Screwed into the frame of the front door of my childhood home was a battered old flagpole bracket. Memorial Day was one of the many days my father would slide our American flag into place, on display from dawn to dusk.

The flag was an object that inspired a deep reverence in my family, derived in large part from my father's service as a career military officer, WWII combat veteran, and recipient of the Purple Heart. He knew countless soldiers who lost their lives in battle. Many more whose injuries, both physical and emotional, would haunt them for the remainder of their lives.

As we honor the dead, we remember not just their sacrifice, but the patriotic conviction that put them in harms way.

"A thoughtful mind, when it sees a nation's flag, sees not the flag, but the nation itself." – Henry Ward Beecher

Next month LEGO will debut a new 346-piece collection called "Everyone is Awesome." This set will include bricks in every color of the rainbow, a celebration of the inclusivity represented in June's annual observance of PRIDE.

There was nothing that would make my parents howl like stepping on a stray LEGO. After a morning of construction and demolition, my brother and I soon learned not to leave our LEGOS on the floor.

Otherwise, this was among my parents' favorite toys, purchased both to amuse and educate their rambunctious children. And while I too loved the endless combinations a LEGO set presented, it makes my heart swell to know this newest iteration fetes every child so unabashedly.

Bring on the rainbow colors. Let's build our world anew.

"LEGO has essentially taken the concrete block, the building block of the world, and made it into the building block of our imagination." – Avah Bdetr

With only a few weeks left before this academic year comes to a close, I can feel the vibe on campus begin to shift.

This is part of the circular ebb and flow of life within an academic institution. Kept on task by an invisible institutional metronome, every September tumbles toward June at a reassuring clip. Each term has its own distinctive feel. And each year, the process begins anew.

But this year, a collective exhaustion seems to have seeped into our bones. Sure, "prom-posals" still bring cheers from nearby onlookers. Seniors proudly don their new college swag. Final art projects are now on display. But the toll of the pandemic remains beneath our weary end-of-year smiles. 2020-21 has been a haul.

Among the many lessons learned during this unusual year, the critical role of tending to one's mental health may be among the most important....

“What mental health needs is more sunlight, more candor, and more unashamed conversation.” – Glenn Close

Anyone who has known me more than five minutes knows I love to walk. That said, I am more of a sand piper and less of a mountain goat. Skittering atop a long flat surface is my preferred landscape. I'll leave the hills for my more disciplined peers. I am happy to stroll.

On occasion, I have deviated from type. I remember climbing the tight and winding staircase that was built inside the interior of the Statue of Liberty's raised arm, back before the NPS shut down such opportunities. Twice I hiked the steep steps of the Pyramid of the Sun, located outside Mexico City. The second time the weather was so hot my face looked like a giant tomato by the end of the ascent, bright red from both sun and exertion. Numerous times I have found myself clinging to nearby scrub pines in an attempt to conquer some granite-topped dome in my native New England, much to the chagrin of my aching knees.

Frequent mountaineers claim the expansive views make climbing worth the effort. Perhaps. But maybe, just maybe, meandering along the ocean's edge can suffice.

"You never climb a mountain by accident -- it has to be intentional." – Mark Udall

For a bibliophile like me, you may be surprised by one of my "go to" books.

Roadside America.

A collection of zany, kitschy, one-of-a-kind attractions, this is a must have for any traveler. Stuffed into its voluminous pages are both the ridiculous and the sublime. Want to know where the nearest matzo factory is? Roadside has it covered. Musing on the location of the biggest ketchup bottle? The coordinates are just a page turn away. Looking for a statue of Paul Bunyan, dying to see the Corn Cob Palace, have a secret interest in taxidermy or haunted houses? It's in there.

Sorted by state, town, and a five-point rating scale labeled "Worth a Detour," Roadside America is the gift that keeps on giving.

"Stories worth sharing rarely begin with 'So...we decided to stay in.'"

I'm no MacGyver but I do have a penchant for duct tape.

For the most part, I relegate this stiff band of adhesive to the most onerous of patch jobs. Reliable and herculean in strength, duct tape is the jack of all trades when it comes to bonding.

So imagine my surprise when a friend told me I should use it to avoid getting blisters on my feet. You read that right. She instructed me to cover my heels and the edge of my big toe with duct tape before heading out for a long hike. "But how am I going to get it off?" I queried. "Won't it rip my skin when I remove it?" She smiled and said "Just do it. It works."

Right she was. After a long walk the tape peeled away easily, loosened but not detached by sweat. The skin, protected from friction, never blistered.

Hikers are a resourceful bunch......

"I don't believe in a lot of things, but I do believe in duct tape." – Miles Straume

Is there anything worse than shopping for a bathing suit? Not for me.

The regimen of taking off all your clothes, just to stand in front of a three-way mirror, all for the pleasure of trying to squeeze a middle-aged body into a swath of spandex-like material? Please no.

But here's the thing. That same mirror, the one that provides an impartial, exacting assessment of all of my physical flaws, is later replaced by magical and forgiving pools of water. Once submerged, I am weightless and buoyant, unencumbered by the very body that brought me to the water's edge.

