might be baloney

Acorns, soccer, and a light fixture

October 16, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

On the afternoon of Friday, October 9, 2026, our yard needed to be mowed.

Before I could start mowing the front yard, I needed to remove about ten million acorns.

In truth, I can’t believe we have so many acorns. I thought the summer’s excessive heat and timid rainfall might curtail the acorns this year. I was wrong.

The acorns have been falling from a stately oak tree that lives in the corner of our neighbor’s yard.

This majestic oak has quite a canopy. The spread of this canopy intrudes into our yard.

There are so many acorns that even squirrels are disinterested. Wacky as squirrels are, they might regret their indifference this winter.

Our flower border along the fence line and a mulched section under the dogwood tree have some of those ten million acorns.

The acorns thud when they hit the ground. They bounce off the asphalt. The acorns pop loudly when they careen off the roof of my parked car or its windshield.

Driving over the acorns, sounds like ice cracking on a road surface on a frozen winter morning.

After I had finished raking as many as I could out of the yard, a neighbor who was walking by looked at my pile. She commented, “Wow, that’s a lot of acorns.”

She is correct. I expect after the acorns stop falling that between both yards we will conservatively estimate close to twenty million.

Acorns to be shipped to you (Photo Bill Pike)

Perhaps you remember from the movie, Forrest Gump, this introduction from Forrest’s new best friend: “My name is Benjamin Buford Blue, people call me Bubba.”

You might recall that young Bubba was all about starting his own shrimping business after the Vietnam war. Bubba could reel off all the possibilities for preparing and selling their harvested shrimp.

Based upon Bubba’s list, I’m beginning to wonder if there might be a market for acorns. According to several sources, some reliable, and some probably unreliable, acorns can be eaten.

If I believed more in the reliable, I could like Bubba name multiple culinary possibilities for the acorns—acorn pancakes, acorn ice cream, acorn muffins, spiced acorn cider, lightly salted acorns, acorn brittle, acorn upside down cake, emulsified acorn soup, acorn slurpy, acorn pudding. You get the idea.

Perhaps, it might be worth calling the Rose Bowl Parade. I’ll bet those clever float makers could find a place for the acorns on their floats.

Seriously, I’m thinking about reaching out to the Virginia Department of Forestry. They might take a million of the higher quality acorns off my hands for potential seedlings.

I know next spring at least half of our front yard will be sprouting oak leaves from the buried acorns.

Meanwhile if you live in a part of America where there are no oak trees producing acorns, for $29.95, I will gladly ship you a pound of acorns.

Before heading out to the Richmond Folk Festival on the afternoon of Saturday, October 10, we had grandparent soccer duty.

The Commander Supreme drove west to the Shady Grove YMCA facilities to watch our third grade granddaughter, Josie, play soccer.

The Commander left early so that she could survey the sale at Tweed. Tweed is one of the most dangerous retailers in Richmond for wives to visit. Husbands cringe when their wives say I’m going to Tweed.

I made no stop at a retailer on my way to Tuckahoe Middle School where our first grader, Ellie, would be playing her game. Both Josie and Ellie play in leagues coordinated through the Tuckahoe YMCA. Ellie’s team holds their weekly practice before the start of the game.

I think the Tuckahoe YMCA does a good job with this program. I particularly like the wording found on the back of the t-shirts worn by the coaches. It reads: COACH CARING, HONESTY, RESPECT, RESPONSIBILITY.

Despite efforts from my friend, Robb Spotts, who played collegiate soccer, coached at the high school level, and still officiates local soccer games, I do not understand the rules of soccer. Perhaps our granddaughters can assist my soccer mentor, Coach Spotts, in my tutelage.

Despite my soccer denseness, I do appreciate with lots of patience from their coaches how these young ladies improve their soccer skills.

I know grandparents are not supposed to brag about their grandchildren, but I’m going to break that rule.

The Commander Supreme reported to me that Josie has improved her skills. Josie scored a goal, and she had multiple saves when playing goalie.

At one point during the game on Saturday morning, I saw that improvement in Ellie’s soccer skills. I have no photographic proof, but here is what I saw.

The other team had the ball. One of their players was pushing the ball down the sideline on the side opposite from where Ellie was positioned. The player had an open field down that sideline.

Ellie from the other side of midfield saw this player breaking away. She ran with the grace of a yearling who had just discovered its stride. Ellie turned on her afterburners, caught up with the player, steered the ball away from her, took the ball back up field, and with some soccer gods’ luck kicked in a goal.

I wanted to see a replay. I wanted to hear a commentator compliment Ellie on her field of vision, her foot speed, and her pivot to work the ball back down field to score a goal.

Until I croak, I will replay Ellie’s play in my mind forever.

The remnants of Hurricane Isaias came to Richmond with a much needed, gentle rain on Sunday morning.

In opening up our church, Trinity Methodist, I was greeted with a text message from our Kids Director, Jen. A slow rotting pumpkin had slimmed a carpet tile in a classroom.

And, I remembered that I needed to replace a burned out light in the mini-kitchen in the Welcome Center.

I popped up the carpet tile, replaced it with a substitute, and disposed of the rotting pumpkin. With warm soapy water, I scrubbed the stained carpet tile, rinsed it, and placed the soggy tile in the Trinity Hall mechanical room to dry.

Next, I worked my way to replacing the burned out light.

Someday, I would like to have a long conversation with the designer of the light fixtures that grace our Welcome Center. That conversation would also include the architect who thought it would be a good idea to install these fixtures in the Welcome Center.

My battles with these fixtures are not pretty.

Troublesome light fixture (Photo Bill Pike)

God’s ears burn when the confrontation with the dead bulb starts. Any slim chance that I had for even seeing the pearly gates of heaven slip further and further away when wrestling with replacing these lights.

This Sunday morning was to be no different.

Armed with a ladder, a Phillips head screwdriver, a pencil, gloves, and a new bulb, I started.

The first challenge is to remove the bulb from the socket without it breaking. Just so you know these bulbs are not your standard screw in type. With a gloved hand, I gently try to remove the bulb. Step one failed.

