Prisoner of Hopes


  • State Park Adventure: Rural Road Trip

    There is something very relaxing about a camping trip. I sound hypocritical to my own ears when I say that the trick is a minimalist mindset (we own a class A motorhome). I know people who won’t camp that talk about the work involved. Less is truly more. (And I still think a backpack is all you really need).

    You have to do a bit of pre-planning. But give me I cast iron skillet, a coffee pot and a spatula and I can cook anything over the fire. (I do carry charcoal in case I want to bake.) Breakfast meal prep is a can of biscuits and a pack of bacon. Burgers or steak make a hearty evening meal. Lunchtime is usually not required due our big breakfast, but grapes or cheese can be a pleasant snack. Anything tastes better if you cook it and eat it outdoors.

    Clothes are packed for the weather and the activity. Just a few shirts, pants and perhaps a jacket. Equipment is minimal. A few lawn chairs to sit by the fire, my fire tools, and a hiking stick are all I really need. If we are staying several days we will bring the canopy to cover the picnic table and our e-bikes.

    Each trip is unique. Sometimes I live in the woods. I hike the hills and I drink in the solitude like a dehydrated person needing water. Other trips we visit with family and friends. Sometimes, the parks offer adventure such as caves or zip lines. In some locations, I bike or kayak.

    I’ve been visiting parks since I was a child. Often, when I am walking I will notice a plant and in my head I will hear my grandfather explaining the properties of sassafras or ginseng. I see pine stumps and think of the many times we went foraging for kindling (this is not allowed in state parks, just to be clear).

    Sometimes, we encounter unexpected surprises like the day a stranger left a hummingbird feeder, nectar and a note encouraging us to enjoy or stay. Another time, we found a dinosaur left behind in the dirt (now our camping mascot). Or we find a stash of river rocks and are reminded of fun times with our beautiful children.

    But life is more relaxed now. It’s just the two of us with plenty of time to kill. We do what we want to do, when we want to do it. A two hour walk around a lake, a campfire coffee break, or maybe a nap are possibilities. We might drive to town, or find a local restaurant.

    I can spend hours just walking, thinking, and enjoying the beauty of creation. The forest never disappoints. Camping for me is slowing down and disconnecting. It is discovery of nature . It is learning to make space for yourself.

    I love our public spaces. Parks are truly state and national treasures. If you stay in a state park and happen to be up early and you notice a woman up at dawn making coffee over the fire in a battered, blackened coffee pot…. Stop and say Hi. It is probably me. Not many people make their coffee the old fashioned way. But it is the best coffee. You should try it. And make sure you try out our wonderful parks.

  • Character Matters: Educating For Sanity

    When we talk about “character,” we’re referring to the values and traits that guide how a person thinks, feels, and acts. It’s the compass people use to navigate relationships, challenges, and decisions in school, at home, and out in the world. 

    A person of strong character consistently chooses to do the right thing—even when it’s not the easy thing. They’re the quiet heroes among us: the person who stands up for another, picks up litter at the park, or owns up to a mistake and makes it right. These everyday acts are the building blocks of a better community, and a better future. 

    What is Character Education? 

    Character education is the intentional effort to help children understand, care about, and practice core values like honesty, kindness, and responsibility. It happens in: 

    Our homes
    Our schools
    Our communities

    It’s about more than telling kids to “be good.” It’s about helping them live out their values in ways that are meaningful, consistent, and compassionate. Think of character education as planting seeds of kindness, courage, and integrity that we water every day at home, in school, and throughout the community. It’s a purposeful way of helping children understand, care about, and live out core values that matter. 

    It’s not just about rules or discipline, it’s about helping kids grow into thoughtful, resilient, and responsible adults. And just like any garden, character grows best with time, attention, and love. 

    The Four Dimensions of Character 

    💖 Moral & Ethical Strengths 

    Traits like kindness, honesty, gratitude, and integrity shape who children are on the inside. These values help kids treat others with compassion, choose fairness over favoritism, and appreciate the little things in life. Kids who develop these strengths know that even the smallest act of kindness can change someone’s day—and maybe even their world. 

    💪 Performance Strengths

    Think grit, responsibility, and self-discipline. These are the traits that help kids work through frustration, keep promises, and set meaningful goals. They’re what help children keep trying, even after they’ve failed. And let’s be honest; raising a child who doesn’t give up when things get tough? That’s a superpower. 

