If someone asked me yesterday if I’d ever been to Sacramento, the capital of California, I would’ve said no.
But I was wrong. My high school friend Susan and I took our 11-year old sons on an epic Northern California road trip in the summer of 2012 and stopped at the famous Squeeze Burger (formerly Squeeze Inn) in Sacramento. We were on our way to her house in Lake Tahoe from Oakland.
Upon further research, I found pictures of the famous cheese-skirted burgers online, which look familiar.
We were in the second Sacramento location (now closed), which featured the original tiny Sacramento storefront as a booth in the restaurant. Perfect for two boys traveling with their moms.
This is why pictures matter people. By the time you hit 60, you will not remember half the stuff you did in your life.
My college in Hartford, Connecticut had a spectacular gothic chapel on the quad. So Hogwarts! We were not an Ivy League school, but with that chapel on the quad—and scores of rich classmates from the snootiest boarding schools on the Eastern Seaboard—we could pretend we were. A couple of my more diligent classmates were able to transfer to Ivy League schools after freshmen year, but most of us just stayed and partied in Hartford.
My daughter had absolutely no interest in attending a small, private liberal arts college, but we did stop by one day when we were passing through the area. And the chapel still looked gorgeous.
My daughter in front of my college’s chapel doors in 2013.
The same doors as seen through an arch on the day of my graduation in 1987.
My church runs an annual “country fair” which serves as both a fundraiser for the church and a fall festival for the town. A portion of the proceeds are donated to a local nonprofit each year.
It’s always in early October and it has been going on for decades. Different teams work to prepare and then implement the various revenue areas: the book sale, the country store, “trash & treasure,” face painting, bake sale, etc.
For the past few years, I’ve worked jewelry. We get a tremendous amount of jewelry donated by members and friends of the church throughout the year—everything from diamond rings to Mardi Gras beads.
Sorting, pricing and displaying it is a big job! There are about five of us that usually handle this task, with Julie being our fearless leader. Julie is a former Peace Corps volunteer and retired high school teacher with an eye for precious metals. She’s extremely good at making sure we don’t accidentally give away a real gold ring or a vintage sterling brooch for $5.
She tends to monitor and sell the “real jewelry” at the fair while the rest of us sell the mounds and mounds of “costume jewelry.” She can be tough when needed, especially on the early birds who are clearly looking to score some real gold for next to nothing.
Julie has permanently dedicated a significant portion of her basement to donated jewelry, props on which to display jewelry, and tools to evaluate and repair jewelry.
Here’s my snap of Julie the Jewelry Queen setting up necklace displays in the church office the night before the Country Fair.
And here’s a cell pic of our group in action yesterday. (It was taken by our minister.)
I was determined to close all three rings on my Apple Watch yesterday, so I went out for a walk in the rain. I wore a baseball hat and a large LL Bean raincoat with the hood up. My peripheral vision may have been slightly impaired.
I was listening to music from my phone in my pocket, when I briefly looked at my watch to see how far I’d walked. I must have stepped on a piece of loose asphalt and turned my ankle.
I went down. All the way down. I landed on my left side and caught myself with both wrists. I was briefly laying on my side in the wet street (a quiet cul de sac).
My watch started beeping and tapping my wrist telling me that I’d fallen and asking if it should call for help. That part was actually nice. Someone cared! But I didn’t think anything was broken, so I hit the little X to decline.
What the fuck ankle! You can’t handle stepping on a little bump?? (This ankle has let me down before.) How many times have I implored my mother and others “watch your step, don’t fall”? Falling is the worst. It’s sudden. It’s stupid. You weren’t watching. Dumb.
A few days ago I voluntarily got down on the ground to take this photo of a mushroom along the side of the rail trail where I typically walk, which has no loose asphalt.
A tiny silver turtle, a fish, a bird, a duck and a frog—60-year old birthday candle holders.
A gift from a dear friend of my mother—a 3x “boy mom” who so loved little girls—on the occasion of my first birthday (we think).
Passed by my mother to me, I used them when I remembered. (The candle holes are narrow, so candles must be shaved to fit.)
Now they are polished and ready to go to my daughter.
We pass things on.
They use what they wish.
I first took a picture of them on a silver coaster, but they were hard to see. Lesson learned: use a contrasting background when photographing still objects.
This door is a work of art by Kazumi Tanaka, a living artist born in 1962.
First conceived in 1996 during an unusual artist residency at Sabbathday Lake in Maine (the last active Shaker community in the world), Tanaka’s door was not shown until 2025. As part of The ICA/Boston’s Believers exhibition, the anamorphic door sat permanently ajar and is said to have alluded to Shaker founder Mother Ann Lee’s sentiment that the Shakers should open windows and doors to receive “whoever will arrive” in a spirit of openness and generosity.
I no longer own a 35mm camera, so all my pics are cell pics these days, but it’s fun to join in a creative group activity like John’s Cellpic Sunday.
Goosewing Beach Preserve, Little Compton, Rhode Island, USA, August 2025
I took this with the ultra wide lens (0.5x) on my iPhone 15. I like it because it captures lots of beach & sky and my legs look very long and tan and no cellulite is visible at that angle. They almost look like my old legs from my lifeguard days.
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