Oh to be a kid again! Hey, I can still indulge in that world from time to time. I often do, and it’s so worth it!

This summer, we had six of our nieces and nephews come visit for a weekend, and boy, did we have fun! While our plans didn’t unfold as we expected, rolling with the punches resulted in us having an even better time.

Friday night, after grilling out and devouring some good grub, we break out the dominoes for a rousing game of Chicken Scratch (also called Mexican Train). What? You’ve never played? Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing! Check it out here! For newbies to the game, what starts off as a so-so time turns into an addiction pretty quickly. Don’t believe me? Give it a go.

Our Saturday plans to go to a waterfront concert are washed out by rain, so now housebound and humid, what shall we do? Our niece, Olivia, saves the day by pulling out packs of colored string, and teaching us all how to make bracelets. Some of us (ok, I) don’t give it much of an effort, and instead, opt to sit back and watch them all create, interact, laugh, and sing. How cool to have their energies infuse our house!

After the bracelet making marathon, we, as the hosts, wrack our brains trying to figure out what to do next. The kids keep assuring us that they are happy to just all be together at this cousin’s weekend away, but we want more. It’s now 6:30 PM, and Olivia chimes up with a thought. “Aww, we should have done a scavenger hunt.”

“We still can!” I say. So Melissa and I head into the other room and quickly come up with 10 clues that will send the kids all around Newburyport on a photo scavenger hunt.

We divide the six of them into two teams of three, and each take a team in a car. We act only as the chauffeurs and can’t help solve the clues. Not being from this area, they’ll have to get creative to figure out some of the answers. And not only do they need to solve the clues, but they also have to take photos of themselves to prove they found the right places. The first team to the pizza shop, where we’ll all have dinner, with their completed list and photos, wins!

As we scramble around town, tourists and residents alike are more than excited to help out the teams.

“Can you tell me where you can get really cheap hot dogs in the area?” my niece asks.

“Sure! Head to the Richdale Convenience store just up the road. They sell them for 25 cents.”

And off they go, sprinting, as I, the photographer, try to keep up with them in my flip flops.

As my team searches for an authentic gelato shop to get a picture of a teammate indulging in a bite, we run into the other team. Playful panic and laughter erupt!

“How many clues have you guys solved?”

“We’re not telling, but probably more than you guys!”

And we’re off again! This time, they need to figure out what branch of the armed forces was founded in Newburyport (Coast Guard) and get a picture next to a monument indicating such. This clue tripped my team up and ultimately cost them the game, but only by mere minutes. When we pulled into the pizza shop’s parking lot, the other team was just getting out of the car and making a dash for the door. Oh, so close!

In our haste to throw the hunt together, we neglected to come up with a prize for the winning team. Oops! So, pizza it was — for the winners and non-winners (I can’t call my nieces and nephews ‘losers’!) alike.

The other clues on the list?

• a picture of your team in front of a boat like they own it
• a seashell
• a picture of 3 different team members with 3 different strangers
• a picture of your team with an airplane
• a picture of the whole team with the Gorton’s fisherman-looking statue
• 1 cup of sand
• a picture in front of a restaurant’s sign whose initials spell out an animal with a curly tail that likes mud

Having loved scavenger hunts as a kid, I, even only as the chauffeur, had such a blast! Talk about drinking from the Fountain of Youth!

After we arrive home and fill our faces, it’s onto karaoke! Melissa hooks the machine up to the TV, tests the microphones, while I break out the new karaoke CDs I bought. One-by-one, the kids trickle into the family room to take their shot at fame. There are solos, duets, full room sing-a-longs, of all kinds of songs.

This past Easter, I met a miracle man.

After spending the beautiful day on the beach, we’re heading home to cook Easter dinner. As we travel down the tranquil, seaside road, we see an older gentleman crossing the street. As he reaches the other side, he stumbles on the curb and falls — into the road.

Fortunately, the woman driving the car in front of us is paying close attention and stops abruptly, just short of the man lying on the pavement. Without much thought, I jump out of the car and run to his side, along with the astute driver of the SUV ahead of us.

