One Gulp, Gone . . .

This week, we're taking a detour from the usual beaten paths to explore a little hidden gem right here in Oceanside, California. Guajome Regional Park is more than a quiet place to stretch your legs. It's also home to some pretty interesting history.

Four weeks ago, we stood at Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, channeling Henry David Thoreau. Before leaving, I bought his slim, pocket-sized essay, Walking—slim because nineteenth-century transcendentalists weren’t distracted by notifications. Thoreau’s advice is simple: step away from modern life and let the landscape reset your perspective.

This special birthday episode is dedicated to my dear friend, Doan Vo (Dr. Vo).

At seventy, I'm learning a skill (cooking) most people master before they can drive. Before you judge me, understand our household ecosystem. Lori is a phenomenal cook. For decades, she’s made meals so effortless and delicious that restaurants seem unsatisfying. Enjoy!

Old shoes, friendships, and books improve with wear. New books have crisp corners and unbent spines, while old ones have traveled through time, touched by people who may no longer be around to share their discoveries. Discover the lessons from The Velventeen Rabbit.

While visiting L.L.Bean's flagship store in Freeport, Maine, I had a conversation with a couple in the Hunting Department that made me roll my eyes and laugh.

Vista’s mornings start with a thick, gray marine layer from the coast, giving everything a damp, muffled feel. Around 4:30 a.m., driveways are packed with commuters either sleeping or stumbling to showers, clinging to their last moments of peace before work. I’m more laid-back.

Last Saturday, as I entered the modern County of San Diego branch on Eucalyptus Avenue in Vista, I instinctively scanned the floor for the familiar sight of varnished oak cabinets and brass pull-handles. Instead, I found no card catalog, wooden drawers, or rows of index cards. What happened?

As we age, many imagine a machine that handles the tough stuff. Some celebrate retirement with a flashy red Corvette, while others choose a Harley-Davidson, thinking retirement is just a fancy word until you have enough chrome to be seen from outer space.

Just checking in from the trail, folks, where I have apparently missed the dress code, the social norms, and possibly the entire point of this neighborhood park. I arrived this morning, armed with my trusty hiking poles, ready to commune with nature and improve my fitness. Within thirty seconds, I realized I was the only person who hadn't seen the instructions posted at our community mailbox.