    🧠 Intellectual Strengths 

    Curiosity, open-mindedness, and critical thinking are all part of this category. Kids with strong intellectual character love learning, ask great questions, and are willing to consider new ideas, even when it means admitting they were wrong. It’s about raising thinkers, not just followers. 

    🌍 Civic Strengths 

    These include fairness, respect, and a desire to help others through volunteerism and service. Children with civic strengths understand that they’re part of something bigger. Whether it’s helping a neighbor or standing up for what’s right, they see themselves as contributors to their community. 

    As an act of citizenship, commit to strengthening your character strengths and those of the young people you care about.

  • Along the Byway: Travel Goals Ireland

    Some of my best days in Ireland are simply unplanned drives in rural counties. I use google maps and find an area to which we haven’t traveled. A simple “things to do” or an “attractions”tag in the search bar yields lots of options. It is how I found an awesome Gaelic Warrior statue in a roadside park. There was literally nothing else around and only a delivery driver dozing on his lunch break in the lot. But the horse and rider blazing under a blue sky is one of my favorite trip pictures.

    We find monasteries and ruins of every variety. Some are maintained by the national trust and others have cows peaking out of the rubbles windows. The most memorable experiences are often those surprising moments in places others skip over. Sometimes we drive down lanes barely wide enough for our car, hoping we won’t meet other vehicles. Sometimes we can’t find a place to park. Sometimes we drive in circles. Whatever happens is a fond memory.

    Sometimes, a quiet moment by a lake or stream brings balance to our day. The stress of daily life melts away. We watch swans or sheep. I could sit on a rock at Glendalogh or Lough Erne for hours. Okay that may not be true. I am not good at sitting. But I could hike trails along the lake for hours, and have happily done so.

    We find the remains of great houses and wander through servants tunnels. I am reminded of the sturdy stock of laborers from which I come. I remember to be thankful for all that have come before. Stories are told and retold in this place. There is connectedness and history at every turn.

    And I find endless trails, woodland walks, boardwalks and mountain staircases. Much to my husband’s chagrin, I would like to hike them all. We find compromise in shorter walks. We stop for a 99 or a cup of coffee or a pint. The point is not the destination. The point is fully experiencing a place. We have found balance in longer stays and living local as much as possible along the byways.

  • Is it true, is it necessary, is it kind?: Educating for Sanity

    Peter 2:1: “So get rid of all evil behavior. Be done with all deceit, hypocrisy, jealousy, and all unkind speech.”

    So much rancor in the world. So much unrest. There have always been people who say provocative things for notoriety, money, entertainment, influence, revenge, attention or because they are simply cantankerous. The point is to provoke. It is the provocation that leads to the perceived or real reward.

    In a world where social media and infotainment networks crank provocation and response 24/7, the weight can feel especially heavy. An analogy that makes sense to me is that one such encounter is like a mosquito bite. It is irritating and really no big deal. But if the bites keep coming without stopping, it isn’t long until you are miserable. The bites can even become toxic and damage your health.

    So what are we to do? It is easy to lash out and spread your discomfort. Psychology tells us that the most frequent response to anger is blame. But misdirected blame only adds to the provocations. A dangerous response is to seek to take away freedoms or harm others through censure, censorship, repression, book banning, doxing, and endless culture wars. Why are these responses dangerous and potentially unconstitutional? Our founding fathers knew that whomever had power or whomever could sway or coerce the masses could control the narrative. This ultimately leads to limited or repressed speech and unequal rights. So to protect the rights of the minority (an ultimately all of us), the first amendment was added.

    I often do not like what I read. Sometimes I force myself to read opinions that make my blood boil (there are any number of cruel, racist, sexist, or ignorant rants available in opinion columns everywhere). I disagree. I shake my head. I fact check. And then I turn the page. I close the book. I scroll past. I change the channel. I may even craft a rebuttal or determine how to take responsible civic action.

    I do not try to silence people whose opinions I don’t like. I do not deny their right to exist or have thought. I do not try to punish them. I engage in dialogue …..or not. Having said that, I remember the red line that should not be crossed. “You do not have right to yell fire in a crowded theater unless there is an actual fire .” This is a metaphor that tells us we do not have right to endanger the lives of others just for fun or because we can. If there is actual danger shout a warning. If you just want to see people run scared and potentially be trampled, keep your mouth firmly shut.

