Just some notes...

A lot of things have passed through the old head lately. Time to listen to the soundtrack to "The Pacific" and process some of it.

I guess every man reaches a point in life where he has to sit down and really contemplate what is important to him and what he really wants out of life. Maybe that is what's happening. In that process, a lot of memories are coming to mind. Some of it is just old fashioned nostalgia and some of it is honest reflection.

I'll start with a candid confession from this old Georgia boy. I'm actually a dual citizen - a naturalized Georgian. I was born into the warm springtime of the Sunshine State in the very shadow of figures known to turn the stomachs of Georgians everywhere. And yes, I'm still a Southerner - I hail from the part of the state that is pronounced "Flar-da", far from the invasive snowbird population.

I used to think of it as "you can't help where mama was sitting when you were born" but the progression of time and the fond memories made with family that still inhabits the area as well as many vacations "back home" have changed my attitude. While I am now firmly planted in the land of the Cherokees, that old Seminole wind still blows through my hair from time to time.

I don't usually eat my grits for breakfast - civilized people know they are meant to be eaten with fried fish - hopefully in the company of 50 or so of your closest relatives. I learned to catch said fish on a majestic plot of water by the name of Orange Lake - planted there by the hand of God and not by some TVA dam. I know a cow bird when I see one. I was an adult before I realized that they actually raise Thoroughbreds in Kentucky. I know that watermelon rinds should be disposed of by tossing them across the fence into the cow pasture. Dirt roads are more durable when made with limestone. Throw in the ubiquitous Spanish moss and white sand and I was blessed to enjoy a Florida that most Disney visitors will never see.

Meanwhile, back upon the red clay...

I can remember the neighborhood boys building huts in the woods and searching for various monsters, warding off some persistent Russians and even a stray Nazi or two. I remember 60,000 screaming fans showing up at one of our backyards to watch us play f0r football championships. There were huge family gatherings for the holidays that weren't spent in Florida - the Christmases when we actually had to wear shirts and long pants.

Rich memories. Happy times. Simple joys.

But people grow and family dynamics change. A farm is sold. An old home is torn down. A beloved school is replaced by a department store. Neighbors move away. Places transform and even seem to disappear at times. Familiar settings can become as foreign as Michigan.....or even France.

But the old things give way to new. This is not always a bad thing. It means that there are new places, new people, new traditions, new memories. My sons are in the process of constructing their own nostalgia and learning the stories they will tell their kids. It is my job to make sure they have good bricks with which to build.

This brings my thoughts back around to the idea of what I want out of life - the adventures, experiences, people and places that will give my sons those bricks that will form the foundation of the nostalgia for my grandchildren. And while neither my children nor grandchildren are likely to ever play on a two-track white sand driveway beneath the live oaks, they will carry memories along that will mean just as much to them.

That is what I want. That is a dream that gives me hope.