Eventually, I was able to coax the bulb to release. With its cracks, I placed the bulb, into a small cardboard box.

Next, I used the screwdriver to unscrew two screws holding the metal canister in place in the ceiling tile opening.

Quickly, with the pencil, I attempted to push in the new light bulb. The pencil is just the right length, and with the eraser I can apply pressure to push in the bulb. Rushing, I failed again. I did not have the new bulb snug in its four sided opening. The bulb landed hard and cracked on the countertop.

More muttering of unacceptable language spewed.

So, I regrouped. Went down into Eaton Hall to grab a new bulb. Came back into the Welcome Center, repositioned the ladder, and started over.

This time the bulb was snug. I put the bulb back into the cone, realigned and tightened the two screws and shoved the fixture back into the ceiling. Unfortunately, the base of the fixture was not flush with the ceiling tile.

Now, I had an unacceptable gap. I removed another ceiling tile, shoved my head into that space, and saw the problem.

To hold the fixture in place on the metal grids where the ceiling tiles lie are two adjustable metal bars. These two bars were not positioned properly. With the assist of more rotten language, I finally found the correct position for the bars. Now the base of the light canister was flush with the ceiling tile.

If you’re still reading this baloney, you are either laughing hysterically, crying for my incompetence, or wondering why, why does God and this church keep this old guy around?

I can’t answer that question.

But, I do think about the words on the back of that YMCA t-shirt worn by their coaches.

Where have caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility gone in our world?

Have they become lost in the chaos of our headlines?

What do acorns, a soccer game, and a light fixture have to do with those words?

The over productive oak tree is simply being responsible to the rules of nature that it has followed since its birth.

Luckily for our granddaughters, the YMCA is still an organization that values caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility. Just imagine the impact we could have on each other and the world if we thoughtfully applied these words.

As for me and that light fixture, despite all of the heartburn it gave me, I do respect the light it provides.

And continuing on the as for me, my wife will tell you that at times I care too much.

I had a school leader tell me one time that I was “honest to a fault.”

And as for responsibility, it is in my DNA.

Where are caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility in our collective DNA?

Maybe acorns pinging off our noggins, the innocent hope of children on a soccer field, and the stubborn collision between an old grump and a light fixture will remind us that we need caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility more that ever.

You, me, we, us need to reconnect with these words.

They are in our DNA.

Winston Churchill said, “Words are the only things which last forever.”

You, me, we, us need to make sure that caring, honesty, respect, and responsibility last forever.

Paris, nine miles

October 9, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

Thursday, September 3, 2026, we walked nine miles on our first full day in Paris.

Yes, we had some weary moments, but we saw a lot in those nine miles.

To walk nine miles, a group needs a good navigator. In this case, Dan was our lead, with reliable assistance from Betsy and Butch.

We made it from the metro station by our hotel to the metro station that dropped us near the Eiffel Tower.

The famous tower is as advertised.

I like the grounds around the tower. Lots of room, simply landscaped, and our team’s pre-planning made accessing the tower seamless.

Eiffel Tower personnel were good at managing people and ensuring that we made it up the tower safely and with ample time to move around and explore.

The tower is impressive. The structure of connecting all that metal framing together from top to bottom is quite a sight.

However, I love the views from the top. No matter the direction I look, I see a pretty city.

Paris from the Eiffel Tower (Photo Bill Pike)

From the tower, we took in one of the spectacular bridges in Paris—Pont de Birhakiem. This a two-level steel bridge. The building of this bridge began in 1903. The bridge is just as beautiful today as when it was completed in 1905. And yes, the Seine River is magical as it weaves its way through the city.

A section of the bridge (Photo Bill Pike)

We worked our way to the Arc de Triomphe. Dating back to 1806, the Arc carries lots of French history.

A piece of its history that resonated with me is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. An eternal flame is used to honor unidentified French soldiers who died in World War I.

With lunch time arriving, we had a short wait for an outside table at the Cafe de Paris. My French onion soup was delicious.

From the restaurant, we explored and walked the famous boulevard, the Champs-Elysees.

Our next stop was Petit Palais. This art museum was constructed as one of the showcases for the 1900 Universal Exhibition. The exterior design of the museum is stunning.

Many beautiful paintings are displayed in the museum. One of my favorites is a painting by Léon Lhermitte. This painting is of an open air market. Several sources noted the work of Lhermitte captured “working class people with dignity.”

Painting by Leon Lhermitte (Photo Bill Pike)

Since Petit Palais is located on Avenue Winston-Churchill, it is appropriate that a magnificent statue of Churchill is on the front grounds of the museum. The sculptor clearly captured Mr. Churchill’s features and demeanor. At the base of the statue are these words: “We shall never surrender.” Thank the good Lord they didn’t.

Another bridge awaited our exploration—Pont Alexandre III. Again, the bridge has an exceptional design and presence on the Seine. Without question, my eyes were drawn to the four gilt bronze statues of Fames. These statues keep a close eye on the bridge and all of its users.

One of the statues at the bridge (Photo Bill Pike)

Parched and needing a restroom break, we found another nice cafe. Sitting outside, I was able to order and enjoy an original French beer from the Pelforth Brewery. Dating back to 1921, the label on the bottle still showcases a pelican. Sadly, Pelforth is now owned by Heineken.

Refreshed, we gathered ourselves for our final stop of the day—Musee d’Orsay.

Musee d’Orsay is another massive art museum. The museum’s location is on the Left Bank of the Seine in a building that was originally a railway station.

The converted railway station (Photo Bill Pike)

No matter where you walk— up, down, left, right, your are going to enjoy a wide range of artwork.

I loved the Monet painting of turkeys, and the Degas painting The Parade which features horses warming up before a race.

But since I once had a summer job working in the hardwood floor business run by my Aunt Mildred and her husband, Garland, I was drawn to a painting by Gustave Caillebotte named The Floor Scrapers. The workers in the painting are removing by hand the existing finish on the floor.

Gustave Caillebotte painting (Photo Bill Pike)

We had allotted ourselves an ample amount of time to explore the museum. That also included a designated spot to meet by a certain time.