    So what are we to do in this current environment? There is an adage (no one really knows where is comes from) to “let everything that passes through your lips go through three doors…is it true….is it necessary….is it kind?”

    If what you are sharing is not true it shouldn’t be shared. Sharing untruths only happens because you, the sharer, are ignorant (don’t have all the information) of facts or because you fully intend to harm/manipulate. If it is the former, then retract your statement and when you know better, do better. If it is the latter, nothing I say will matter. You have already decided that your personal needs and goals are more important than those of all others. Misusing information for personal gain is sometimes called fraud, lying, swindling, conning, and deception or deceit. Consistently and knowingly engaging in this behavior begins to look like criminal intent.

    By asking if what you are sharing is necessary, you are considering if it is useful to improve the situation, relationship, or tone of the encounter. Is it important to contribute to the dialogue? Is it a perspective that needs to be said? Or is it simply a jab? This requires that you “read the room”. There are lots of things that can be said. Not all of them need to be said all at once. If you have ever been with preschool age children and you mention any topic, all of them talk at once to share their perspective. “I ate an apple once……My grandma has apples….. I saw an apple on the ground……apples taste yucky……apple is my cousins name….apple is a computer. My daddy says bad words to apple…..” Social media works the same. Because it is not a direct exchange to a specific audience and has few boundaries in time or space, it is very hard to “read the room” for context. It is up to each person to determine what is necessary/helpful both as the writer and as the reader. Lack of context and community often cause a mismatch. This is especially true as communities become more polarized. It is helpful to give some grace and consider how it was helpful to the writer or a specific community (even if it outside your norm).

    Finally, if you have determined your words are true and they are necessary/useful, you have to now ask yourself if they are kind. What you say is often less of a problem than how you say it. Nothing we say should ever take away the dignity of our fellow human beings. Disagreeing is not unkind. Civil discourse requires the examination of competing ideas. Unkind words are easy to spot when it is name calling, insults, belittling abilities, demonizing, or personal attacks. Unkind can also be gossip or the spreading malicious rumors (which intersects with truth). Unkind can be making overtly judgmental statements about another person’s choices or actions. You can be unkind by using a harsh or rough tone when speaking, even if the words themselves seem neutral.

    Free speech is vital to a free people. As a citizen I will defend free speech with my last breath. Even if I disagree with you. I will also commit to practicing the three gates of truth, necessity/helpfulness, and kindness as an act of citizenship. I can only hope you will do the same. It is our democracy ….if we can keep it.

  • You know you are in Ireland when….

    Ireland may be one of my favorite places in the world. I feel at home as soon as I step off of the plane. From the moment I hit the concourse I instantly know I am on the Emerald Isle. Certain things are unmistakably Irish.

    People are greeting each other on the turd (third) of June with lots of feckin’ profanity. It is a spectacle. And can be somewhat off putting to hear otherwise proper grannies cursing like sailors and then giggling. I must be an eejit, but I can’t help but grin with them.

    At the house, I am welcomed with the unmistakable smell of peat and a cleaning product that we don’t use in the USA. The smells are forever associated with Ireland. Other reminders that I am in Ireland are the Bewley’s instant coffee and Irish breakfast tea bags left by an electric kettle. There will be no brewed coffee this trip. I do manage to buy real ground coffee and a French press small enough to fit in my suitcase at the local grocer.

    I am most excited about Taytos, the world’s best potato chip (at least in my opinion). I am addicted to the cheese and onion variety, although salt and vinegar will do in a pinch. I dream of Taytos between trips and have been known to seek them out at an international market back in the states.

    Foods are part of my Irish ritual. First on my list is a slice of Banoffee pie. It is death by sugar and I can’t finish a slice in one sitting. I also look for Guinness Stew, a nice plate of fresh fish and chips with malt vinegar (which they bring without being asked or looking confused), and authentic shepherds pie. I also have to find a 99 (ice cream cone with a chocolate stick).

