Hello from Room 322 at the Fairfield Inn, located in Binghamton, New York. Exactly one year ago, I stayed in this same room. No joke, this is where I was placed. And, oh, how much has changed and, well, come to pass in this last calendar year since I laid down in this bed, since I opened up the drapes and looked out the same window onto the interstate traffic below. 

Late Monday morning. While taking a sip of my coffee at the Main Street Diner in Waynesville, I scanned the room at the tables filled with faces enjoying warm meals and hearty conversation. It was at that very moment when I started thinking about this anonymous postcard I received several years ago. 

In the midst of eating my third hard-boiled egg of the morning, I overheard the young couple at the next breakfast table mention to their server that they’d gotten married this past Saturday. 

Taking a sip of my second cup of coffee, my gaze went from the newlyweds to the nearby roaring fireplace, then out the big glass windows onto the picturesque pond on the side lawn of the majestic property. 

I was at least an hour and a half into my conversation with June Goforth when I joked that she hadn’t given me a chance to ask any questions. She paused a moment before laughing and said, “Oh, I didn’t know you had questions.”
I had sat down with Goforth to talk about Camp Margaret Townsend, a Girl Scout camp that was a summer home away from home for hundreds of girls between 1925 and 1959.

It just dawned on me, at this exact moment, that my Western journey is over (at least until next time). Currently, I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Nashville, Tennessee, doing some writing and pondering, as per usual. And I’ll be finally headed back to my humble abode in Western North Carolina tomorrow. To note, I’ve been on the road since July 8.  

Search online, or in a library or bookshop, and you’ll find how-to books about parenting. Recent popular titles include “Simplicity Parenting,” “The Five Principles of Parenting” and “How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk.” There are even books about how not to parent, like Leonard Sax’s “The Collapse of Parenting.” 

The Universe. It never ceases to amaze me.

This evening (last Monday be the time you read this), I felt kind of lonely. A lot of that feeling has to do with the last eight months or so of my life. Work burnout. The flood. The aftermath. The breakup. The aftermath. Turning 40. Starting therapy. Life, in general. And so on. 

Tuesday afternoon. The clouds are hanging low over the mountains surrounding downtown Waynesville, covering up the actual height and grandeur of these peaks. The urge to walk out of the newsroom, get into my truck and head for the hills to trail run is deep and real. 

The title of this column comes from a lyric in a 1968 song by R&B sensation, the late Johnny Thunder. Although it wasn’t a radio hit at the time, it has become a cult classic, a number that (truly) reinvigorates the soul. Trust me, track it down. You’ll get it. 

Growing older isn’t all bad.

My grandparents once gave me nuggets of wisdom and I would look at them and think, "How do they know all of that?"