We each take an arm, get him to his feet, and walk him toward a bench so he can sit and settle his nerves. On our walk, I learn that Dave, an Air Force vet, was an expert skier in his day, spending lots of time while stationed in Europe hitting the slopes of the Alps and other epic mountains. He had a “bit of an accident” years ago that makes him a little wobbly on his feet. Later, I learn it was much more than a “bit of an accident.”

More embarrassed than hurt, we get him to the bench, and I decide to keep him company while a neighbor goes to his apartment to get his cane. As we chat, I learn more about his “little” accident.

Years after his service to our country, at the still young age of 32, Dave is skiing Killington in Vermont, using brand new equipment. Before he knows it, in a moment he doesn’t remember, he flies off the trail and hits a tree. A moment that would change his life forever.

In a coma, the doctors give him a very slim chance at survival, however, his mother’s faith doesn’t waiver. Seemingly inspired by her belief, the medical team makes her as comfortable as possible as she holds vigil.

More than three months later, Dave wakes to find a bolt through his temple, unable to speak or move his body, and missing a large portion of his scalp. The doctors are stunned to see him awake; his mother, not so much. She refuses to let them take him off life support. But, the prognosis isn’t good, the doctors tell her. They say he’ll never walk again and probably won’t ever speak. Apparently, they don’t know Dave very well.

Each and every day since he completed months and months of extensive and difficult physical therapy and rehabilitation years ago, Dave rides his stationery bike for 36 minutes, does 36 sit-ups and 36 push-ups. Next time I see him, I’ll have to ask him the significance of the number “36″. He also walks a full mile, round-trip, to the water’s edge and back home. This trek, that he’s been making for 27 years, is the one he’s walking the day I meet him. He decides, this day, that he’s going to give it a go without his cane. With his crystal blue eyes glistening in the sun, and his smile beaming, he chuckles, “Guess that wasn’t the best idea.”

As we sit on the bench chatting, a small crowd gathers to look at a seal that’s popped up in the water. Could this day get any better? Dave taps me on the arm with his camera that he’s pulled out of his shirt pocket. “I’m a bit shaken. Can you snap a picture for me?” I take his camera and climb up onto the wall and capture the scene for him. “I zoomed in as much as I could, Dave. But I make no guarantees that you’ll be able to see that the black speck in the water is a seal!” Dave just seems impressed that I know how to use his camera without explanation. “I can barely figure that thing out,” he says. Maybe next time I see him I can show him a couple simple tricks.

While it is a scary way for us to meet, I’m feeling incredibly fortunate for having been at the right place at the right time. Not only to help Dave to his feet, but also to meet this miracle man who had to learn to walk, talk, eat, read and write all over again. And while he admits to me, in a whisper, that there were times when he wanted to throw in the towel and end his struggle, his beaming and contagious smile comes back across his face as he says, “But I didn’t.” And Dave doesn’t blame his struggles on skiing. It’s a sport he still loves, as it was a huge part of his life. “And,” he, says, “it will be again.” And I don’t doubt him for a second.

Image by Neil Rickards

For those of you who haven’t met Juan Mann, allow me to introduce you to him. Juan is a man who was living in London when his world got turned upside down (he doesn’t specify how on his website) and he had to return to his home -– Australia. When he arrived home, he watched everyone on his flight being greeted by loved ones with open arms. He wanted someone out there to be happy to see him, to hug him. And so the Free Hugs Campaign was started. With a piece of cardboard and a black magic marker, he began asking for what he wanted. And what he found was a world full of people who needed the same -– to be seen and to be held, if only for a moment. His video went viral a few years back, but it’s definitely worth revisiting. I encourage you to read more at his site: www.freehugscampaign.org. You can see a moving video of his “experiment” below:

I just love this idea. Really, there aren’t many things that feel better than a hug – a real, strong, longer than a millisecond, hug. Naturally, I had to put this to the test. A few years back, I decided to head to the State House here in Massachusetts on a day when people from opposite sides of a heated issue were gathering to make their positions known. It was the constitutional convention when the legislature came together to possibly vote on a ban on same-sex marriage. I wanted to go and show my support for what I believe in, but I hesitated, not wanting to be faced with what I thought would be negativity and anger – from both sides.