With the hustle of the day and jet lag starting to hover over us, we all made it to our meeting spot on time.

The last challenge of the day was making our way to a metro station that would bring us within easy walking distance of our hotel. Luckily, our brain trust was able to guide us to the proper location to make that happen.

Back at the hotel, collapsing in our rooms sounded like a good idea, but we managed to take a short walk in the neighborhood to Cafe Eugene. This comfy place had been recommended by our guide, and he directed us to a good place.

Even though it was near the end of the evening, our waiter was energetic with a good balance of humor and patience with some drained Americans.

We ordered our drinks. Then a bowl of olives arrived. The olives were delicious. We couldn’t stop reaching for them.

My Grimbergen beer, originally from Belgium, also hit the spot.

Summer was still hovering over Paris, and while it might have seemed out of place at a French restaurant, Betsy and I ordered bowls of gazpacho.

The freshness of the summer vegetables was in every spoonful. Quite simply, the gazpacho was delicious. It was just what we needed to cap off a glorious day of exploring Paris.

We made the walk back to our hotel.

In the lobby, we agreed on our Friday morning meeting and departure time, and then we collapsed in our rooms.

October: snakeskin, deer, fish belly yellow

October 7, 2026 Bill Pike2 Comments

On Thursday, October 1, I was determined to work on the grounds of our church.

My friends, the weeds had been quite busy when I was away.

A small border, at the base of a wooden fence that hides two big air conditioning chillers looked shabby. This area is across from the playground used by our Preschool. That shabbiness needed to go away. It sees lots of foot traffic.

Some weeds were intruding beyond the fence line.

I grabbed a few hand tools and the weedeater. I started my attack.

I made good progress. Eventually, I needed to enter the area where the chillers live.

I unlocked the padlock. Once inside, I noted that weeds were trying to take hold in any open concrete seam.

Against one wall, we have a long, heavy duty extension ladder. This ladder is used to access the Trinity Hall roof. The roof is home to two more large pieces of HVAC equipment.

To be able to remove the troublesome weeds behind the ladder, I needed to lift it up and move it away from the wall.

When I lifted up the ladder, I saw a snakeskin. I was thankful that the snake was long gone. I would have died if the snake was still present.

I thought that the Preschool students and teachers might like to see the snakeskin. So, I draped it across the top of a boxwood shrub.

Yes, there was some interest. But the main thing I heard from the teachers was this question— where did you find it? They were relieved when I told them not on the playground.

The thing that amazed me with the snakeskin is I could see where the snake’s eye had been.

On the morning of Saturday, October 3, we were in Summerfield, North Carolina. I was returning from putting gas into our car.

As I was driving back into the neighborhood where our daughter and her family reside, a couple of deer passed in front of my car.

Further down the hill, I paused in front of a house. On the front lawn, looking calm and unassuming were six deer. I rolled down my window and took a picture.

One deer continued to munch on the lawn. A couple kept their eyes on me. The others stared into the distance. It was if they were saying— ok, old guy, hurry up and take your pictures, we are late for our second course of breakfast in another yard.

Once back at the house, I shared the deer photo. Our two grandchildren, Caroline and Hudson, couldn’t believe that there were six deer in one yard. That might be a neighborhood record.

After breakfast, our grandson asked if we could go fishing. My answer was yes.

Hudson presented his fishing rod to me. A new hook needed to be tied on to the line. Inside his tackle box, he found a hook. We worked to tie it on the end of the line.

Next we added a couple of on-line weights, and re-positioned the bright colored bobber(indicator).

Then we grabbed a shovel and an empty Gatorade bottle from the recycling bin and started digging for earthworms. Being that it was Saturday morning, the earthworms were sleeping late. It took us several minutes before we found a few.

With gray skies and rain in the forecast, we found our rain coats, changed our shoes, and started the walk to the neighborhood lake.

As we made the final turn toward the lake, we could hear the yakking of ducks. Sure enough, there was a small gathering along the bank closest to the road. They were collectively marching in a disorderly single file.

Our grandson, Hudson, is a lefty. When his timing is correct, his cast is a sight to behold. The line streams out in a natural arch with the baited hook, weights, and bobber gently land on the lake’s surface.

He had a couple of early hits, but the fish twisted off the hook. After a few minutes, Hudson relocated toward the center of the lake. That turned out to be a wise move.

Within minutes, he caught three fish in a row. A fourth fish, a fighter, managed to free the hook in the shallows of the shoreline.

With our last worm gone and our time limit up, we walked back to the house.

On the way back, we talked about catching three in a row, a record for Hudson. We both comment about the yellow coloring along the belly of one of the fish.

I wonder if Crayola or Sherwin Williams could replicate Mother Nature’s work? Maybe they could name the color fish belly yellow.

Try as they might, there is nothing like the touch and colors of Mother Nature.

I could see this touch in the intricacies of the snake skin, the human sensory systems of the deer and their seasonal tan coats, and of course, the yellow in that fish.

On the evening of Wednesday, September 30, my wife and I attended the 39th annual Weinstein-Rosenthal Forum at the University of Richmond. The forum is grounded in “faith, ethics, and a global society.”

The keynote speaker this year was Dr. Francis Collins. Dr. Collins is a physician-geneticist. He led the Human Genome Project. Additionally, Dr. Collins was the Director of the National Institutes of Health.

For forty-five non-stop minutes, Dr. Collins talked about his life, education, career, and science. Then, he took presubmitted questions from University of Richmond students.

Raised in Staunton, Virginia, Dr. Collins attributed his affection for science to a tenth grade chemistry teacher.

While I’m not going to be able to quote Dr. Collins directly from his comments, he did reference taking the time to pay attention to the beauty of the nature around us. I agree. All around us nature is present.

To tell you the truth, October is my favorite month. I love nature’s presence in October.

I think the sky is more blue.

The air seems fresher.

Tree leaves shift from summer green into a palette of autumn colors.

I’m not into the commercial trapping of Halloween. I’m drawn to the vivid richness in the colors of pumpkins and gourds on the steps and front porches throughout our neighborhood.

