Held Prisoner in Hampton Roads

Life at the beach . . .

We moved to Hampton Roads in 2002. We had to. The management of last company I worked for decided they didn't need any corporate staff. So, I became - in their words - a part of a "profit improvement program." I wish they had just "manned up" and said "we're cutting staff." But no, they needed some corporate-speak to put in their fancy little financial reports. They needed reports and I needed a job. Job hunting is not fun when you'r a shade under six decades.

Anyhow, that's old news. In some ways, I'm glad it happened. For the last six years, I've worked for the Department of Defense, and it's great. I'm actually doing something to support our troops beyond hanging a magnetic ribbon on my car. I can't tell you what I'm doing. Well, I could, but then, I'd have to kill you . . . ;o) They pay me a good salary, and I will leave many things behind that I can point to and say: "Hey! I did that!" And, they're physical things - not just reports and papers and drawings. They are real and visible and useful, and they will outlive me by many years. Footprints in the sands of time, as it were. I like that.

Hmmm . . . I wandered away from what I was going to say, but that's OK. I'll just leave it here.

What I started out to say is that we don't live ON the beach. We live four or five miles away, but we can get there in just a few minutes. Since a lot of the area is rural, when we go to the beach, we have the opportunity to see many interesting things. Like this: