<h2 style="text-align: center;"><em><u>Moose Lodge at Palm Beach Gardens</u></em></h2><p>I walked into the Moose Lodge on RCA Boulevard feeling out of sorts. The scheduled Celebration of Life for Nanci was due to end in 20 minutes. Otherwise, it had been a usual Sunday for me, with a busy morning&#x2014;a Garden Tour in Palm Beach with Patti and then lunch with Caroline and Sam.</p><p>After dropping off Patti at her place I sped north on I-95. I pulled into the parking lot mostly filled with pick-up trucks and a few motorcycles. Outside were gathered a few smokers with beer bottles hanging loosely at their sides. Their glances my way made me feel a bit uneasy. I walked through the entrance into a reception area with pictures of past Moose members. I then realized I didn&#x2019;t really know why I was there.</p><p>Nanci was one of the regular counter gals at Greens, my local pharmacy and lunch place in Palm Beach. Over the past 20 years I only knew her first name and that was from the nametag she wore. Not one to talk much, she was always short on words and did her job...</p>

Here Back East

<h2 style="text-align: center;"><em><u>My Weekly Fix</u></em></h2><p>I had been marinating over the theme of this column, wanting to write about some aspect of newspaper publishing. It took Peggy Noonan of The Wall Street Journal to provide the inspiration with her recent article about The North Shore Leader, a local weekly from Long Island, New York. This small, hometown paper with &#x201C;students and retirees on its staff&#x201D; broke national news, exposing the fraud of George Santos, a recently elected representative for the Third Congressional District of New York. It was an explosive David and Goliath story with world-class investigative work behind it. I immediately subscribed to The Leader and, as a longtime reader and supporter of several weekly newspapers, was moved to write a few words in support of them. Toward this end, I decided to do interviews with two publishers of local weeklies: Carl Butz of The Mountain Messenger and Gavin Menu, co-publisher with his wife Kathryn of The Sag Harbor Express. Though on opposite coasts&#x2014;California and Ne...</p>

<h2 style="text-align: center;"><em><u>Overheard - The Gift of Yourself</u></em></h2><p>At a recent dinner party, I overheard our hostess Chris share an incredible but true story at her end of the table. As she related it, three close, older men--retirees who regularly played golf together in Florida--were gathered at a memorial service for their recently deceased fourth golfing partner. During the event, they were informed by their late friend&#x2019;s daughter that her father had made a special provision in his will for them: the three buddies were to enjoy a long-planned &#x201C;bucket list&#x201D; golfing tour of Scotland at his expense. He left them $100,000 to ensure a leisurely trip of a lifetime, playing all the top courses while staying at the finest hotels and luxury accommodations.</p><p>The three friends embarked on their appointed trip and everything went according to plan. They had a spectacular time and were near the end of a month-long trek through Scotland, when they found themselves having dinner at a pub near St. Andrews. Seated at a nearby table wa...</p>

<h2 style="text-align: center;"><em><u>The Brightline</u></em></h2><p>For those who travel along the coastline in eastern Florida, a train ride is usually on Amtrack running between northeast and southern Florida. I discovered a recent addition to this route: the Brightline, a new, modern short run train between West Palm and Miami. Many of my friends recommended using this mode of transportation as a more comfortable means of travel than driving I-95, so, when I had a business meeting last week in Coconut Grove, I decided to go by rail.</p><p>Settling back into my seat I closed my eyes and thought back to my first train ride with my mother on the New York Central from Rochester to New York City in 1954 to attend my brother&#x2019;s engagement party. I was 15 years old and mom had brought a picnic basket of food to hold me over during the 8-hour trip. My parents were kosher so there was no thought of ordering anything in the dining car except soda pop. I recall distinctly as the conductor came down the aisle to retrieve our tickets, Mom said to me &#x201C;Lenny...</p>

<h2 style="text-align: center;"><em><u>Fishing the Mitchell River</u></em></h2><p>I fished a bit of the North Carolina-Virginia border last week. The Mitchell River near Dobson, North Carolina, is a short drive from Winston-Salem. A visit to my granddaughter Lilly, who is a freshman in college, provided me cover to take a day off to wet my toes and fingers in a cold, 40-degree trout stream.</p><p>My trip started with a short plane ride to Charlotte and then a drive to Winston-Salem where I spent an afternoon at Wake Forest with Lilly. Lilly, our first grandchild, is a modern-day woman brimming with confidence and exuberance. Our time together reassured me that my concern for her happiness, my incentive to visit, was misplaced. Lilly has acclimated well to college life and is a mature young adult.</p><p>I was comfortable taking a day away to fish the morning, not so lonely, with my guide Dave Bergman, a transplanted New Jerseyan who, like all fishing guides, dreams of having his own fly shop someday.</p><p>We set out early in the morning with temps in the 40s. I...</p>