Had he not been tragically shot and murdered in December 1980, John Lennon would turn 86 on October 9.

I love the Beatles’ song, “And Your Bird Can Sing.” This is a Lennon driven song.

The repetitive guitar riff is memorable. Subtle handclaps are buried in the mix. The drums and bass frame a steady drive from start to finish, and on key verses there is the unmistakable harmony of John and Paul.

A lot is packed into this two minutes and one second burst of toe tapping energy.

Yet, I’m drawn to this line in the lyrics: “When your prized possessions start to weigh you down, look in my direction, I’ll be around, I’ll be around.”

My guess is that we all have many prized possessions.

Here’s my question to me, and you—do those prized possessions ever weigh us down?

Do they keep you, me, we, us from really seeing life and nature?

When is the last time that you, me, we, us slowed down and took the time to really see the intricate beauty of nature?

Dr. Collins is 76. He shared with the audience that he is undergoing radiation treatments for prostrate cancer.

Dr. Collins understands the speed of life.

Time zooms by me everyday.

I need to slow that zooming of time.

I think slowing that zooming of time is impossible.

However, in that zooming, we need to find those moments because nature has more for us to see.

Those prized possessions can weigh me down, and I see less of what surrounds me.

With every day I have left on this earth, I shouldn’t be weighed down admiring my prized possessions.

How about you?

Nature, take the time.

Not Paris, Texas, nor London, Kentucky

September 29, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

I am not a good traveler.

My wife, the Commander Supreme, can confirm this for you.

She knows that if it wasn’t for her, I couldn’t travel.

I’d never make it on to the plane.

This trip was not about Paris, Texas, or London, Kentucky.

No, this trip was about Paris, France, a cruise down the Seine River, Normandy, and London, England.

I recall the exact moment when this trip was pitched, discussed, and booked.

In October 2025, we were in Greensboro for our 50th college reunion. We were invited to breakfast at the home of my college roommate and his wife, Butch and Marian Sherrill. Our friends, Dan and Judy Callow were there too.

After breakfast, the ambush occurred. The trip was pitched. I thought wait a second, a few months ago we all returned from our trip to Alaska. Now, my pals are pitching another trip. Where is the economic recovery from that trip in your thinking?

Things started moving faster than a Frenchman swallowing a snail.

Next thing I knew, a call to Grand Circle was taking place.

Next thing I knew, we were signed up for this trip.

My wife and our cherished friends were all smiles—mission accomplished.
The morale of this story— be wary of a simple breakfast invitation with beloved friends.

From September 1 thru September 19, we were in constant motion. I find that you endure that constant movement because of your traveling partners.

In our case that meant the Callows and Sherrills. I don’t know how or why, but in our mental makeups, there is a tolerance, a patience, a give and take, humor, and wisdom that gets us through these journeys. Even in nerve plucking moments, our hearts guide.

For this trip, we worked with Grand Circle. The Callows and Sherrills have traveled multiple times with this company. This was our first trip with Grand Circle.

In my limited travel experiences with cruise lines, it all boils down to their personnel. Do they have the right people working behind the scenes, and do they have the right people in public? Fortunately for us on this trip, Grand Circle did.

For this trip, I selfishly had three goals—make it to Normandy and the D-Day beaches, the Churchill War Room, and the famous crosswalk where the cover for the Beatles’ album Abbey Road was photographed.

Thanks to my wife and our pals that mission was accomplished.

Trips like this don’t happen without brains better than mine doing lots of planning.

On Thursday, June 25, the Sherrills drove from Greensboro to Richmond. They spent the night with us. On Friday morning we drove to Maryland where the Callows live.

Outside of Frederick, Maryland, we had a delightful lunch and visit with the Callows son and his family.

After lunch, we drove to Highland where Dan and Judy reside. For the remainder of Friday and a good portion of Saturday, the Callow’s dining room became our “war room.”

Months ago, our reservations had been confirmed and secured with Grand Circle. This planning was figuring out our three days in Paris prior to boarding the ship, and our three nights in London after leaving the ship.

Previous traveling experiences, detailed lists, maps, computer apps, phone apps were all put to use to carve these days. I sat quietly and watched.

A final session on Sunday morning confirmed assignments and deadlines. These were not assignments for slackers. Success in Paris and London depended upon making reservations and purchasing tickets when necessary.

During July and August, phone calls, text messages, emails, and an occasional Zoom molded and shaped the itinerary. By August 30, we questioned how our packing was going, and on August 31, we were in motion.

The Callows had a direct flight into Paris from BWI in Baltimore.

As we all know the pricing of airline tickets can go from very reasonable to outrageous. To avoid the outrageous, it was cheaper by $1,500 dollars for Betsy and me to drive to Greensboro to fly to Philadelphia to Paris than attempting to do that via Richmond.

So on August 31, we drove to Summerfield where our oldest daughter, Lauren and her family live. We left our car in their driveway, and Lauren drove us to the Greensboro airport—a short drive.

Arriving at the Greensboro airport (Photo Lauren Reinking)

The Sherrills live in Greensboro. One of their sons-in-law dropped them off, and once we checked in and cleared security, we met in the American Airline terminal and waited.

I’m impatient in waiting to board a plane. I don’t sit. I walk the terminal. I figure I’m going to be sitting on a plane a long, long time, so, I keep moving until the call to board is announced.

Our flight to Philadelphia kept getting delayed. Eventually the travel gods cooperated. The plane arrived, we boarded the EMB145, the pilot gave us an update, and we were off.

Coming into Philadelphia, thunderstorms were brewing. This line of storms didn’t impact our landing, but a storm did erupt over the airport. Fortunately, this line of weather moved quickly. Its impact on our departure was minimal.

Approach into Philadelphia (Photo Bill Pike)

No matter what airlines try, boarding a plane is a nightmare. The massive 787 was built to carry lots of passengers and their junk, but boarding is still a pain.

The Captain told us to expect a delay in departing. To his surprise air traffic controllers gave him the green light to go sooner than anticipated. With that he gunned the engines, and we were barreling down the rain-slicked runway bound for Paris.

