Scenes From My Life

          It was a photo opportunity that could not be missed. Why else would I be doing this? Typically, I was a very cautious person. But, there I was, with a friend, standing in a short line waiting to have our photo taken in this precarious-looking spot. I looked around me. The view was simply stunning. I could see why this was a popular photo spot.           I was nearing the front of the line. When the people ahead of me reached the front of the line, they gave me their camera, took a few steps forward and posed. I took their picture and returned their camera to them as they passed me by. Then, it was my turn. My friend and I passed our cameras to the people behind us and took our places a few steps ahead. Separately but quickly, our photos were taken and it was the next person’s turn. Before I left, though, I could not resist taking a look at where I had been standing. I...

The neighborhood was full of people enjoying the summer evening. People standing in their front lawns, casually talking with their neighbors. Fathers guiding their children as they unsteadily steered their bicycles along the sidewalk. Mothers pushing strollers while the children riding inside stared out in wonder, attempting to take in the activity around them. Families exiting the neighborhood ice cream shop, cool, frozen desserts in hand. A steady stream of cars passing along the neighborhood’s narrow, curving streets. At the neighborhood’s center was a large manmade lake, rimmed with tall, green trees. A curving concrete path wound through the surrounding meadow. Couples jogged along the trail, careful to avoid anyone who crossed the path. A wading pool which at any other time would have been a noisy, chaotic scene, was nearly silent, save for the occasional splash of water. Even the lake itself was still, with nothing to disrupt the calm, slow mot...

The southern accent. It is one of the most recognizable of the various American “dialects.” Like many of these speech styles, there are various types of southern accents. Having spent my formative years in the south, I had grown quite accustomed to hearing the southern accent in its many forms. But, I did not feel that I spoke with any discernible inflection. Over the years, though, an accent would occasionally become noticeable, especially when traveling outside of the south. Something I said or, rather, the way I said it, would cause others to react. Even the most harmless of comments would elicit curious looks from those around me. It was as if they could tell something about my speech was different, but could not pinpoint exactly what it was. Though it did not happen often, my style of speech seemed to prove confusing. In 2001, I traveled to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, to visit a friend. The airport most convenient to Hilton Head was locate...

It was quiet. The nearly empty streets of the National Park were illuminated only by the headlights on the occasional passing car. The trees lining the driveway blocked any clear views of the Grand Canyon only yards away. Slowly winding our car along the darkened streets, my friend and I came to a sign directing visitors to a viewing area. We had spent the entire day exploring the South Rim of the Canyon from numerous vantage points, each more impressive than the last. Yet, we had chosen to explore the Park further, seeking out additional views. Vague as it was, this sign piqued our curiosity and we turned off of the main street and onto a gravel-covered parking lot. The view changed immediately. Gone were the towering evergreen trees. In their place was a clear, unobstructed view . . . of nothing. The gravel lot extended a few yards beyond the parking area before it blended with the rocky ledge of the Canyon. Above it, the nighttime sky was imposing ...

I did not know how fast I was walking and I did not care. All I knew was that I had a connection to make . . . and I was not going to miss it. I arrived at the gate just in time to see the boarding door closing. What was I going to do? This was the last flight of the day. It had been a long day and I really wanted to get back home. Now I was not sure I would. My day had begun around 8a.m. when I arrived at the Phoenix airport for my 10a.m. flight to Atlanta. Because of a great fare, I had purchased a ticket that included a connection in Detroit. It had been very much out of my way, but the fare was better than anything else I could find. My return flight had a two hour layover in Detroit, plenty of time (I thought) to make my connection. I did not anticipate a three hour delay in the Phoenix airport because of a malfunctioning airplane. By the time everyone was on the plane, it was after 1p.m. When the plane landed, I briskly walked dow...

I recently returned from a long weekend trip. I traveled to a favorite city, one that I know well. I had planned to spend my time seeing good friends and visiting places I have seen many times. Yet, in the days leading up to the departure, I was still apprehensive. My concern had nothing to do with the trip itself, though. Instead, it was because of my track record when it came to visiting this particular city. Prior to this trip, I have flown into this city four times. All four times, I have taken a direct flight on the same airline. Three of the four times, I have flown into the same airport. Three of those four times, my luggage has not arrived with me. I could not help but wonder if this trip, flying in to the same airport, on the same airline, would have the same result. Or, would I be able to leave the airport without a visit to the airline’s baggage services office? My flight arrived at the airport just ahead of schedule. I made my way to the...

“Come on. Let’s go,” my brother said, leading me by the arm, out of the cavernous train station. “We don’t have time,” I argued, as he continued to lead me towards downtown Portland. “Yeah, we do,” he retorted. “And, besides, it’s close to the station.” My brother had been telling me about this doughnut shop in Portland, Oregon, for a long time. He had repeatedly promised to take me there on my next visit. My visit came and nearly went without a stop at this shop. I was supposed to catch a train to Seattle that afternoon. After I checked my luggage at the station, I had about forty five minutes before my train left. Enough time, my brother decided, to get a doughnut. I was not so sure. I was scared that I was going to miss my train. My attempts to suggest that it was not a good idea to leave the station proved futile and we were on our way to the doughnut shop. In addition to traditional doughnut flavors, this...