Meanwhile, an Atlantic ocean away, George Washington and patriotic Americans were struggling for independence from England. The English empire believed they had every right to siphon off the wealth of these low life colonials in order for the British elites to continue to languor in early retirement mode. "How dare these Americans complain? We are the mother land. They serve us. Don’t they realize we have our own class struggles at home? Why break the status quo?"

Dog-sitting Tinker was going to take hours so I decided to watch Youtube on TV while I prepared dinner. Somehow, a 3.5 hour documentary of The Boring Life of George Washington popped up. I realized that I didn’t really know that much about US history or Washington. I’ve heard bits and pieces about him like his chopping down the cherry tree and his wooden teeth … but I didn’t grow up in an American Grade School; so I let the video play --- and boy was I blown away! No joke. I am so so amazed at President Washington.

It is caricature week for me at my church during our Annual Summer Adventure Week where I am stationed at the Parent’s Lounge.I don’t know why but when I’m drawing people's faces, I am transformed into their Father Confessor. They open up their lives to me. Couples share how they met and what they do.

Too bad. If she had cared to listen, I would have shared my own experience. Before smart pads and touch screens became a fad, I used to awkwardly draw with my computer mouse (ergonomically a bad idea). It wasn’t long until I started to feel sharp pain … as if a vein or two had fallen out of place. I asked a nurse friend what to do. She said take pain-killers and get one of those adjustable wrist braces. It wasn’t a cure. It only covered the problem. It was either that or I would need an operation. Worry occupied my thoughts.

My wife and I waited for our grandson to be dismissed from his last day of Middle School. Earlier, his older brother celebrated his Promotion Day (from Middle School to High School) with several academic medals hanging from his neck. It was a proud morning.

A dear friend of mine sends me verses every day. This morning, he sent me a poem he wrote about grace and peace which created an image in my mind of a shell in a calm sandy beach. I was transported to my carefree childhood summer vacation --- lying down on my stomach along the sandy beach, surrounded by an assortment of smoothly eroded, broken, white and pink, perforated, corals and shells. As the lapping waves pushed one shell to shore, I wondered what happened to the creature that lived in that shell. Was it eaten by some sea monster? Did it die of old age? Now, nothing's left of the soft slimy muscle tissue of this mollusk … only the beautiful fossilized home of the snail remains as a testament that it once slithered on the ocean floor. To think that each of these other shells has a story to tell.

A few days ago, someone mentioned that she came from a wealthy family. She said her grandfather owned a coal mine. “What an odd statement,” I thought. Why would anyone declare she was wealthy? Why would wealth even matter? Does wealth change our relationship? Will I need to bow down and worship? The rolodex in my mind flipped through a list of the many who I consider “wealthy.” Is there anything I could learn from them?

He was orphaned because he was born with physical deformities. He was transferred and abused from one foster home to another. That’s when he started his collection of tattoos and piercings. Like most self-mutilators, the physical pain countered the mental anguish that had become his normal reality. Internally he was shouting for attention so he could expose the injustice of his prison institution. But the more he disfigured himself, the more he became invisible.

Last week, my wife had a board retreat in Palm Springs so I tagged along. Most of the time, when I join my wife’s work activities, I just stay in our hotel room. You see, I’m not really into traveling and I don’t really care for the long rides --- be it on a boat, or in a float … in a train, or on a plane … on a van or on a tram … I do not like them, Sam I am! Nope, hate wasting my time like that. I can’t wait for Elon Musk to invent a teleportation machine and say --- “beam me up Scotty!” But this time was different. I rode a tramway to the top of the world with four sweet ladies.

My garage door suddenly died. I clicked on the remote --- nothing! I clicked on the wall switch --- nothing! No lighting … no sound … nothing! That began my adventure to the wonderful world of garage door repair.