Perfect, I thought. Here’s a way I can participate while also diffusing the situation a bit. Off I went with my newly-created FREE HUGS sign. And hugs I got! From people on both sides of the street. Even from some legislators. Yes, some people were not interested in my invitation (grumpy state police officer!), but the smiles that came across everyone’s faces who participated, including mine, were priceless. I’ll take 100 rejections for just one acceptance and the feeling of compassion and connectedness that comes with it.

I encourage you, the next time you’re at a public event, or in your own downtown, to bring along a sign and spread some love!

Growing up, I lived next to Woodsy’s, a corner store and deli. The owner of the store, Dixie, was an elderly man who suffered from severe arthritis, so much so that the kids in the neighborhood referred to his hands as claws (fortunately, not to his face).

Dixie gave me my first job at the age of 9. He had an ice machine in his store, and he would bag the ice to sell it. With the toll the arthritis had taken on his hands, he needed some help bagging because he couldn’t maneuver the twist tie. I was thrilled when he offered me the job – for a whole 50 cents an hour.

On my first day, Dixie taught me the secret of the twist tie. “Pinch and twist, Kerri. Pinch and twist. That’ll get you the best closure.” I remember wanting to do a really good job, and as I closed each bag, I’d repeat the mantra to myself – “Pinch and twist. Pinch and twist.” I had finished about 10 bags when he first came to check on me. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “You’re doing a great job! You’ve gotten a lot done. Now, let’s check out the tying job.” I remember feeling a moment of trepidation. “Oh, I hope I did it right,” I thought. “Kerri, I must say, “ Dixie continued, “this is some of the best pinching and twisting I’ve seen in a long time! I’m sure lucky to have you helping me.”

Now, was it really the best pinching and twisting he had seen? Surely not, as I saw him re-securing some bags as he put them in the ice chest for sale, but his appreciation and reassurance made me want to do an even better job for him. It warmed my heart to help him, and he made me feel significant and seen every time I was with him.

At the end of my “shift”, which was always as long or as short as I liked, he’d offer me my pay right from the register, or I had the option of taking home some sweets for payment. I remember almost always opting for the sweet reward, and without fail, I’d choose a soda (often either Mountain Dew, orange soda, or grape soda) and Suzy Q’s; he’d sometimes throw in a candy bar, too. Come to think of it, I’ve read that we often crave certain foods in an attempt to relive a fond memory or time from our past where we ate that food. A-ha! So, it’s not the Suzy Q’s I’m craving as an adult; it’s the special time with Dixie.

I love to think about the people who came into my life as a child and made a lasting impression, whether it was my 8th grade English teacher (aptly named Mr. Devine) who helped me fall in love with the power of words through his Parts of Speech songs, or my best friend from grammar school, Amy Consigli, who you could always count on for a warm greeting and a friendly smile. And dear, sweet Dixie – one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. Although he traveled quite a difficult road in his life, he still managed to make this little girl feel pretty special.

Image by Engage-toi

For those of you who know me, it’ll come as no surprise when I say I’m not a huge fan of camping – I’m more of a “serve-me-breakfast-in-bed-resort” versus a “build-your-own-room-and-sleep-with-bugs” kind of gal. However, Melissa loves the outdoors and really enjoys camping, and since relationships involve compromise, compromise I did. A while back, we, along with a friend of ours, went camping in Hancock, NH.

Now, it’s not the outdoors I dislike, it’s the walking a distance in the middle of the night when you have to pee part that doesn’t appeal to me. Other things I really enjoy – like the kayaking we got to do and spending time among nature’s wonders – one of which being Monadnock Mountain in Jaffrey, NH, which we decided to hike while we were in the area. If you’re not familiar with the mountain, here’s some interesting facts:

• It’s the most climbed mountain in the world (yes, the world – right ahead of Mt. Fuji in Japan) – 125,000 people get to the top each year.

• There are at least a dozen, well-marked trails – of various skill levels – leading to the summit.

• It’s the most popular mountain in the USA, partly due to the fact that when hikers reach the top, on a clear day you’re rewarded with panoramic views to all six New England states.

• Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and other thinkers of our country have hiked it and mentioned it in writings as a symbol of spiritual and environmental awareness.

