DeKalb, Illinois Interpretive Site

September 17, 2013

DeKalb, Illinois Interpretive Site

On the corner of 11th Street & The Lincoln Highway

And one more…

September 12, 2013

And one more...

Franklin Grove, Illinois

Yet another totally random Lincoln Highway pic

September 9, 2013

Yet another totally random Lincoln Highway pic

Sign at the King Towers Restaurant in Tama, Iowa.

Random Lincoln Highway Photo

September 8, 2013

Random Lincoln Highway Photo

Dixon Arch in Dixon, Illinois

Life is good

September 5, 2013

I have a new day job starting tomorrow and I can’t wait.

Clouds in a San Francisco sky

September 4, 2013

Clouds in a San Francisco sky

California Palace of the Legion of Honor. One of my favorite pics.  :)

Do You Know What Time It Is?

September 3, 2013

Do You Know What Time It Is?

Different Directions

September 3, 2013

So my poor travel book seems to be going off in all sorts of unexpected directions.  One moment I’ll be writing about a visit I made to The National Watch and Clock Museum, the next moment I’m discussing the ancient Greeks and the difference between chronos and kairos.


The Why

September 2, 2013

So in writing this travel book I’ve had people tell me that I should explain why I wanted to take this trip. I’ve been somewhat resistant to doing so. For a long time I didn’t think the why of it all really mattered but lately I’ve found myself on the proverbial fence.

I still haven’t decided. But for what it’s worth, I’ve posted one of my stabs at explaining the why of it all below.

The Kindling

September 2, 2013

Some years ago, I was driving along the New Jersey Turnpike  when the feeling came upon me that it would be nice to get off the highway and drive the two lane roads instead.

“Why would you want to do that?” The woman who sat beside me that I was seeing at the time asked.

We’d been to a Christmas party the night before in a town about twenty minutes east of Philadelphia and we were on our way home along the New Jersey Turnpike to New York when I said these thoughts aloud. I explained that I’d never been to this particular part of New Jersey before. That Southern New Jersey was so different than its Northern counterpart and that it would be nice to get away from the sameness of The New Jersey Turnpike: to drive the two lane roads and actually see something for a change. As I told her these things I realized that I might as well be speaking Swahili for all she understood. Finally, I gave up and lapsed into a mournful silence. I was chastened and overcome with the most bewildering futility; with the certainty that this was one of those things in life about which neither one word, nor a hundred, nor even a hundred thousand would make a bit of difference.  When it comes to such things words are useless, blunt things. They can neither slice nor penetrate.  So I said nothing and we drove on between concrete barriers. Looking back, at that moment when I spoke those words aloud, I realize that a spark was struck, a fire kindled—even if I was the only one who could feel the heat.


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