    Each time I get in a car in Ireland after leaving the airport, I suck in my breath. The steering wheel is on the opposite side of the car. The car travels on the opposite side of the road. You turn the opposite direction onto roundabouts…..and there a lot of roundabouts. Once on the road, there may not be a shoulder. There may or may not be enough room for two cara to pass on the two way road. Speed limits make no sense. Rock walls, hedge rows and other obstacles fly past. Livestock wander onto roadways and everyone walks along blind curves even though there isn’t room for cars let alone pedestrians. I have to breathe deeply and remember I am in Ireland. It is normal here and within a few days it will feel normal to me.

    In Ireland sheep cover the hillsides. They are in the backyard and occasionally eat the garden flowers. You know you are in Ireland if you see a random cow on a highway overpass or if you are stuck in a 30 minute traffic jam because the farmer is moving his herd across the roadway. You really know you are in Ireland if you pass more tractors on the highway than cars.

    Every field seems to have ancient ruins. There are stones left from houses, churches, walls, and monuments. My brain doesn’t know where to pay attention. Should I look at the mountains, the sea, the road, the cars, the people, the fantastic historic landmarks? Those first few days of driving are overwhelming. But eventually we settle into the rhythms of the island.

    I know I am having the full Irish experience when there are on and off switches on every electrical outlet, the heating is on a timer, and the main electrical box looks like a maze of wires. The refrigerator is quarter the size of the one I use at home and will hold only enough groceries for a few meals, ensuring frequent trips to town. The washing machine holds only enough clothes to fit on the folding rack that serves as a dryer. All functional but very different. I am in Ireland and I appreciate sustainable living.

    At the end of the day, there is always a pub. People gather to talk, tell a joke, place a bet, or sing along. You are never a stranger. I know I am in Ireland when I am not allowed to touch a Guinness until it is properly poured, settled and topped off. A time honored ritual conducted by people with pride in their work. I can relax. A comfy fire, the smell of smoke, a fiddle, and community. I know I am in Ireland when I am content.

  • Nature Heals: Travel Goals Ireland

    The world is in turmoil. Why, I can’t say. Much of the anger and hardship seems to be unnecessary and self induced. Manufactured crisis designed to make cold hard cash for someone….certainly not me.

    Old wounds ripped open to manipulate strong emotion. Ancient prejudices exploited for power. It is too much to contemplate. The world feels heavy. In these times, the grief of it sits heavy on my shoulders. People aren’t meant to live like this.

    And so, we take comfort in the land. In Ireland, the ancient ruins tell us of endless battles and strife. But the hills speak of something older. God has spread beauty across the land. The landscape is majestic. No matter how many times people created destruction here, there is constant rebirth. Nature heals.

    And so, I sit by the sea and watch waves crash against the shore. The sun warms my face and a cool breeze tickles my skin. I watch the hawks circle the endless blue skies. I listen to the birds sing in the fields amidst rustling grain. And I breathe deeply. I am part of the beauty of the earth. My soul is timeless and unaffected by man’s greedy endless scheming for more. This moment is enough.

    I walk hillsides in solitude or in happy companionship with family. The endless greens of grass and trees lift my mood. I see a mansion in the distance, but I focus on a fruit tree in a long forgotten garden. It is untended, but still producing beautiful fruit. No longer necessary for modern life, the family will not be drying or canning apples to survive the winter. The tree doesn’t care if its fruit is unwanted in this season. The fruit is beautiful in its own self. It may drop discarded into the weeds to feed only the birds. It is no less beautiful.

    So too the fruit of human goodness. The world may not currently value honesty or empathy. Truth and civility may not be in fashion. Moral reasoning, introspection, and education may be out of style. They are no less beautiful.

    So I seek the trees. I touch their cool bark and tender leaves. Nature reminds me that simply being true to yourself is enough. Nature heals.

  • Revolutionary Countess: Travel Goals Ireland

    We visit Lissadell house on a warm summer afternoon. The family home of the Gore-Booths, Lissadell sits outside of Sligo, Ireland. It is now owned and lived in by Irish attorneys who allow tours to offset the upkeep. The estate had a great location with both Ben Bulben and Knocknarea mountains in view as well as the beautiful sea.

    As we enter the old stables, now a cafe/gift shop/ museum we encounter two older Irish men having tea. One was chatty. He followed me and clearly wanted to talk. I indulged him as we had plenty of time. In a very Irish way, we find out that they know the family we are renting from. This leads to family stories of business ventures and ancestors. They could have talked all day, but we had a house to visit.