Making peace with one's body, for some of us, takes a lifetime. Luckily for me, the older I get, the more grateful I've become.

"My bathing suit told me to go to the gym but my sweatpants were like, 'nah girl, you're good.'"

Where I'm from, when you use the term "bowling" you're referring to a game using slim pins and a ball roughly the size of a grapefruit. We call it "candlepin," differentiating it from "big ball bowling," or "duck pin." I didn't toss one of those heavy, finger-drilled bowling balls until I was in college.

Lore dates the invention of bowling all the way back to 1881, conceived in the town of Worcester, 50 miles or so due west of Boston. According to the Massachusetts Bowling Association, just 23 candlepin bowling alleys now remain. Down from 40 just a decade ago.

There are a few in New Hampshire and a dozen in Maine. But bowling, as I know it, is on the ropes.

Say it ain't so!

"I saw this college team bowling championship. Each team had their own coach. What kind of strategic advice is a bowling coach going to give? ‘You know what? This time Timmy, I want you to knock down all the pins.’ ‘You sure?’ ‘Trust me!’" – Jim Gaffigan

I am a chair girl, not a sofa girl.

Couches are good for napping or company. But sinking down into a row of cushions is just too indulgent for anything but rest. I prefer not to watch t.v. from the sofa. Or read. And certainly not work. How can anyone get anything done if their feet aren't even on the floor?

The only piece of furniture I own from my childhood home is a wooden stiff-backed desk chair that was in my bedroom. I sat in it to do my homework all the way from elementary school until my high school graduation. It was God awful. But it kept me focused on the task at hand. Very Puritan in flavor, but successful nonetheless.

"A house that doesn't have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless." – May Sarton

The family that lives on the first floor of our condominium building in Boston have two young children. Which means there are plenty of toys scattered across our driveway, including a couple of bicycles, a variety of balls, a doll or two, and my favorite of the bunch – a box of sidewalk chalk.

Hardly a day goes by without the appearance of a new drawing scrawled across the pavement. From hopscotch squares to birthday wishes, you never know what you'll find next.

As someone who can't knit, crochet, paint, sculpt, compose, needlepoint, sing, or draw, I am always impressed by how easily the kids fling themselves into new art projects. Using the macadam as their canvas, they remind me the fun is in the process, not in the outcome.

"When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did for work. I told her I worked at a college - that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared back at me, incredulous, and said 'You mean they forgot?'" – Howard Ikemoto

Of the many potential friction points in a relationship, the debate between dryer v. clothesline is not to be underrated.

I was raised to believe that clothes snapped dry in the fresh air was the preferred method. Each week, baskets of wet garments, sheets, and pillowcases would be hoisted up the stairs and out to the backyard stoop. The line, anchored on one end to the house and to an oak tree on the other, ran the full width of our lot.

Each item was attached using a wooden clothespin. Socks were clipped at the toe, shirts by the tail, pants at the cuff. A quick turn of the metal wheel made room on the line for sheets and pillowcases. Care was taken to pull the clothes in before dusk or the arrival of a passing thunderstorm. Most importantly, clothes were never hung on Sundays. That was considered laundry blasphemy.

The utilitarian clothespin remains a marker of my childhood. I can still conjure up the smell of clean laundry, just off the line.

“The afternoon breeze would incite to a weird and flabby activity among all that crowded mass of clothing, with its vague suggestions of drowned, mutilated and flattened humanity. Trunks without heads waved at you, arms without hands; legs without feet kicked fantastically with collapsible flourishes; and there were long white garments, that taking the wind through their neck openings edged with lace, became for a moment violently distended as by the passage of obese and invisible bodies." – Joseph Conrad

Prince Edward Island is a slice of heaven right here on earth.

Winsome cottages dot the lush green hillsides. Fields of potato farms are planted and tilled in exacting rows. Bike trails crisscross this humble hamlet, stopping only where the land meets the sea.

PEI had been on my bucket list since I was a young girl. The home of the endearing protagonist of Anne of Green Gables, I was smitten with this Canadian province for decades before I finally stepped on her shores.

But that's what books do. They bring the whole world to your doorstep, one page at a time.

"Life will always have hardships, pressure, and incredibly annoying people, but books will make it all worthwhile. In books, you will find your North Star, and you will find you." – Anne Lamott

It has been ten years that I have been without my Mom. Gone but certainly not forgotten.

Her death reverberates within me, even now. But her life does even more so. She is part and parcel of the tapestry of my life, in both a cellular and existential way. Birth is a lottery in which none of us have a say. I consider myself very fortunate to have begun my journey in the arms of such a fierce, bright, and willful soul.

She was also a woman of many opinions, which she shared freely regardless of our solicitation. Among the many wisdoms she seared into my heart is this tripartite musing on the quest for happiness.

Her truth, and now mine........

"The three essentials to happiness: something to do, something to love, something to hope for." – Joseph Addison

My father's sister came back from serving in Europe as a WWII Army nurse and promptly pulled up stakes and moved to Los Angeles.

