I've got a storage problem. I've been taking photos a long time. I bought my first camera in college. I used film. So I had negatives and prints. A shoebox would work for small prints and negatives. I have some old yellow Kodak photo paper boxes that hold a lot of 8x10 photos.

When I began to shoot slides, I put them in clear plastic pages in 3 ring binders. I have dozens of binders, with thousands of slides. I got my first digital camera in 2003 and had a new problem: where and how to store digital images. And the problem has compounded itself as the size of the image has grown. I've also been advised to keep multiple copies of the digital images. I have more than 60,000 digital images, and now that I'm retired the number increases at more than 1,000 per month. Part of this is fun.

But in some ways, it feels like the process of storage and backup will swallow one up. But it's weird in that all of the photos I've taken for the last ten years will fit on a portable hard drive smaller than a book, much smaller than a shoebox. But that many slides fills nearly 10 feet of shelf space, and that many prints and negatives fills box after box after box. And despite what I read this week, I recall nearly every photo, if not all.

That's a lot of memories.

On our recent trip to Bryson City, NC, we took the southern route through Chattanooga and alongside the Ocoee River. The water flow is controlled by three TVA dams.

As you can see, it is popular for white-water rafting and was the site for the 1996 Summer Olympics. Sections of the rapids have interesting names such as "Broken Nose" and "Double Trouble". The young people were happy and wet. And I was happy photographing them from the river bank, and was dry. Ah, older people can be happy without getting wet.

Midway through our meal yesterday, our waitress said, "Happiness is a choice. I choose to be happy." Her affirmation caused me to remember an article I had read this week about how happiness changes as we grow older. Happiness for the young is provided by extraordinary events, such as vacations or concerts while the older folks (my age group and beyond) find happiness in ordinary times: a meal with a spouse or friend, sitting quietly in a favorite spot, or watching the birds at the feeder. I found it fascinating to consider how simple happiness can be.

I would hope that this photo (Yes, it's not possible that I took this picture, although it could be a selfie!) represents a happy time. Yes, here I have hair! and I'm working on a tan (that hasn't changed) and from the brick sidewalk in the background, this is on Eighth Street in Peru, Indiana. Different things make me happy now. It's a choice. I choose to be happy.

One Sunday morning, I arrived at this church to be the guest preacher. I've been to a lot of churches, but I had never seen this:

Of course, this is the steps to the front door of the church. I've noticed over the years, as well, that most of the regulars have a different entrance to their church. There's the door by the kitchen, and the one that goes into the fellowship hall, and the one by the classrooms, and the side entrances, and on and on. So it's the first-timers that come in the front door (I know there are a bunch of regulars that come in that way as well, but I suspect it is not the majority of the members). And here is the greeting for the first-timers, the Ten Commandments on ten steps. And I suspect further that these steps were carved with memorial money.

Now I'm a Christian that finds grace more appealing than law. I recall St. Paul addressed this as well. I think that it would be hard to climb these stairs knowing how you have failed to keep these Commandments. Some folks might even stop and turn back, thinking they didn't deserve God's love. And wouldn't even get inside to hear the Good News. I would hope they could at least hear the congregation singing "Amazing Grace"...

Disclaimer: this photo was taken two years ago.

But, this is exactly what the deck looked like on Friday afternoon. Judy and I had just talked about that the lawns were getting dry and it hadn't rained in a week. We do have sprinklers in the lawn in the back, but not the front. And some things were starting to look thirsty. And then a rather dark cloud came up over the western tree line, accompanied by thunder. A few minutes later, it was pouring.

It is good that there is rhythm to nature with sunshine and rain. Happy first day of summer!

The Nashville Public Library offers noon concerts on Wednesday during the summer. And since it is Nashville, and it is Music City, you will be hearing different musicians, all of whom are talented.

So here we are listening to "Riders in the Sky", who have been singing together since the guitar was invented. Great entertainment!

Saturday's train ride was a round trip excursion from Bryson City to Dillsboro, NC. As towns go, Bryson City is not large, and Dillsboro is even smaller. One noteworthy item was that the opening scene of the movie, "The Fugitive" was filmed in Dillsboro. The wrecked locomotives and the burnt out bus with "Illinois Department of Corrections" painted on the side was in the railyard as we entered Dillsboro. It was humorous to me that the opening movie scene is supposed to have been near Chester, Illinois, but was filmed in North Carolina. How can I trust movies again?

These two boys, along with all of the other shop keepers and merchants in town, greeted us all as the train stopped at the station. I think they were expecting us. Judy wanted to know how the lemonade was made, and the oldest said it was a secret family recipe. I asked if there was ever any lemons in any part of the recipe. Must have been in there someway. A small glass of ice cold lemonade was 50 cents, so we splurged and each got a glass. Afterwards, they told us that 10% of the profits would go to the Red Cross. It wasn't until later that we realized we might have made a nickel donation to the Red Cross. I think they might have done better with an offering. But they were determined and friendly and prepared. The younger wore a t-shirt that read "This is how legends are made." Today lemonade, tomorrow the world!

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It has become an evening ritual.

Elke and Michael gave a yellow daylily to Judy for Mother's Day when we lived in Benton. Our collection of daylilies has grown ever since. We have had several moves over the intervening years and we have taken the flowers with us. I created one bed by the pool in April before I retired. I made another large bed early this spring. Now we have nearly 50 varieties, that begin blooming in late May and continue through mid-August. The blooms only last for the day, and Judy likes to have fresh flowers each morning. So we gather up the spent blooms, "deadheads", each evening. By early July, we are gathering literally hundreds of blooms. Some do not look "over and done" as the photo above attests. But in the morning, they would be withered and drooping alongside the fresh blooms. I find it nearly as enjoyable to gather the blossoms each evening as it is to appreciate all of the new blossoms each morning, although I wish we used another word other than "deadhead". I'd like to say we are "gathering glory". Just another part of living in paradise at the "Hideaway".