don’t know about you, but I feel a bit lost at times in this age of drastic change. I’m often consoled by folks quoting Thomas Wolfe: “You can’t go home again,” or “change is inevitable,” and “time marches on.” I have no problem with marching on but, if I’m going to march, I’d rather hike up an ethical hill or down a sensible path. In this graceless age, madness is convention, and it seems as if it’s just an unrelenting spectacle to see who wins the prize each day for ridiculous, insulting ideas. I’m amazed by friends and family who nod their head and embrace the lunacy, without considering the consequences. When it all gets to be unbearable, my wife and I smile at each other, count our blessings, and think of how lucky we were to be raised in a different time. Julia and I were both born here in West Palm Beach in the 1950’s. Our parents hailed from West Palm as well. When folks around here ask us where we’re from, they are amazed at our nativity and often ask what life was like in this area when we were kids. In my attempt to describe the world as we