It was the late 1940's and she looked the part. She bleached her hair blonde, wore red lipstick, and squeezed herself into sweaters too tight for New England sensibilities. Not only that, she gave up nursing to become a professional Latin ballroom dancer and moved in with a Hungarian man named Bruno who sported one of those pencil thin mustaches. It was all a bit.....much.

But to her niece, she was just my kooky aunt Avis.

One summer my brother and I went to California for a visit. We hopped into her car and Bruno drove like a madman through the side streets of Los Angeles until a final swerve set us onto a dock jutting out into one of the local lakes. Without warning he gunned the engine and off the pier we went.

The Amphicar 770 was a German car produced in the early 1960's, the same model in whose backseat we were then strapped. It functioned both on land and in water. But most importantly, it convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my aunt was the coolest person ever.

A review of the Amphicar summed it up this way.....

"It's not a good boat, nor is it a good car."

I was never much of a purse girl.

If the item in question couldn't fit in my pocket, I figured I didn't really need it. It just seemed like carrying something so I could carry something else presented a circular argument I would never win.

My wife, on the other hand, LOVES purses and bags. Our closets are filled to the brim with variations on a theme.

Tote. Messenger. Kiss Lock. Duffle. Minudière. Canteen. Satchel. Sling. Weekender. Barrel. Drawstring. Knapsack. Randoseru. Wristler. Coin. Messenger. Garment. Nantucket Basket. Bowling. Fanny. Canvas. Hobo. Pochette. And last but not least, the timeless clutch.

The only bag she would leave for dead is her luggage.....

"I don't carry little purses. I carry big duffles. Always." – Diane Keaton

I was still in elementary school when I got my first pair of glasses.

In those early years, my glasses were meant to help correct a lazy eye. As I grew older, they expanded my vision to include my teacher's blackboard scribblings, what flickered across the television, and words written on road signs.

I was near-sighted with a capital N.

Now every surface in my home is covered with eyeglasses and eyeglass cases. Sunglasses. Computer glasses. Reading glasses. Oh, and the spares, just in case I can't find my.... well, glasses.

Somewhere along the line, I started putting my glasses on to do things totally unrelated to my vision, as if by adjusting one of my senses the others would magically grow more acute.

If you've ever turned off your car radio so you could better read the exit signs on the I-10, you know exactly what I mean.

"I can't think without my glasses." – Vivienne Westwood

The month of May is upon us, and with it, the usual plethora of activities.

As events like graduation ceremonies and summer weddings draw closer, I have been thinking a lot about crossing over.

There are crossings, of the literal variety, that have gained fame because they are so perilous. I remember dodging cars, heart in mouth, as I leapfrogged my way across the rotary that encircles the Arc de Triomphe. Despite being young and nimble, that felt more like a gauntlet than a crossing.

Then there are convergences marked, not by danger, but by cacophony. Intersections like NYC's Times Square or Tokyo's Shibuya Scramble come to mind. I am drawn to these sorts of beehives, lured by their sheer sensory overload.

Then there are crossings of the most pedestrian variety, where just a few steps, or words, or minutes, change everything.

When John, Paul, George, and Ringo strolled across Abbey Road, they had just recorded their final album. They were crossing over. So were we.......

“Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you.” ― Paul McCartney

*Link to live webcam of Abbey Road Crosswalk:

https://www.earthcam.com/world/england/london/abbeyroad/?cam=abbeyroad_uk

I was fortunate to meet Olympia Dukakis once in my life. While in graduate school, she agreed to be interviewed for a project I was researching. I flew to LAX, rented a car, and made my way to a small bungalow in a nondescript part of West Hollywood. I was so excited I could scarcely breathe.

Olympia grew up in a gritty, largely Greek, former mill town in Massachusetts. Her cousin Michael was our governor for a time. She was one of our own.

I loved her for other reasons besides our shared geography. I loved her beautiful thick hair, her gravelly voice, and her no nonsense demeanor. I loved Tales of the City, Steel Magnolias, and of course, her rough and tumble Rose in Moonstruck. True to form, when I rang the doorbell the day of my visit she was just as I imagined. She hollered from the back to come on in and after making my way to the small kitchen I found her sitting at the table in her pajamas, hair wet from a quick dash through the shower, eating some scrambled eggs. "Want some, darlin'?" she purred.

The legend of Lowell. I miss you already.

Olympia Dukakis

June 20, 1931 - May 1, 2021

"Most of us are not real eager to grow, myself included. We try to be happy by staying in the status quo. But if we're not willing to be honest with ourselves about what we feel, we don't evolve." – Olympia Dukakis

Is it just me or do the rest of you still love Ryan Seacrest and the indefatigable American Idol?

This congenial television host has long held a soft spot in my heart. Boyish good looks aside, his enthusiasm and kindness have buoyed thousands of American Idol hopefuls. Even during the years when Simon Cowell sniped his way through every episode, Ryan was there as a counterbalance.

No boxing gloves for Ryan. He's more of a kid gloves kind of guy.

Katy, Luke, and Lionel make it look so easy. But it's still Ryan who steers the ship.

“I always just wanted to be a cheesy guy on television.” – Ryan Seacrest