Miss Effie, Rembrandt, and Me
It begins each morning. By the time I’ve fi nished sipping my first cup of steaming, jet-black coffee, it’s in full swing – the vacation I take each morning. Without leaving the comforts of home, I can feel the heat from Arizona’s dry-hot deserts, dangle my feet in the placid, cool waters of Florida’s Suwannee River, and rub the gritty sand of Georgia’s Jekyll Island between my fingers. I can also gaze upon the majesty of Colorado’s Cross Mountain, and taste the salt-sea spray of the crashing, plungingwaves along California’s Pacific Coast Highway. And keeping me company during my travels is the mournful howl of an old hound.