We had hiked this mountain before, probably 5 years ago or so. I remember it being quite a challenging climb, mostly at the top when you are above the tree line and you are essentially rock climbing. However, this time, we took a different trail – one much more difficult – that was mainly made up of rocks and boulders.

During our climb, we decide to rest for a bit for some water and trail mix (could there be a more appropriate food for hiking? ). We get to talking, and before we know it, a half hour has passed. Disappointed by how much time we had lost by the impromptu break, we quickly get back on our way. On we climb, and after some tricky maneuvers, we reach the summit – 3,165 feet. Our legs fatigued, and the wind practically knocking us over, we sit to rest before enjoying the views.

Then, it’s picture time. For my photo, I want to stand on the tippity-top – the technical 3,165-foot peak (a rock is carved to indicate the true summit). I wait as other climbers have their photo opportunity, then it’s my turn. As I stand there trying to hold myself steady for the picture (it was really windy), out of literally nowhere appears an airplane. No one hears it until it’s practically on top of us. Everyone on the summit (about 50-60 people or so) gasps and looks to the sky. There I am, holding myself steady from the wind and now from the roaring of this unbelievably close plane, and as I look up, the plane suddenly starts doing maneuvers – flips, pirouettes (I’m sure the military has a much more masculine term for that spin!), and dips. Then, as quickly as it appears, it disappears on the other side of the mountain. People run to see where it went, but it’s gone. Vanished.

Then, along comes a second plane, showcasing similar aerial dancing. A fellow climber tells us that it’s the Air Force doing maneuvers – he believes the aircraft is an A10 Thunderbolt. What better place to do your maneuvers than where you know you’ll have a captive audience?! This pilot is so close that as he’s flipping, he waves at all of us and we can see him! Spontaneously, I turn into a little girl, laughing and clapping as I stand on the summit. The rush I feel from having completed the climb, combined with standing on the tip-top summit just as this amazing show in the sky presents itself to me is just indescribable. People take turns standing on the exact summit point, and it just happens to be my turn when the planes come.

Boy, am I glad we took that unplanned 30-minute snack/chat break part way up the mountain, otherwise we would have missed this entirely. Talk about being in the right place at the right time. Perhaps I should trust the Universe’s timing more often.

There are those moments in life when we’re in the midst of them that we know they’re going to be Top Ten experiences for us. There are obvious ones like your wedding day, the birth of a child, and skydiving. Then there are the more subtle ones; times when you first feel it way down deep – a magnificent tickle of joy that starts at your toes and works its way up your entire being, ever so slowly at first until it kicks up and races into your heart. The impact of these times is usually much less predictable. Sure, you had an inkling that it was going to be fun, maybe even pretty special. But after, you feel it in every fiber.

My friend, Devon, introduced me to a place that, at the time, was less than 10 miles from my house, yet that I had never visited in the almost three years I’d lived here. It’s the Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary, a part of the Massachusetts Audubon, and it’s a beautiful collection of about 10 miles of walking trails, along which you can see probably hundreds of different types of birds and all sorts of wildlife. Devon and I saw deer grazing only 15 feet away! This place is pretty amazing, but the most incredible part is an experience you can have there that I don’t know where else you can.

If you stand with your arm outstretched and hold bird seed in your hand, birds will come and eat right from your palm! Black-capped chickadees, tufted titmice, nuthatches. They’ll come, and they’ll eat. That’s my hand in the picture with a cute, little chickadee eating and his friend coming to join!

About a year ago, a woman I had just met asked where I lived. When I told her, her face lit up as she exclaimed, “Oh! Have you gone to the Audubon Society and fed the chickadees out of your hand?” To be honest, I thought she was nuts. Birds eating out of your hand? Who am I, Doctor Doolittle? I humored her and let her gush, but thought it just couldn’t be true. If I could find that woman now, I’d offer her a bag of bird seed as an apologetic gesture.

I’m a bird lover anyway, but to have them literally eating out of the palm of my hand was such an overwhelming experience; a closeness with nature that made my heart sing. This was a Top Ten experience for me, no question.

I’ve gone many times since that first time, and I plan on going many more with pockets filled with seeds.