My family just returned from Amelia Island, where we spent a relaxing Thanksgiving away from home and away from the familiar, the humdrum, the predictable. My wife, the kids and I were joined by my Mom and Dad, who agreed that getting away was a good idea and made the drive down from North Carolina.

Amelia Island proved to be a terrific gathering spot for the Guitar Dad clan. This barrier island off the coast of northeast Florida is a quiet, relatively out-of-the-way destination of refined resorts, wide beaches, lots of golf and tennis, and the enchanting historic district of Fernandina Beach. We enjoyed our well-appointed oceanfront accommodations at the Amelia Island Plantation, and savored a bountiful Thanksgiving feast at the Florida House Inn, a comfortable "old Florida" B&B with a friendly staff and seriously delicious cuisine.

It was wonderful to get the kids together with their doting grandparents – and great to unplug from our routine and take in the tranquil surroundings. If you've never ventured to Amelia Island, consider adding it to your travel wish list. At the risk of sounding like the local visitors bureau, I'll tell you that it would be hard not to enjoy the natural rhythm of Amelia Island, a place of serene beauty, abundant charms and extraordinary calming powers.

Giving thanks comes easily for Guitar Dad. I'm deeply grateful for all I have, for all I've ever had, and for all I hope to have in the days ahead.

"As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them," instructed the oh-so-quotable John F. Kennedy.

In other words, feel the love then show the love. That makes a lot of sense.

Happy Thanksgiving.

For many years I've been an admirer of Jackson Pollock's awe-inspiring abstract art. He dripped, flung, poured and otherwise cleverly applied paint to large-scale canvases in seemingly haphazard ways, although in reality his method was highly calculated.
 
Displayed in my home and office are particularly expressive Pollock prints, their piercing lines, squiggles and layers of vivid color delighting some viewers while assaulting others. "It looks angry," one colleague said recently upon spotting the Pollock over my desk. Long ago my sweet little niece saw the Pollock print hanging in my house and wondered aloud, "What is that splitter splatter?" Clearly she was unimpressed, and I didn't have a good answer for her.
 
I realize his audacious style doesn't float everyone's boat. But in my mind Pollock created stirring works of genius using an approach no one had contemplated or been bold enough to attempt before. On top of that, his paintings are just downright lively and fun.

"There was a reviewer a while back who wrote that my pictures didn't have any beginning or any end," the artist once said. "He didn't mean it as a compliment, but it was."

Pollock said abstract art "confronts you," and I believe that's a good thing.

Occasionally I'm the privileged recipient of a drawing or succinct note from one of my kids. Usually "To Daddy" is scrawled in the corner of a uniquely brilliant illustration that only my talented offspring could create.

Their handwritten notes are what I treasure most, and the direct and powerful "I love Daddy" is my absolute favorite sentiment. More heartfelt than Byron or Keats, more meaningful than Shakespeare, more moving than anything ever penned by the masters.

I just returned from a whirlwind business trip to New York: 24 hours of back-to-back meetings and appointments in the name of commerce, with just a few of those hours allotted for sleep.

I've probably traveled to Manhattan 15 times or so since I was a kid, and I can never get enough of the place. As a first-time visitor at the age of 8, I sensed the city's intensity and frenetic speed. Later, in my 20s and beyond, I set out to explore Manhattan's unique neighborhoods, its bars and bookstores, the dark and foreboding subways, the ubiquitous musical and literary history, the world's coolest skyscrapers.
 
This week's trip was all too brief and focused on work, although my colleagues and I did manage to squeeze in a couple of nice meals and a late-night excursion out of Midtown into the colorful world of Greenwich Village. The trouble with traveling to New York for business is that you're keenly aware of the limitless possibilities of the city, the extraordinary options for fun and excitement, yet are bound to the task at hand. Heading to the airport so soon after arriving, it's hard not to feel just a bit cheated.