The Sandbox

I guess I was born attracted to sand.  My mother grew up in Florida.  I have lots of relatives in Florida and the south. My grandparents (Bobbie and Pa) had a sandbox in their back yard, built especially for me.  I shared it with my cousins but always considered it mine. This photo is my hunky dad and me on the beach.  I believe it's circa 1966.

Last week I had lunch with a very talented writer. I used to work with him in my corporate life. His grasp of opportunities and technology inspired me. It also made me want to throw my head in the sand.

Real or Artificial?

My childhood Christmas trees were artificial. If my parents ever had a real tree, I don't remember it. The perks are obvious: no fire hazard, no dropping needles, you can put it up any time, you don't have to water it, etc.

The husband is a purist. We have had a real tree for every holiday that we've shared. He's adamant about it. And, there is something special about picking out your annual tree. Plus, they smell so darn good.

The debate continues. I'm ready to move to an artificial tree -- just because it's easier. So far, no dice. I've lost the battle (again!) this year but I haven't completely thrown in the towel.

Christmas isn't the only time I have the real versus artificial debate. Sometimes I do it in my mind when I'm on vacation and looking at strangers on the beach or around a pool. But I'm not thinking about trees.