On Saturday of this past weekend, I drove over to the Cape, just beyond the Bourne Bridge, to surprise my friend JoAnn for her birthday. That particular pocket of Cape Cod holds special meaning to me, as we spent many times at her place on North Beach, talking and sharing and healing. It’s always a treat to return and revisit that part of the past. I arrived long before check-in, so I drove around a bit – both in town, and then further into Falmouth.

The day was gray and overcast, spitting out rain and making most photo ops impossible. I did get these two, however ~ the windmill and the bridge ~ a pair of structural elements that defied the somber lack of color. On Main Street, I ducked into a French bakery to escape the wind and rain, hunkering down at a window table and devouring an almond croissant and, I admit, a chocolate chip cookie. A cup of coffee rounded out the breakfast, and when the rain let up a little I ventured back out.

No matter how much we try to tame her, nature will not be stopped. On this day, she only roared in the morning, and as the hours progressed her agitation diminished, until by three o’clock she was showing some of her blue sky, and it was again time to eat.

That’s about as profound as it’s going to get here today. Just another Manic Monday…

It was a week dominated by the unreal tragedy at the Boston Marathon, and the subsequent manhunt surrounding the Boston area, and as such I was slightly all over the place, unsure quite how to deal with it blog-wise, ultimately ending up with a single written letter to the city I love so much. I have nothing left to say about it at the moment.

When things turn crazy in the outside world, I tend to turn inward, to friends and family, especially when they remind of childhood innocence, as in the birthday joy of my niece and nephew.

Other distractions could be found in the vain, vapid, and ridiculous pornstache I had going (and which finally went bye-bye for real last night.)

What separates the men from the real mean, and the women from the real women.

Once-a-freaking-century this happens, and of course it has to happen to my prized possession.

There was only one official Hunk of the Day for the week, and he managed to shine and doff his shirt, as evidenced by the great Colby Keller.

To make up for the dearth of shirtlessness and male nudity, I offered what was behind Doors One, Two, and Three.

April showers sometimes bring April flowers, as seen here and here.

While searching through my flash drive I realized that I never posted the Easter outfit from Boston, and as I’ll be departing Massachusetts for another week or two, it seems a fitting time to put it up. Besides, these are all filler posts until I return with a new batch of inspirational photos. As you read this, I’ll hopefully be traversing Massachusetts and New York, a little spent, a little tired, but emotionally satiated from having seen some very good people.

A castle with a turret and a drawbridge. A damsel in anything-but-distress. A fireside hearth, before which a pink and diamond-studded shoe dries on a grate. And a yarn-tailed pony, resting on its side, ready to be brought back to life by a little hand.

When I was a kid, this sort of scene would have kept me occupied for hours, as I imagined all kinds of scenarios, setting and reconfiguring this castle, moving all its occupants (Piglet included) and enacting various far-fetched daily dramas for the knights and queens and animals. In truth, I made just as much out of a cardboard box that Dad would bring home from the hospital, and never really thought to want more until I got older. I grew and fostered my imagination because I had to, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. If children can’t learn to entertain themselves on their own, without fancy phones or sensory overload, they will never be satisfied as adults.

I’m starting to sound like a grumpy old man, and perhaps I am. There may be nothing new under the sun. I do wonder what’s becoming of imagination, when all the wildest experiences can be conjured on a computer screen, so readily at hand, so easily explored. Maybe I just want to go back to being a kid again. Maybe that’s what we all want in some way. Maybe that’s why children are so captivating to some of us.