I wonder what Charles Lindbergh might think about this big sheet metal monster compared to his Spirit of St. Louis.

Soon, the lights of Philadelphia and the east coast of America were gone. Darkness consumed this big bird in its flight path across the Atlantic.

On long flights, I never look at my watch or track the plane’s path. To me that only makes the anguish of the flight longer.

If the plane’s technology is working, I watch movies to escape the slow moving hands of time.

On this flight, none of the new move releases interested me. I watched Stand By Me, the first Toy Story, and a documentary about Lorne Michaels, the creator of Saturday Night Live. I know at times I dozed off. That dozing kept the clock moving.

Thank the good Lord for tailwinds. Those winds helped the pilot and crew to bring us into our approach for landing at Charles De Gaulle Airport sooner.

Departing the plane is more madness.

Once off, we regroup, get our bearings, find a restroom, and start working our way toward customs, luggage, and finding our Grand Circle representative.

With some luck, everything works, and soon Grand Circle personnel have us loaded with our luggage into a van.

We have a good driver who finds his way to our hotel without too much heartburn.

Check-in at the Hotel Le Bellune is seamless.

It is here that we meet our key Grand Circle contact person, our guide, Matt.

For the next fourteen days, Matt will be our pivot point. From France, Matt speaks impeccable English. More importantly, he knows how to work with people, all kinds of people, even wacky American tourist like us.

Later in the afternoon, we have a welcome, a briefing, and then a tour led by Matt of the neighborhood surrounding the hotel.

At the briefing, we are given our Metro passes, a listening device nicknamed “whisperer” and an overview of the game plan until we board the ship on Saturday.

With the tour of the neighborhood, our first lesson is about the bicycle lanes that run parallel to the sidewalks. Look both ways, lots of Parisians ride bikes.

Matt gives helpful hints about interacting with shopkeepers and restaurant staff. We see the locations for a grocery store, pharmacy, and a bank. Matt knows the neighborhood so he quietly points out places not to enter.

After the tour, we opt to have dinner in the hotel. We finalize our departure time for day one of exploring Paris, and then we head to our rooms and collapse.

Merci!

North Carolina Coast: Surf City On Topsail Island

September 23, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

This was one of those rare moments with our summer calendar. Everyone in our family had the week of July 11-18 open. That meant we would be traveling to Surf City on Topsail Island.

Having grown up in Burlington, I remember as a kid traveling to the North Carolina Coast. Carolina Beach, Long Beach(now Oak Island) and Bogue Sound were visited.

Life was a lot simpler then. Ocean frontage and quiet sound vistas had not been fully developed.

After college, in 1975, I moved to Virginia. Yet after all these years, the North Carolina coast still pulls at my heart.

While my family and I haven’t explored every beach town on this coastline, I have determined that from the state lines of Virginia to South Carolina, the North Carolina coast is something unique, uncommon, a place worthy of our continuing respect.

More than anything, I respect the coastline’s endurance.

Somehow, no matter what mother nature and human beings cast upon this fragile shell, the land and water hang on.

At times, that might mean hanging on like washed out sea oats and on storm battered dunes. Regardless of that pounding, these barrier islands, narrow ribbons of sand survive.

Deep inside our souls, we know these barrier islands should not have carried the burden of being developed. But, we couldn’t resist. As much as I despise the journey down I-95 from Richmond, I can’t refuse an escape to your coast.

For this trek, we survived I-95, and the multiple state highways that lead us to the Surf City Bridge on a busy Saturday afternoon. Sunday morning, I took a run over the bridge.

Surf City Bridge in distance (Photo Bill Pike)

From that view, I could see the wide Intracoastal Waterway and the nooks and crannies of the marshlands. Those marshlands are such a critical part of preserving the tidal ecosystems.

Walking on the beach, I admired the preservation of a turtle’s nest. I appreciate the time and dedication of the volunteers from the Topsail Turtle Project who monitor these sites.

One day, I chatted with a life guard about his work. A community college student, he described his training and the challenges he and his peers face. Keeping an eye on the public with the whims of the ocean is no easy task.

From our rental, we had a short walk into the heart of Surf City. One afternoon, our grandkids enjoyed a visit to the Topsail Aquarium. Even in a small space, there was lots for our grandkids to see, touch, and learn.

That same afternoon, I had the opportunity to learn from a loyal employee at a gift store that is connected to the IGA grocery store.

Thirty two years ago, the gift shop employee and her husband moved to Topsail. We talked about how the island had changed.

She recalled quiet early mornings at their home. Sipping her first cup of coffee, she watched deer in a small forest of trees.

Those deer are gone, along with the trees, replaced by housing. She lamented, “they call that progress.”

I understand her sentiment. It seems like every square inch of the south side of the island has been developed.

And that is why I respect when communities preserve a piece of land for a park. The boardwalk at the Kenneth D. Batts Park is perfect for taking in the tidal salt marsh, and its made even better when your grandson catches a fish from the pier at the end.

At 73, I have no idea how many more trips to this stunning coast I’ll be able to make.

But, I’m really not thinking about me.

It’s about our grandkids.

I hope North Carolina will cherish, respect, and protect this treasured coastline.

That way our grandkids, and maybe their children can watch the sun rise over the Atlantic, chase minnows in tidal pools, and daydream as pelicans gracefully glide over the crest of a wave.

North Carolina don’t let them down.

When life goes sideways

September 21, 2026 Bill Pike2 Comments

Late on the afternoon of Friday, August 21, 2026, long time Trinity member, Ken Hart, showed up at church.

Ken arrived with his leaf blower. The crepe myrtles in the Bicentennial Garden drop their pretty pink blossoms on the brick paver sidewalk.

Those blossoms track into the building. This is especially true after a passing summer thunderstorm.

When I saw Ken on Sunday morning, I thanked him for his work.

I also told him that the sidewalk was covered again this morning with those pretty pink blossoms.

Somedays, sidewalks go sideways.

