On The Fly

In this episode, The Man Behind the Fence . . . The crisp morning air invigorated me as I exited the Ford dealership. At 7:00 a.m., my service representative, Jim, assured me my truck would be ready in about two hours. With the sun shining brightly and the temperature a cool 49 degrees, I decided to stroll through the quaint Vista Village downtown area. The only signs of life away from the main street intersections were the ducks playing in the park's stream, service trucks tending to the area, and litter collectors. The peacefulness of the morning was interrupted only by the gentle hum of an occasional passing car. The aroma of freshly baked goods drifted through the air, drawing me to Danny's Donuts, founded in 1973. From the walk-up window, I ordered a cup of coffee and a blueberry cake donut, a classic combination that never fails to satisfy me. As I found a cozy spot in a slightly wobbly chair on the outdoor patio, a young man with a beard and cheerful yet somber demeanor

In this episode - Dawn’s Embrace . . .   In the quiet hours before dawn breaks, The darkness whispers, and my spirit wakes. For in my hands, tomorrow lies— A chance to reach, to strive, to rise. With steady focus, I find my way, Turning each task into light for the day. Not every path is smooth or clear, Yet I push forward, shedding fear. Life may bring disappointments, it's true. My dreams are mine, and I'll see them through. My attitude is my own to steer, and No One else shapes the hope I hold dear. So I start each morning with a heart alight, Embracing dawn’s gentle, hopeful sight. For love, for dreams, I’ll build and grow, Sharing this warmth with all I know. In each sunrise, I find the key— The dawn of hope that lives in me.  . . . Welcome to this week's episode of On The Fly . The previous poem was written the day after the election results. Yes, we’ve made it through another presidential election cycle. Everyone at work was gloomy, angry, frustrated, and could not

In this episode, The Power of a Thank-You Note . . . Halloween night is a time for spooky fun and neighborhood camaraderie. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets, neighbors emerged from their homes, transforming their driveways into festive candy stations. A familiar face caught my eye as I strolled around the neighborhood, taking in the sights and chitchatting with the neighbors. It was a neighbor I hadn't spoken to in years, a young mother whose daughter had interviewed me for a school project on gemstones and the GIA in 2014. As I approached her, a spark of nostalgia ignited. "So, how old is your daughter now?" I asked, curious about her journey. "She's 23," she replied, a smile spreading across her face. "She's studying architecture now." I was taken aback. "That can't be possible," I exclaimed. "It feels like she interviewed me for her school project just yesterday." Time had s

Oh, a World Series, a magical sight, Dodgers and Yankees, a fearsome fight. With a 3-1 WIN , the Dodgers stand tall, One game away from taking it all! Freddie's the force, with homers so grand, A mighty swing across the land. A historic grand slam sailed through the air, Leaving Yankee fans gasping and tugging their hair. Mookie Betts in the field, so quick and so sly, Snatching up balls like a hawk in the sky. Kiké Hernández and Téoscar, too– with hits so clutch, Making big plays when they mattered so much! Shohei Ohtani joined in on the fun: A welcome surprise, a new Dodger son! And there’s Tommy Edman, Oh, what a find; with a glove and with the bat, he’s one of a kind. Max Muncy and Chris Taylor are all in the mix, swatting and fielding; they’ve got all the tricks! And Walker Buehler, with heat that won’t quit, Striking out batters, bit by bit. But look at the Yankees; they’re struggling, too. Aaron Judge in a slump; Oh , what to do? Anthony Rizzo is always on base, And Soto–clu

Game One: Yankees 3 vs. Dodgers 6 - A Game for the Ages 120th World Series –  Forty-three years of anticipation culminated in a clash of titans, a World Series showdown between two baseball dynasties. And what a way to kick off this historic series! The stage was set: bottom of the tenth, bases loaded, two outs. The hero? A hobbled Freddie Freeman, his ankle injury a testament to his grit and determination. The pitch soared, a moment suspended in time. Then, a thunderous crack of the bat. The ball arced skyward, a breathtaking flight toward rightfield. A collective gasp, a hush, then a roar. The ball cleared the fence, a grand slam of epic proportions: a walk-off masterpiece, the first in World Series history! As the echoes of the crowd’s jubilation filled the stadium, Vin Scully’s iconic voice rang out in the minds of Dodger fans: “High fly ball into right field, she is gone!” It was a fitting tribute to a moment that defied all expectations. Yankees 3—Dodgers 6. In a year of the unex

In this episode, GridBot and Gramps . . .   – Meanwhile, back in Greenwood, Dr. Jon Gellborn, Ph.D., sat at his cluttered desk, the dim glow of his ancient desktop flickering as he pecked at the keyboard. His workspace, a chaotic mix of handwritten notes, old newspapers, and dog-eared magazines, mirrored his frustration. Marvin’s grandfather was a relic of an analog world, though he tried to keep up with the times. For the past week, he’d been baffled as to why Marvin had hurriedly left town, disappearing to the High Sierras without much explanation. “Mary, have you heard from Marvin?” he called out, frowning at his inbox. “He isn’t answering my emails.” From the kitchen, his daughter Mary poked her head around the corner. “Dad, remember? Marvin’s off-grid on that fishing trip. There is no service out there in the mountains. He’ll be back soon.” Dr. Jon sighed, fiddling with his outdated oversized flip phone. “This old PC . . . I can’t get my blog post sent to my friends on Facebook.

“Oh NO, not again!” In this episode, Sierra Reflections 2024 . . . This was my immediate and pressing thought as I squirmed in my camp chair at Trout Lake in the Eastern Sierra. A glance at my watch–4:45 a.m. on day three, Tuesday, October 1, 2024, of this year's Sierra adventure. There was no time to waste. Stumbling through the dark with my headlamp, “Hurry–gotta find that spot to dig yet another hole.” Without getting too graphic, it was day two of the “trots”– a colloquial expression for diarrhea. But let's start from the beginning . . . As autumn descends upon Little Lakes Valley, the landscape becomes a canvas of vibrant hues as we ascend Rock Creek Road off the Eastern Sierra Scenic Byway (Route 395). The aspens, once a shimmering sea of green, now blaze with fiery gold. Like falling stars, their leaves dance in the gentle breeze, creating a mesmerizing spectacle. Fall has arrived, bringing crisp, refreshing air carrying the scent of pine and fallen leaves. The lakes sh