"You don't have to smile."

My daughter and two of her cousins.

Memorial Day, 2011 - Brooklyn, NY. 

Several years ago, I read about a photographer who would tell her "photees" that they didn't have to smile for their photos. She said that some of the best photos she took were when people didn't smile, and when they weren't expecting to be photographed at all. 

In theory, I agree with her. In reality, I find it difficult not to smile when a camera is pointed in my direction. And apparently, that is also true of my family and friends. I like to think that when I point a camera at them, smiles happen spontaneously because they are so glad to be in my presence. Seriously, my loved ones and I have a serious smiling problem!

Me and my girl in Greenwich Village just before eating a fabulous meal at Aquagrill. 

Thanks, Raquel and Jay, for the many delightful delicacies.

Kristiana and Dr. Lisa Rooney, K's Stamford, Connecticut-based pediatrician from birth until the age of 11, at which time we moved down here. We drove past her office... and then we turned around and went back to say hi, tell a few stories, and thank her for being the great doctor that she was all those years ago. The good doctor was glad to see her former patient - her smile speaks volumes.

Steve planted those pine trees in front of our Norwalk house over ten years ago. At the time of their planting, they weren't even shoulder height. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw how large they are now.  

In Williamstown, Massachusetts. The breath-takingly beautiful young woman on the right, my niece, Clare, graduated from Williams College this weekend. My daughter and I put many miles on the minivan making our way up there. Smiles were shared by all.

 More cousin love.

She couldn't be any more beautiful. 

After the graduation. Before the sad farewells. One last pose for the camera. 

One of the happiest moments of the entire journey. Reconnecting with a dear friend, Sharon, whom I haven't seen in way too long. In the middle of an event where 200,000 meals were packaged and prepared to be shipped around the world. In one two hour shift on Sunday, the volunteers packed enough meals for 137 people to eat for an entire year - and we helped. Kristiana and I sat at a table, putting expiration date labels on hundreds of plastic bags, catching up with old friends, and marveling that we "stumbled into" this opportunity to make a real difference in the lives of people we will probably never meet. Those were undoubtedly the most important 90 minutes of our entire journey.

As I think back on the journey Kristiana and I have just returned from, 

as I ponder the time we shared with family and friends,

the food eaten, toasts made, wine imbibed in, 

the tears shed, stories told, hugs and kisses both given and received,

the many beds we slept in, the many floors we slept on, 

the miles we put on the car, the songs we danced to in the car,

the book we listened to in the car,

the clothes and books and shoes and jewelry and coffee and postcards

and cookies and drinks and other goodies we bought,

when I consider and reconsider all that we saw, thought, experienced,

I cannot help but smile.

I mean, I know that I don't have to.

But, really, I have no choice.