Early on that same Sunday morning, I used a couple of brooms to clear the sidewalk again. As I was sweeping those pink blossoms, I looked down into the pile where I saw a motionless butterfly.

I picked it up and placed it on the top of one of the brick columns. The butterfly was a monarch. Stunning in its color, its patterns were perfectly designed and sequenced, a flawless example of an angel on earth.

I felt bad for the butterfly. I thought back to all of the times Eric Carle’s “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” had been read to our children before bedtime.

Somedays, life goes sideways for butterflies.

Out on Patterson Avenue, Virginia Route 6, where Normandy Drive empties on to Patterson there is a water line leak. Water has been bubbling for over two weeks now.

That bubbling created a large pot hole. The pot hole was large enough to be a hindrance for drivers. Despite shutting that travel lane down, and using orange traffic cones and gravel as a band-aid repair, none of that has kept right front tires from slamming into the hole.

One morning, I watched a county school bus make a very awkward turn on to the open lane on Patterson. I don’t think the bus driver enjoyed making that turn.

Somedays, life goes sideways for water lines.

This week, thousands of miles from Richmond, Virginia, life went sideways in Nepal. I have never seen such immediate and catastrophic flood destruction. There was no blink. Didn’t matter if you were a human being or a man made structure, you were gone.

Somedays, life can unexpectedly go sideways.

A few weeks ago, life went sideways for our new senior pastor, and her husband, who is also a pastor. He was diagnosed with a very rare, but dangerous oral cancer. His second round of surgery was yesterday.

Cancer always makes life go sideways.

Somewhere in America there is a small business owner who is feverishly attempting to figure out how to make payroll for this week. The business owner understands loyalty and sacrifice. Deep inside, the owner wonders how much longer loyalty and sacrifice will last.

Making payroll makes life go sideways.

My sister and I always remember August 31, 1992 and September 1, 2002. Those were the days when we lost our parents.

Losing a loved one makes life go sideways.

Up in heaven, I wonder if life goes sideways for God and Jesus?

My guess is life goes sideways every day in heaven.

Twenty-four seven, there is no down time. There is always a crisis.

For people like me, who try to be good, who try to understand and apply the teachings in the Bible to my daily living, my belief in what I have held on to for all these years can go sideways too.

I want to know why life goes sideways?

Yes, this is a reoccuring whining theme for me.

But, the truth be told, this is a reoccuring, whining question for you too. You want to know why life goes sideways.

Quite honestly, God and Jesus are tired of me and my why.

And all my whys are grounded in the New Testament of the Bible—the miracles. Why was sight restored to someone? Why were demons cast out of a young man? Why were lepers cured? Why did a judge finally cave in and rule in favor of the woman who had consistently pestered him? Why, why, why, why, why?

Every August, I keep an eye on a gardenia shrub. The gardenia is located on the west side of our home. It is in a narrow border beside our trash cans and recycling container.

That gardenia blooms in the late spring. Sometimes in August, the gardenia surprises me with a few fragrant singular blooms.

This August, the gardenia didn’t disappoint me. I caught a whiff of its fragrance when taking out some recycling. I searched the shrub and found the single white bloom buried among waxy green leaves.

That gardenia always circles me back to my parents. They had prolific green thumbs. For this gardenia, its roots are linked back to my parent’s yard. It’s blooming in August always makes me think of our mother and father.

There have been years, when life had gone sideways for the gardenia. Challenging winters with coatings of ice and harsh northwest winds have on several occasions burned its green foliage.

Despite the bitter winter, the gardenia finds a way to persevere.

When life went sideways for our parents, I think their perseverance came from their faith.

Clearly, there is no stopping of life going sideways.

Perhaps when sideways arrives, I need to think more deeply about this quote from Helen Keller: “Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.”

Instead of me constantly whining why about sideways, I need to commit to help those who are still here with the “overcoming it.”

It will be difficult for me to overcome my whining why.

But, I’m going to work on it.

How about you?

Strong schools and churches help build strong communities

August 29, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

Growing up in North Carolina, I felt like the summer break from school lasted forever. When I entered the teaching profession in the fall of 1975, summers started zooming by me.

For 31 years, I had the privilege of working in the public schools of Virginia. I would not trade those experiences for anything.After my career in education, I started working at our church.

Over the past 15 years, I’ve seen that schools and churches share common ground.

Between now and the end of August, public schools in Virginia will be opening. This is a hectic time for school officials as they attempt to fill last-minute teaching vacancies, ensure that bus routes are correct, and that air conditioning systems are working properly.

In the summer, churches can experience lighter attendance.

However, vacations don’t limit churches from supporting community organizations that assist our local schools. This summer, our congregation has provided school supplies for Oak Grove-Bellemeade Elementary School, volunteers for the YMCA’s Bright Beginnings, and shoes and volunteers for Third Street Bethel AME’s New Shoes for Back to School.

A common pivot point for schools and churches is people. During the summer, school and church staff are prepping for the start of a new year. That prep culminates in the first day of school and the first Sunday, signaling the end of summer as students and congregations return.

So how do schools and churches ensure that they are ready? They work. In that readiness work, leaders must convey a vision that includes an understanding of the pulse, the capacity to listen, a framework for building relationships, a willingness to serve and the telling of stories that matter.

It doesn’t matter if you are leading a school or a church; people want to know your vision. Where are you taking them?

To do this, principals and pastors must learn and understand the pulse of their students, parents, staff, congregations and communities. No matter the size of the school or church, learning the pulse is grounded in taking the time to listen.

Learning the pulse and listening to voices in that pulse will develop an important framework for building relationships. Those relationships will enhance opportunities for schools and churches to serve their communities.

From vision, pulse, listening, relationships and service will come the sharing of their stories that matter.

Throughout the year, school and church leaders must invest in telling stories of success. In every classroom, in every sanctuary, there is a story of human interest.

That story might be about the perseverance of a homeless high school senior who lives in a motel with her family, but who is an honors student. That story might be about a church couple volunteering every summer at a respite camp for adults with intellectual disabilities.

Neither schools nor churches are immune to the ups and downs of human behavior or the whims of society. In those challenging moments when school or church life hasn’t been at its best, the storytelling must be honest.