    In the small museum, we learn about the Booth-Gore sisters, Constance and Eva. Their father was an Anglo-Protestant landlord who reportedly provided free food to tenants during the famine and was an arctic explorer. His daughters were forces of nature. They were friends of Yeats who memorialized them in verse. Eve went on to be involved in the women’s suffrage movement. Constance helped change a nation.

    As I walk through the house and grounds, I see her artistic talent on display. She met her husband, Count Markievicz at a Paris art school. As an Irish socialite she turned heads. But her life changed as she began to meet Irish people who dreamed of freedom for their country. I look at paintings, drawings, and writing. There is no shortage of revolutionary material in the collection.

    She went to meetings advocating Irish independence and actively campaigned against a young Winston Churchill. She was arrested for throwing stones at a painting of the king and queen and for speaking at rallies. She sold off possessions to feed the poor and ran operations to shield protestors from the police. I am learning that this woman was courageous and passionate about the Irish people.

    She participated in the Easter Rising including the fighting at St. Stephen’s Green. She was tried and sentenced to death, but was given a reprieve because she was a woman. When told she said, “I do wish you lot had the decency to shoot me.”

    Inside the house, I see the carvings she and her sister made on the woodwork. I imagine little girls full of dreams. Constance could not have dreamed she would one day be the first woman elected to British Parliament or that she would serve in the Irish government as a cabinet officer. And yet she made history. Not in a loud or self serving way, she served others.

    She grew up in luxury, yet she lived for the people. At her death she had given her money away. She died in a ward among the poor where is “where she wanted to be.” A revolutionary countess indeed.

  • Home Away From Home: Travel Goals Ireland

    When we travel, we try to rent locally. Ideally, we find a property that has been in the family for awhile. I look for local hosts who have great reputations. We avoid corporate rentals.

    I love spaces that feel lived in. I want local connections. But it is hard to make a selection from photographs and emails when we will be staying on the other side of the world in a place where we haven’t been. We factor cost, location, house layout, and hosts. But eventually we have to just make a choice.

    Part of the fun is traveling to the house and stepping across the threshold for the first time. On that first day I question whether we picked the right neighborhood and whether the house will meet our needs. By the last day, it almost always feels like home. We have been lucky in our selection.

    In Ireland, I am deep in farm country. The smell of peat hits me as I open the front door. I notice that there is firewood and peat stacked by wood-burning stoves in both the dining room and the living room. Wood smoke always makes me feel content as there is something calming about a fire.

    The farmhouse is quirky and lovely in its imperfections. It has clearly seen a lot of life and love in its walls. Decorations are tasteful yet authentic. Generations of objects on mantels and walls. Each has its own unique story.

    The floors slope from decades of use. The electrical boxes are jumbled above the front door where they were added over time, based on each technological advancement. The couches have lumps in just the right places. A large dining room table with chips and dings from frequent family gatherings offers a place to work and regroup.

    The house is clean and functional. It sings of family. Maybe it reminds me of my grandparents house. The rooms are small but plentiful. Upstairs bedrooms under the eaves, remind me of the many times I snuggled into a feather bed in an upstairs attic. I can almost imagine grandma puttering downstairs as I drift off to sleep.

    I will have to remember to flip the switches to turn on and off the electrical outlets. The stove and microwave won’t work until the electricity is turned on. Even the heating system runs from a timer that must be activated. So much to remember that is different than our usual existence.

    On this trip, I already know how to operate the washer. I am not surprised that the dryer is simply a clothes rack. I am intrigued, however, with the choice to put the dishwasher in the laundry room. I will do the dishes in the kitchen sink because carrying them back and forth across the house is nonsensical to me. But people make choices for reasons that are logical for their situation and I am just a guest in someone’s home. They are allowing me the privilege of living in their space for a short while.

    After unpacking on move in day, I sit and take in the views from the patio. The mountain is spectacular in the afternoon sun. I wonder what the month will bring?

    On our last day in the farmhouse, I sit in the same place and breathe in the smell of sweet grass and sheep. This place has become part of me. It feels like home and is rooted in my being. I am attached. This time we picked the right home away from home.

  • The Shearing: Travel Goals

    When we travel, we prefer to stay local. We found a family farm that was willing to rent us the old homestead for a month. Our host and his father Desi, were wonderful “neighbors” and kept us connected to the community.

