we all have probably played the cloud game in our lives; I have seen clouds that look like dinosaurs, Mickey Mouse, and even Snoopy. What I like most about the game is it uses your imagination---when I was a kid I wanted to take pictures of what I saw. I never did.

I would have to go back to my grade school days, but we learned about all the different types of clouds---I learned about Cumulus, Cirrus, and Stratus. I had no idea, of what I recall, that there were different types of clouds. They didn’t have a cartoon, person, or animal associated with it, so that's probably why I had a difficult time once the test hit the desk.

One thing I do know about clouds is they often times contain rain water. Probably one of the most interesting visuals is to see clouds off in the distance with long “string like" lines heading downward. This would be what is know as rain of course and you can see it when you when you are traveling on highways or from points that are very far away. I love this visual.

It’s when you fly through clouds that you realize their power; when it’s one of the gigantic “Cumulonimbuses” clouds, you know a one that's 10 miles from end-to-end, it has got to be different than the fluffy cotton balls we think they look like.

The photo above was take in Lake Tahoe; like an enormous cloud rising from behind a wall, this cloud bank turned out the be harmless. I do believe if it had packed its bags and moved to Chicago, it would have wreaked havoc in our area. For some reason clouds behave differently when they come to our neck of the woods—as far as I am concerned, they are more than welcome to be on vacation somewhere else as we now have more water than we know what to do with.

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