School and church communities need to know that pressure is present in these cherished environments.

I can only begin to imagine the pressure on a principal working in a school where accreditation by the Virginia Department of Education has been denied. That same level of pressure can be felt on a pastor who has been sent to resurrect a dying congregation.

Overlooked in that pressure to serve at a high level is morale. The school and church year is long — work in some celebrations, humor and quiet time.

Both schools and churches have access to all types of data. Researchers have known for a long, long time the impact an outstanding classroom teacher can have on students. At the heart of that impact is the ability to build and grow relationships.

For some students, their six hours at school are the best six hours of their day. That same logic can apply to a person in a congregation who needs support adjusting to the loss of a loved one.
Neither schools nor churches will succeed if leaders can’t build beneficial relationships both inside and outside their walls. Winning over a difficult parent or a challenging member of a congregation depends upon building a relationship.

Having worked in each environment, I know schools and churches can be tough places.

Despite their imperfections, I believe in our public schools and our churches.
I hope our public schools and local churches get off to a good start.

Perhaps, a good start for students, parents, faculty, staff and congregations is grounded in this wisdom from Richmonder Ernest Parker, Jr.: “It does not cost a dime to be kind to all human beings.”

Amen.

Note from author: Friends, I was honored to have this op-ed piece published in the Richmond Times-Dispatch today Friday, August 28, 2026.

Church: disassembling awkward

August 27, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

One of the best decisions our church ever made was to build the Welcome Center.

This is an interior, open space behind the Sanctuary.

The space is a perfect place for the congregation to gather after a worship service.

Prior to our kickoff Sunday, August 23, I spent some long hours in the Welcome Center putting together a small desk. The desk would be positioned near one of the Sanctuary exits.

The strategy is that our senior pastor, Gina, can direct visitors to the desk where a friendly church member will be waiting to greet the guest and answer questions.

I do not relish putting together furniture.

From my wife’s side of the family, there is a Christmas Eve story about my father-in-law struggling to put together a child’s Christmas present. My mother-in-law was a great teller of family stories. Every Christmas when the story was retold, the descriptions of this maddening challenge and how her dear husband was handling the madness just kept getting better.

I had a madness moment meltdown with this welcome desk. The instructions were quite sparse. Details weren’t clear or were just left out.

Of course, the lack of clear instructions occurs at exactly the wrong time. I called the manufacturer. They wanted the information off the shipping label.

I impatiently flipped over the large box that had housed the disassembled desk’s packaging. When I did this, styrofoam packaging spewed on to the Welcome Center floor.
By that time, styrofoam wasn’t the only thing spewing. Lots of inappropriate words were about to roll off the edge of my tongue.

Sensing my impatience, the technician on the phone quickly sent me information from a video that showed the step by step process for assembling the desk.

Once the link to the video arrived on my computer, I watched the person on the screen rapidly put the welcome desk together. I saw how he worked with two tiny plastic release clips inside the glide framing for the drawer. Without the video, I would not have been able to find those release clips.

Life can be tough to assemble too.

I can’t begin to imagine what it is like to be a visitor at an unfamiliar church on a Sunday morning.

I wonder if visitors dread the passing of the peace moment/greeting of a visitor as much as I do.

Congregations familiar with each other eagerly greet and chat. Our congregation loves this thirty to sixty seconds of interaction. The decibel level rises with this chatter. They love it so much that is tough to shift them back into the next section of the service.

In that roar of happy voices, I wonder if visitors are awkwardly ticking off those seconds waiting anxiously for the service to move forward.

Speaking for myself, I think those are awkward moments.

It is one thing to greet a visitor, but it is an added dimension to engage a visitor in a short conversation that doesn’t scare them off, including asking the wrong question.

I’ve been thinking about this past Sunday.

I sat way up in the balcony, a good place to nap.

A couple was sitting a couple of pews down from me that I didn’t know.

When the passing of the peace arrived, they looked around, yes, awkwardly.

Slowly, I and others in the balcony worked our way toward the couple.

Handshakes exchanged and peace be with you were spoken. But then, we fell silent and walked back to our pew seats.

The couple remained standing—awkwardly.

Just like I assembled that troublesome desk, I suspect that I need some assembling on how to better engage visitors on Sunday morning.

Specifically, how do I move beyond the awkward? How do I engage without alienating, or offending? How do I encourage a return visit or answer possible questions?

Churches spend gobs of money on communication—exterior banners, traditional marquees, electronic marquees, social media, postcards, static displays with information flyers, strategies to capture contact information from visitors, paper and on-line newsletters, videos, a gift, and on, and on, and on.

I don’t take much stock in exterior banners and marquees. I think the world moves too fast out on Forest Avenue.

Paper isn’t a favorite of younger generations. They prefer messaging utilizing technology. Some savvy seniors can handle that, but a few seniors still lean toward paper communication.

Eventually, the desk and I came to terms. I figured it out with a bit of coaching from a video, but with a real human being in it.

Resurrecting a church, its congregation so that it can attempt to grow is a “big rock” challenge.

But meeting that challenge is in the details—the small rocks. Disassembling the awkwardness for the member and the visitor is essential on every Sunday morning.

Disassembling that awkwardness is essential, critical, necessary, required for this reason—Hebrews 13:2: “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”

Even with limited skills, I was better at assembling that welcome desk than I was at disassembling the silent awkwardness between myself and visitors on Sunday morning.

I must do better.

The challenging desk and packaging (Photo Bill Pike)

A different ride to work

August 23, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

This is a long story.

It features the good heart of my college roommate, the Reverend H. D. Sherrill, Jr. (Butch).

When I was growing up, I will always cherish two gifts from Santa—a transistor radio with an ear plug and a bicycle.

I loved them both for different reasons.

The bicycle was nothing special. No gears, no handbrakes, just a simple bicycle.

That bicycle was a part of my life until some point in junior high school.

With an almost flat tire, I road the bike to Johnny Huffman’s house.

Huffman had a hand pump. We made the connection to the valve on the tire and started pumping air into the tube.

