The Los Angeles Central Library is hosting its centennial celebration in 2026!

In July of 1926, the main library located just off Pershing Square, was completed. The complex now includes two buildings; the historic Goodhue portion and a wing added in 1993 named after former LA major Tom Bradley. An architectural gem, the library showcases a wonderful collection tucked within the most stylish of scenery.

Over the course of the next twelve months, the library will roll out new exhibits, commemorative merchandise, gather items for a time capsule, and offer special edition library cards. Oh, and the card catalog is coming BACK, exciting news for those of us raised in the analog age.

Not to worry, you too can be part of the year-long celebration. The library is soliciting short videos from the public for their oral history project. If you have a memory or story about the central library, you can self-tape or attend an in-person recording.

But you'll have to get in line behind me!

“The only thing you absolutely have to know is the location of the library.” - Albert Einstein

3-28.

If you're from New England, this is a code you instantly recognize, seared into our collective memories on February 5, 2017.

With just over two minutes remaining in the third quarter of Super Bowl LI, the Patriots were trailing the Atlanta Falcons. My hometown team looked despondent. Slumped on my hotel bed in NYC, I felt much the same way.

But somehow, inexplicably, the Patriots mustered a comeback. Scoring 31 unanswered points, the Pats went on to win the game in overtime, securing their fifth title.

This Sunday my team will vie for their seventh Super Bowl victory. Long gone are the days of power couple Brady and Belichick. This new crop of guys has no storied legacy on which to rely. They will need to calm their nerves and play their hearts out if they are to overcome the talented and gritty Seahawks.

And I will be watching, this time, ironically, from a hotel room in ... Atlanta.

"If you're not gonna go all the way, why go at all?" — Joe Namath, quarterback of the New York Jets and Super Bowl III Champion (January 12, 1969)

November 12, 2025. The day the penny died.

After decades of debate, the production of pennies officially ceased last month. The cost-benefit analysis finally slayed the copper coin. At last reporting, the price of minting each one-cent piece had risen to 3.69 cents. The math just doesn't work anymore.

The original penny, first struck in 1792, featured a feminine figure representing the ideal of liberty. Our contemporary coin appeared in 1909, commemorating the 100th birthday of President Lincoln. His craggy profile was the first presidential face to grace a coin, and on the flip side, a rendering of the well-known Lincoln Memorial. 

As a kid, my Dad taught me to check each penny I got for the alternative wheat design. "Wheaties," as they are called, feature two stalks of grain on the coins' posterior, a design choice that pre-dates the completion of the famed monument in 1922. Continued production from 1909 to1958 means there are plenty of "wheaties" still in circulation. I have a jar full of them to prove it.

I mourn the demise of the penny. And the writer in me wonders if the words I associate with this staple of my youth will die as well. "A pretty penny." "Penny pincher." "Penny wise and pound foolish." And perhaps my favorite.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"If it's a penny for your thoughts and you put in your two cents worth, then someone, somewhere, is making a penny." - Steven Wright

Wordle. Phenomenon or fad?

I'm a fairly late arrival to the daily word puzzle that has captured the imaginations of lexophiles everywhere. But now, Wordle is as much a part of my morning routine as brushing my teeth.

First released in October 2021, Wordle's popularity skyrocketed after the New York Times acquired the game in January of 2022. In November of that same year, Tracy Bennett became the puzzle's first editor. She whittled the dictionary's 5-letter possibilities (13,000 in total) to roughly 2,000 prospects each year. And from that group, 365 answers are chosen.

Bennett initially selected her answers with an eye toward the date they were to appear. As an example, on November 11th the Wordle answer was "MEDAL," an homage to Veterans Day. This practice created some pushback from puzzle purists who felt the tactic was too schmaltzy for a highbrowed brainteaser. 

Not to me. I'll take all the help I can get!

"I just wanted a game that was just three minutes of your time a day, and that's it. That's all it wanted from you." - Josh Wardle, inventor of Wordle

The room where it happened.

In this case, that would be the main hall of the Riverside Convention Center, where after two days of deliberation and multiple ballots, the eighth bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles was chosen.

In my nearly twenty years as an ordained minister, this was the first time I participated in electing a bishop. In some ways it is a byzantine process, shaped by multiple layers of rules and procedures. But interwoven with the systematic nuts and bolts was a palpable sense of the sacred.

Before and after each vote there were periods of silence, prayer, reflection, and the occasional hymn. There was no posturing. There was no combative debate. And when the selection was finally announced, the room was filled with a solemn silence. 

On that day the episcopate, certainly a position of power and privilege, became more lamb than lion, a reminder that to be chosen bishop is to be recognized as the lead pastor.

"Leadership is not about being in charge. Leadership is about taking care of those in your charge." - Simon Sinek

Chlorophyll. Sometimes less is more.

As you might remember from your elementary school science curriculum, chlorophyll is the magic sauce responsible for keeping green leaves green. But as cooler temperatures and shorter days prevail, this pigment begins to break down, changing foliage into shades of red, orange, and yellow.

The vibrant leaves of autumn bring flocks of tourists to my native New England. I too recently returned for a visit and experienced this colorful medley for myself. The kaleidoscope never gets old. 

Boston is known for many things ... Dunkin Donuts, crazed drivers, our gruff demeanor and, at times, an undecipherable dialect. But let's give credit where credit is due. When you're hunkered down with a bowl of clam chowder on a crisp November day, those gorgeous leaves still bring a smile.

Chlorophyll, see you in April.

"Autumn leaves don't fall, they fly. They take their time and wander on this their only chance to soar." - Delia Owens, author and zoologist

Kidnapped! 

