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When we were young, my parents often took us to Squaw Island at the north end of Canandaigua Lake. There we enjoyed a day of swimming, picnicking, snorkeling, "exploring" and searching for "hidden treasures." It was not unusual for us to head out late in the fall, when it was even too cold to swim, and so it was on one Thanksgiving Day. We pulled up in our little outboard motorboat, and dragged it onto the sandbar that points back to the canal and boat launch. We cuddled up on the then-sandy beach, wrapped up in a blanket — three little girls, and mom and dad. (My brother hadn't yet been born.) Mom brought out the cooler that held our Thanksgiving dinner and opened the top. Reaching deep, she pulled out a plate for each of us, and handed them out, with great ceremony. Each held a few kernels of dry corn and not much else. We were dumbstruck. Mom was always the picnic queen. What was happening? Then came the life l esson that resonated for decade...

I ran across these photos of a wonderful morning I spent a) getting up too early; b) watching people who were passionate about golfing;and c) finding out why they love it so much.  I never swung a club, but I did learn why they get up early and savor each moment. My apologies to all the golfers I have dismissed over the years. I get it. Golf on.

This entitled princess lives in a lakefront home and is surrounded by collections of priceless glass collected from around the world. She's broken only one item, her owner claims. And she definitely rules the castle. I shot this photo after an interview with her owner. I was equally impressed with them both.

Bosnian stone layer Mujo Sabic travels to the U.S. during construction season to craft stonework like this. I met him briefly in fall 2014 during a tour of Historic High Point in Victor with developer Fred Rainaldi. His accent was thick, his smile quick, and his skills mighty impressive. This curvaceous retaining wall holds back the hillside with grace, and looks like it will be standing strong for centuries to come. At first, Sabic was reluctant to have his picture taken, but when he finally obliged, his smile took my breath away.

Sixty-one years. That's how long they've been Mr. and Mrs. — so far. They've raised a family, built a home, chased multiple careers, invested in dozens and dozens of hobbies/causes/services/passions. And through it all, they kept their eyes and hearts on each other. As the clock ticks, they hold each other closer and closer, with more tenderness, more gentleness, more grace and patience than ever before. That's the stuff that usually fades when age shows up, but the opposite is true for them. The more they live, the deeper they love. And it's not a stupid, sappy, for appearances' sake love. It's a head-to-toe "though everything else has fallen away, you've been true blue" love. Their mutual respect never stalled out, their desire for  each other never faded, their rhythm, goals, and joys never got out of sync. To be fair, they rarely saw eye-to-eye about how to get from A to B, but always agreed on the ultimate objective. They alway...

Golden boy. Beloved by his community, his friends, his classmates, and oh, so loved by his family. Cream of the crop. Smartest of the smart. Record breaker. Overachiever. Mr. Potential. Alex had the whole world at his feet. But his life ended in mystery, controversy, and sensationalism. He was found dead in his fraternity house, and the press went the distance to report it. His cause of death was eventually released only to family members. The rest of us will never know. Frankly, I think it's nobody's business but his mom's, dad's, and siblings'. Alex — I thought you were a smart, enterprising, inquisitive, inspiring, innovative young man. I was cheering for you. I wanted you to win. I loved getting to meet you and see you in action. I'm so sorry that you're gone, and will never know what could have been. I hope you knew how much people loved and looked up to you. I hope you didn't die feeling like you were invincible. I so wanted to see you ac...

Child abuse stories: they both challenge and sicken me.  I'm torn between compassion and judgement, anger and mercy, and all the while I shudder at how many lives are changed, often irrevocably damaged, in one instant by one terrible choice.  For some it's the same heinous, misguided, well-rationalized choice over and over again. I scratch my head at all the poor choices I've made, and loved ones have made, that really did make sense at the time. And I imagine that these individuals — all somebody's baby at one time, all full of potential at one time — probably thought their decisions made perfect sense, too.  So what sets us apart? If all sins are equally reviling in the sight of God, what sets us apart from the child molester, the spouse-abuser, the porn-heroin-alcohol-gambling-addicted person? Whose misguided decisions are more unforgivable? Maybe that's the lesson: compassion.  I hate what they did, but the fact is, at some point a mama look...