We pumped too much air. The old tire exploded.

I never owned a bike again until now.

Back in the fall, we were in Greensboro, North Carolina.

We were there for our 50th college reunion at Greensboro College.

Over the years, I had talked with Butch about his exercising. Running, hiking, golfing, kayaking, and riding a bike were in the mix. I told him that I would like to look into bike riding again. There is now a bike trail that runs from Richmond to Williamsburg, Virginia.

From his very successful career in Greensboro, Butch was always, always working with people, lots of people know Butch Sherrill.

Turns out a friend of Butch’s developed a health issue that was going to prevent him from bike riding. This friend handed the bike over to Butch trusting him to find a good home for it.

Butch checked with his four grandsons who all live in Greensboro. They were already set with bikes of their own. Butch had a bike, and so he decided to offer this lightly used bicycle to me.

After the 50th anniversary celebrations, we scrunched that bicycle into the back of our SUV and drove back home to Richmond.

Once home, I parked the bike into our toolshed. A few days later I dropped it off at Pedal Power RVA. A good friend and neighbor, Mark Friedrich is the owner of this exceptional bike shop.

Mark’s technicians made sure all the parts were lubricated and working properly. I also purchased a helmet to protect what few braincells I have left.

I brought the bike home and returned it to the toolshed.

I’m not sure why, but for some reason on the morning of Tuesday, August 18, I decided I was going to ride the bike to work at Trinity.

With my backpack hanging on my shoulders, and my helmet snapped together under my chin, I found my balance and wobbled off toward Trinity.

We basically live two blocks from Trinity. For this initial ride, I opted to travel from Sweetbriar to Rock Creek Road, cross Baldwin Road, ride over the creek, and then turn into the back parking lot at Trinity.

I made friends with the rear handbrake as the ride toward Trinity is pretty much downhill. The most pedaling I did was after I crossed the creek and turned into the Trinity parking lot.

At the back of Trinity Hall, I came to a stop, and removed myself from the bike.

I considered this a successful ride—I didn’t crash.

I parked the bike in Trinity Hall.

At the end of the bike’s quiet day, it was waiting for me.

I wonder what the bike was thinking?

Oh no, here comes this wobbly old geezer again. I hope I can get him home safely. I wonder how much he is going to ride the brake as he finds his balance and comfort?

The ride back home on Rock Creek had more pedaling. Except for one short section before the creek bed, all that coasting I did in the morning was gone. The ride home was slightly uphill.

And of course, I’ve known this for a long, long time—life can be slightly uphill too. Sometimes, life is more than slightly uphill.

Reconnecting with the bicycle carried me back to my youth and my first bicycle. I rode that bike everywhere.

I rode it to the Huffmans, to softball practices at Turrentine Junior High School, Edgewood United Church of Christ, and the fields at City Park.

I rode it to yards I mowed off of Edgewood Avenue. There were stops at Barbour Drugs for a fountain made orange aid and a honey bun.

One summer morning, I rode it from our house on West Front Street to where my grandmother resided in Elon College out on Williamson Avenue. I must have been nuts. That was a tough ride.

And yet, I rode, no helmet, no fear. I never thought about a car or truck flattening me. I followed the rules of the road and pedaled like a maniac.

Today, I wonder—why was I so lucky on all those journeys?

I’m going to guess that prayer had something to do with it. My mother, the worrier, must have worn God out praying for me.

My mother and father started their day together with breakfast and the Upper Room devotional. They prayed together, and maybe buried in those prayers was a simple request “watch over our knucklehead son.” For better or worse, I’m still here. God must have heard.

I’ve ridden the bike to work four consecutive days. If no cars are coming, I “thread the wide needle” between the speed humps on Rock Creek Road near the creek.

My wife, the Commander Supreme, doesn’t need to worry about potential wild bike riding shenanigans from me—my old body doesn’t like pain.

Who knows, I might try an alternate route on the ride to and from work, and maybe, but this is a long maybe, maybe the bike will replace my runs through our cherished neighborhood. Maybe.

But back to those hills for a minute.

The hills of life are all around us.

Might you just be the nudge, the extra push that a friend or stranger needs to overcome that challenge of getting up one of life’s hills.

I know there was a gentle hand pushing behind me on all those growing up rides.

In these growing old rides, up the steeper hills of life, be that gentle hand for someone.

Thanks Butch for your good heart.

Grocery data overlooks food desert details

August 15, 2026 Bill PikeLeave a comment

OPINIONS
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

Grocery Data Overlooks Food Desert Details

In the Richmond Times-Dispatch, I always read with interest the annual report about Richmond’s grocery store rankings.

I appreciate reporter, Sean Jones’ article related to the data provided from Food World, which tracks grocery stores sales.

This year’s graphic offered a good listing of the top 20 rankings in Richmond. However, I would still argue that stores like CVS, 7-Eleven, and big box stores like Costco truly aren’t grocery stores.

The inclusion of CVS, 7-Eleven, Wawa, Walgreens, Sheetz, and Fas Mart makes me wonder if customers shop for their groceries there out of convenience or necessity?

If it is necessity, is that because they live in a “food desert” where grocery stores are absent?

That makes me curious about how the Market at 25th is doing? Richmonders might recall this bold initiative to build from the ground up a full-service grocery store in the middle of a food desert in Richmond’s Church Hill.

If the Market at 25th has been successful, then why hasn’t that footprint been expanded?

Maybe that is because the article makes clear that “new supermarket development has slowed.” To me this means that opportunities for Walmart, Kroger, Food Lion, Publix, and Aldi to consider developing stores in known food desert zip codes seems less likely.

The annual report from Food World will continue to focus on market share and trends.

Perhaps in the future, Food World might consider adding two new data fields for Richmond: How many food deserts do we have, and who from the top 20 list is the market share leader in supplying surplus food to the non-profits and food pantries in our communities?

Might the inclusion of this data help to see that market share and annual sales isn’t the whole story?

								Bill Pike
								Tuckahoe

Note from author: I was honored to have this letter published in the Richmond Times-Dispatch on Thursday, August 13, 2026.