That was the headline splashed across every newspaper on February 4, 1974. Patricia Hearst, heiress to the vast Hearst fortune, had been abducted by three members of the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA). It was all anyone could talk about. 

Her capture, crimes, imprisonment, and eventual pardon would provide endless fodder for celebrity gossip hounds. Patty, now 71 years old and the most famous of William Randolph Hearst's ten grandchildren, lives a quiet life in the sleepy town of Wilton Connecticut, far from the public's prying eyes.

Our "paths" recently crossed during my not long ago visit to Hearst Castle, the family compound for the first half of the twentieth century. Its opulence is undeniable, boasting 58 bedrooms, 60 bathrooms, 41 fireplaces, and a functioning wine cellar despite the then strictures of Prohibition. But of all the facts I learned that day, perhaps the most endearing was this. As I stood at the edge of the mansion's famous Neptune Pool, the guide told me Patty had just been there, lounging by the water during her earlier vacation. 

That's right. Despite the property's current ownership by the California State Park system, the family reserves the right to utilize the mansion as they wish. 

Patty and I, separated by just a week, both hovered poolside, looking out at 345,000 gallons of memories...

"San Simeon --- a sandcastle, an implausibility, a place swimming in warm golden light and theatrical mists, a pleasure dome decreed by a man who insisted, out of the one dark fear we all know about, that all the surfaces be gay and brilliant and playful." - Joan Didion

I count it among the greatest of blessings to have met Jane Goodall. 

Nearly ten years ago now, she and I sat quietly in my office prior to a speaking event, swapping stories and drinking tea. When she eventually stepped onto the stage, she exuded both an air of serenity and gravitas. Dressed in black, a scarf tied loosely around her shoulders and hair pulled back in a ponytail, there was nothing showy about her. In fact, as those gathered rose to their feet with applause, she seemed slightly bemused, as if she didn't understand what all the fuss was about.

Over the next 90 minutes, Goodall spoke without notes, a sip of water or even a shifting of weight. At first, her utter stillness didn't quite register, but as the minutes clicked by, I was struck by her placid demeanor. Perhaps it was a remnant of all those years spent in the jungle, where for long stretches of time she sat motionless and silent. 

In a culture where hundreds of stimuli vie for our attention every minute of every day, Jane Goodall was certainly an anomaly. She didn't rely on technological wizardry to keep our attention. She didn't reduce her remarks to pithy sound bites to keep us engaged. She just stood there, looked us in the eye, and told the truth.

"Change happens by listening and then starting a dialogue with the people who are doing something you don't believe is right." - Jane Goodall

Mr. Stanley. My favorite pet of all time.

Named for a former Harvard University faculty member, Mr. Stanley came to me when his original owners moved abroad. It was a match made in heaven.

He was quirky, more dog than cat. He ran to the door when I would come home at night, howling until I reached down to scratch his ears. Forsaking traditional feline aloofness, he followed me everywhere, happiest when I finally settled down in the crook of the couch, his preferred napping spot. 

Mr. Stanley was NOT a fan of personal space.

His eccentricities didn't end there. He preferred his water straight from the faucet. Naturally I indulged this inclination. Because that's what we do for the creatures we love...

“A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.” - Ernest Hemingway

Witness Trees. The name alone portends a certain gravitas, even reverence.

Defined as trees "present during a period of historical or cultural significance," these surviving timbers serve as a living reminder of days gone by.

Last week, during a visit to Valley Forge, I discovered such a tree. It was a sycamore, rooted to the bank of a creek, just a mile or so from the headquarters used by George Washington during the famed winter encampment of 1777. 

As I grew near, I gently placed my hand of its distinctive patchwork bark. The trunk was enormous, so large in fact that when I stretched my arms around the bole not even half the tree was in my grasp. The gnarled branches spun out in every direction, like the spokes of a bicycle wheel, topped by a canopy of leaves rustling their quiet greeting.

Stoic observers, these trees are guardians of our past. They have seen what we can only imagine. 

"Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth." - Herman Hesse

Let's chat water aerobics, shall we?

First made popular in the 1950's by television personality and fitness guru Jack LaLanne, water aerobics has long been relegated to the "that's not for me" category. But a sore knee and an unbearably hot summer eventually lured me to the pool. And who did I find there but Hannah.

Hannah has been attending the daily water aerobics class at the North Hollywood YMCA for years. But that's not her most impressive example of longevity. Hannah is 100 years old. 

She doesn't carry a cane or use a walker. No, Hannah is all about the kickboards, and the (buoyant) barbells, and the endless tangle of pool noodles. 

Which just goes to show you. You're never too old, or too young, to try something new, even if it means jumping into the deep end of the pool. 

"The water doesn't know how old you are." - Dara Torres, Olympic swimmer and Westlake School for Girls Alumna, Class of 1985

In 1939, then President Franklin Delano Roosevelt designated August 19th as National Aviation Day, the birthdate of Orville Wright.

The inaugural flight (December 17, 1903) of the pioneering Wright Brothers lasted just twelve seconds. Nearly 70 years later I too would take my maiden aeronautical voyage, a two-hour jaunt from Boston to Bermuda. My mother, tired of spending every Thanksgiving in an apron, decided she would like to travel for the holiday. My attachment to her legendary apple pie recipe immediately evaporated at the thought of being on an airplane. My love affair with travel has never ceased.

I am not alone in this zeal. Approximately 45,000 flights take off and land each day in the United States, close to 150,000 worldwide. Some of these are utilitarian in nature, cargo planes as an example. But most of these departures are part of an adventure, even if their origins are more dutiful than dazzling.

The impulse to travel is something I've felt in my bones before I even knew what to call it.

Up, up, and away......

"Them: What one book changed your life? Me: My passport."