Thinking about Blossoms

In Japan (above), when the cherry blossoms come out, everybody else comes out too. To celebrate.

In America (below), or at least the small part of American where I live, blossoms come out at almost the same time, but get nothing near the reaction.

I won't comment on why this might be, in fear of offending one culture or both.

I will recommend that if anyone is ever anywhere near something that's blossoming, they stop to celebrate.

Making an impact ... temporarily

They were up at 6 a.m., in the cold and the rain, getting sand in shoes and on pants and up shirts and everywhere in between.

They dug, they poured, they stomped, they carved, they blew through straws, they patted, they sprayed.

It was team work in adverse conditions.

Nobody got paid. Nobody won anything of value.

And when it was all said and done, six hours of work went out with the tide.

That's building sand castles for you.

You don't do it for money. You don't do it to make a permanent mark on the world. You don't do it because there's nothing better to do at 6 a.m.

You do it for love. And for fun. And to say you did it. And because things don't have to be permanent to be beautiful.

Like a sunset.

Like a rainbow.

Like a kiss.

Like a finished load of laundry.

Like a freshly ironed shirt.

Like a newly finished book.

Like a well-spent day.

Like life.

Things you learn when you travel:

Not everyone speaks English. Especially in Japan.

Not everyone wears walking shoes when walking. Especially in France.

Different cultures create different art.

And have different driving styles.

And different temperaments.

In Japan, if you say, "Hmmm, it looks like rain," someone will give you an umbrella.

In Hawaii, if you do something stupid in traffic, someone will flip you the "hang loose" sign.

In Italy, if you go to dinner at 7 p.m., you will be at the restaurant when they turn the lights on.

In France, if you eat a croissant while you're walking along a river bank and stopping to take pictures now and then, someone will shake their head at you and say, with a touch of cynicism, "Bon appetite" (because in France, you're not supposed to eat while walking, you're supposed to sit down somewhere and enjoy a rich, delicious, slow, sociable meal).

In Mexico, if you walk along a beach, someone will try to sell you something. Probably a timeshare.

In Europe, when you talk about something being new, you're talking about something from the 1700s.

In New Zealand, if you do something worth congratulations, somebody will say, "Good-on-ya."

I count it a great gift to be able to travel.

And a great education.

N'est ce pas?

Remembering summertime

School's out this week and all of the sudden there are kids in the roads, kids in the stores, kids on the playgrounds and mothers in full tilt.

It's been two years now since the end of school meant a whole new routine around my house too. When all of the sudden somebody or somebodies were home all day every day.

I loved summer. It was my chance to show my kids the world. As I wrote in my first book, "they can read about it" in books during the school year, but "in the summertime, I get to let them see it, feel it, taste it and touch it."

We went to parks most every day. On hot days, parks with creeks or ponds or rivers or wading pools. We'd meet Dad for lunch some days, we'd get memberships at the Children's Museum some years or at the zoo others. We'd head to the Coast if we needed a change in weather or to spend a day or several days with friends, no entertainment but a shovel and the water and sand already there.

Stay-at-home days were filled with adventures at the creek or at the common lot. Rainy ones were spent jumping on pillows from the couch, listening to music from M.C. Hammer to Pyotre Ilyich Tzaikovsky.

There was always a trip to Utah for family gatherings, and a chance to explore a national park or camp along the Coast. There were hikes in places cold and wet in the Pacific Northwest, and hot and dry in southern Utah.

It was adventure. It was discovery. It was summertime.

I loved it.

A favorite

One week and 1,200 pictures later it's hard to pick a favorite, but this one gets my vote this time.

There is something incredible about a sunset. No two are alike. Just as no days leading up to them are the same as the ones before.

Lots of sunsets this trip. Lots of quiet evenings in beautiful places. Lots of different ways to frame, different clouds in the sky, different angles to explore.

I love it when I can watch a sunset. I love it when I can capture it in a photograph and see it again and again.

I love it when a full day adds a new memory and ends in peace.