Scenes From My Life

“We will be back in an hour . . .90 minutes at the most.” This was the promise my friend and I made to my cousin as we left her in the hotel’s coffee shop.  It was the second week of the 1996 Olympics, and this downtown Atlanta hotel was bustling with activity.  The coffee shop, hidden on one of the hotel’s lower floors, was surprisingly quiet. We were starting a day of activities with a visit to the reception rooms for the cities vying for the 2004 Olympics. It was a day that my cousin did not want to miss.  To get into these rooms, Olympic staff credentials were required.  Both my friend and I had credentials.  My cousin did not.  She agreed to wait while we made – what we thought would be – quick visits to the rooms.  We walked out of the coffee shop, leaving my cousin sitting at a table by the window. As it turned out, the visits took longer than any of us had expected.  As we left the last room, we glanced at our watches and realized jus...

The flag-bearers marched into Atlanta’s brand new Olympic Stadium.  Parading in a continuous line around the Stadium’s track, each person carried the flag of a different country and a small sign identifying that country.  There was one for each of the 197 nations participating in the 1996 Summer Olympic Games.  In the stands, watching this colorful display, were the thousands of volunteers who were helping to host the Games.  To thank these volunteers, Olympic organizers had invited them to the dress rehearsal of the Opening Ceremonies. As each new flag became visible, the crowd cheered for the flag-bearers as if they were medal-winning athletes. One by one, they began their walk around the track.  Finland marched in ahead of France, which led the way for Gabon.  Shortly after the flag of Gambia was carried into the stadium, the crowd's enthusiasm reached its highest level yet.  Stepping onto the track was the flag of Georgia....

“Well,” my grandmother asked,  “are you excited?” I had no idea what she meant by this statement.  Nothing particularly exciting had happened in my life recently.  It was just the usual routine of a high school sophomore.  I could not think of any other answer but, “About what,” I asked, hoping for some small clue about what she meant. “About Disney!  We’re going to Disney,” my grandmother responded, with notable excitement in her voice. To say that my grandparents loved Disney World is an understatement.  Over the years, they had made several trips to the Florida theme parks.  At the time of our conversation, they probably had been at least a half dozen times.  I just figured this was my grandmother’s roundabout way of announcing their next trip. “Oh…fun…” I said, still a bit confused. “Well, aren’t you excited about it?”  Her voice was a mix of anticipation and slight impatience. This cryptic back and forth...

       Life is short, but there is always time enough for courtesy.                                                   ~   Ralph Waldo Emerson Emerson wrote these words in the nineteenth century, more than 130 years ago.  It was well before the time of e-mail and texts and instant messages.  At that time, even the telephone was still something of a curiosity.  Yet, when I came across this quote recently, I was struck by how it is as relevant today as it was during Emerson’s lifetime. Thanks to technology, people all over the world can communicate with one another.  All it takes is a few seconds.  Technology has totally revolutionized the way business is done and the way our lives are lived....

Ten years.  The thought crossed my mind earlier today.  It has almost been ten years since I was last there.  When the thought occurred to me, I had to stop and double check my own math.  It does not seem like it has been that long.  After all, that place is still as clear in my mind as if it had only been ten days .  But, sure enough, it has been that long. I remember the last time I was there.  On the day I left, there was the chance that I might not be back.  Circumstances were changing… making that a real possibility.  Still, I do not think I really seriously considered it.  As far as I was concerned, I would probably be back.  There was no need to mark that moment or take “one last look.”  I simply walked out the door and went on my way. Maybe that is why I remember it as I do.  There is no sense of leaving or finality to my memories.  There is just … the place.

For more than two decades, I have had the same view.  When I was in elementary school, my parents bought a house.  From my bedroom window, I could see the end of the street.  Just beyond that, I could see train tracks … where freight trains passed, chugging down the tracks at all hours of the day and night.  No matter how loud the whistles were, they rarely bothered me.  The sound of train whistles became as common as car horns on neighboring streets. When I moved to an intown apartment, my bedroom had a large window.  From that window, I could see the end of the street.  Again, just beyond that, I could see train tracks, where other freight trains passed at all hours. I have just moved to another apartment.  This apartment also has a large window that looks out … onto a courtyard.  There are no train tracks.  No whistles can be heard.  For the first time in almost thirty years, I will not live near train trac...

When people ask me what I do in my spare time, one of my answers is almost always “reading.”  Now, I know that does not sound like the most exciting answer.  It may not seem thrilling or especially active.  To me, though, reading is just as exciting as almost any other hobby.  For me, reading is a source of memories, a reminder of a part of my life. I vividly recall, on sunny days, sitting on a blanket in my front yard, a book in my hands.  The sun at my back, I practically inhaled the stories.  On summer road trips, I whiled away the trip by reading.  It was not unusual for me to finish a book over the course of a trip. When I had read all of the books I had, we would go to the library to find new options.  Some of my most constant childhood memories involve trips to the library.  During the summer, especially, my mother would take my brothers and me to the library.  We would walk through the doors and split up, m...