    So when Desi invited us to the annual sheep shearing, I assumed that it would be an opportunity to take some photos and experience a slice of life far outside my usual routine.

    I heard Desi giving commands to his dog Twee before I crossed the road to the field. I called to my husband and headed over to take photos. But Dese waved to me from on top of the hillside and indicated that he needed help. They were trying to move the herd to the shearing pens, but both he and the dog were exhausted.

    A small group of acrobatic sheep would not comply. Instead they scattered and balked. The dog was clearly exhausted. Desi didn’t look much better. We were reinforcements.

    We walked slowly down the hillside, driving the sheep ahead. Tightening our circle as we walked, we were able to get them into the pens without difficulty. Desi expressed his thanks and Twee jumped into the water to cool off.

    We stood talking and waiting for the shearers. I noticed Desi sigh. He pointed back up the steep hill. We missed one. I walked back up, careful to swing wide and behind the sheep hiding in the dense undergrowth. When I got close, I could see there was a newborn lamb.

    It was such a pleasure walking the mother and babe down the hill. The reeds looked greener and the sky bluer than humanly possible. The ewe’s bleating was soft and reassuring like a lullaby. Time seemed to stand still.

    At the pens, chaos ensued. Sheep jumped on and over each other looking for an exit. The shearers wasted no time setting up shop. They put on their special shoes and grabbed the clippers. Sheep were hauled out and thrown on their back. They were shaved head to toe.

    Some sheep fought back. Their twisting and turning caused bloody nicks and cuts. Other older sheep wisely laid completely still and trotted away in their naked indignity.

    Thanks for the craic, Desi (and Twee). It was an experience I will not soon forget.

  • Origins: Travel Goals

    I like to dabble in family history. I have heard and sought out the stories where I could. Scots Irish traders settle in Appalachia and meet Cherokee women. English settlers meet somewhere along the way and mingle in one twisted tree. Some branches dry up as written record and oral traditions meet. I have traced roots to Tennessee and North Georgia Cherokee communities. I have visited graves in the Cotswolds and read records in Antrim, Wexford and Cork.

    I have stood on docks and wondered if this is where someone took their last look of home. I walked sections of the trail of tears and wondered what it must be like to be forced from the forests and farms. I have read famine stories and heard of desperate ancestors stowing away on ships bound for America.

    Today I stand in the parking lot of the Ulster American Folk Park in Omagh, Northern Ireland. The first thing I see is a bronze sculpture linking the Scots Irish community that immigrated from here to the Cherokee. I am intrigued. I thought I was visiting a living history farm and now I am confronted with my heritage.

    The park is well kept and documents the immigration of countless Irish to the U.S.. The park centers around the boyhood home of Andrew Mellon. He grew up in modest means and immigrated with his family to America. There the family became ridiculously wealthy in the banking industry. He is atypical.

    Most settler’s stories mirror my own family. Leave Ireland. Find similar land in Appalachia and try to farm. Move west. Try to farm. Find jobs as domestic help and day laborers. Work in mines and on the railroad. Find factory jobs and shop keeping positions. Work hard. Protect the family and educate yourself.

    The park does a great job of grounding the immigrant’s experience. I first visit period Irish farms, cabins, churches and town. There is even soda bread fresh from the coals. (Pro tip: Never turn down freshly baked soda bread.) Donkeys beg for attention. Flax fields wave in the breeze. I think I would be content in this older way of life. Possibly hungry, but industrious, grounded and content.

    I exit the Irish town through a tunnel that leads me into an infamous coffin ship (there is also a replica of a steamer for comparison). When I leave the ship, I exit directly into a recreation of an American town. I am now in America and the remainder of the park has cabins and farms from the American countryside.

    I have visited many country cabins and farm sites in Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Georgia. This history teacher loves a good living history site. Today I feel just like I am standing in Appalachia, even though I knew I am in Ulster. I could be somewhere in the Smokies by the look and feel of the place.

    I am unexpectedly moved by this experience. As far as I know, no one related to me is connected to County Omagh. Yet the story told here could easily be my own family story. Old world meets new. New places, old traditions. Echoes and glimpses of things that stir family memories. Songs, words, smells, and artifacts. Origins. I am humbled. I am connected. I feel lost and found. Ireland is like for me sometimes. Some say memory is past down through generations. Today I feel a resounding echo of places I have never been yet have always known.