I am always a little wistful for North Carolina, especially when it snows back home. As I tuned in to the wintry images on the Weather Channel and followed accumulation reports from Winston-Salem, some subconscious part of me was transported there, to my memories as a kid playing in the snow, to the thrill and strange freedom of being shut in by such an opulent act of God. There were moments when I had to remind myself where I actually was, palms rustling in the backyard and temps in the low 70s. “Oh Paul, it’s the prettiest snow we’ve ever had,” my mom told me over the phone. “I just wish you could see it.”

The first one we saw was tall and dark and, well, handsome. "His name is Thunder," we were told.

Over the course of an hour we met a dozen more dogs, with names like Angel, Mazie, Lulu, Oliver, Lady, Odie. Each of them was a greyhound, by the way, capable of taking off like a bullet and hitting 40 miles an hour or faster.

Funny thing is, they simply don't do that, even though they are bred to race. They prefer doing nothing at all. Some sleep 18 hours a day. "You see how friendly he is now?" one owner said. "Well, he'll be asleep in the car on the way home, and we don't live very far from here."

Like other folks gathered today at Ivanhoe Park Brewing Company in support of Greyhounds in Motion ($1 from every pour went to the cause), my family has been thinking about adopting one of these amazing animals, especially now that greyhound racing in Florida is coming to an end and thousands of these dogs will need homes. "They're so cool, and they're so sweet," my wife said. And that's exactly right. They're gentle, loving creatures, striking and statuesque, with regal snouts and legs for days and not an ounce of fat anywhere.

Once the initial hubbub of today's event wore off, you could see the hounds relaxing, tuning out, some lying down, closing their eyes and drifting off. "Greyhounds are total couch potatoes," I heard someone say.

Good thing we learned the place was haunted after we returned home. “I knew something was creepy about that hotel,” my son says.

True, the kids had expressed mild concern over a closet door opening by itself in our room on the afternoon of our arrival at the Colony Hotel. “And I heard a sound in the middle of the night like somebody stepping really hard in the hallway,” my daughter remembers.

“Come on, that was just somebody walking back to their room,” her brother says, looking slightly less than convinced.

Built in 1926, the historic Colony Hotel in downtown Delray Beach, Florida, is a wonderful place to spend a long Labor Day weekend. Creaky hardwood floors and antique light fixtures and old photographs of the property and of long-gone guests lining the walls. Never once did it cross my mind that it might be haunted, nor have I ever believed in things being haunted in the first place. That’s ridiculous.

But now that we’ve read some online chatter about apparitions and unexplained sounds and sightings at the Colony, I’m not so sure. Maybe I just want to believe. Pondering the possibility quickens the pulse and seems to heighten the senses. It’s a strangely appealing buzz.

Not so for my daughter. “That’s the last time you make me stay in some scary old hotel,” she says.

Today our lovable little Lucy becomes a teenager. She's been looking forward to this milestone with great anticipation, though if you ask me, this sassy thing has been acting like a teen since the day she climbed out of her crib.

I often tell her, "My life would be a gazillion times less interesting without you in it," and that's a fact. She is smart, funny, talented, beautiful and tough. She fills our days with sunshine and, as you might suspect, a fair bit of drama. Sweetheart, we adore you more than you could ever imagine.​

How do you measure the love and influence and impact of a great mom?

You can go back decades and try to count the times she fed you and clothed you and got you to the bus stop with seconds to spare, or simply withstood your ear-splitting music, or talked you off the ledge when a girlfriend called it quits.

You can think of how many years have intervened now and how she's still at it, mothering like a pro, shining a spotlight on the future and giving a heave-ho to all the nonsense that holds us back.
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I guess you measure a mom in smiles. And cozy feelings in your heart. And the way she insists on you and your own family always being happy and well.
Happy Mother's Day to my very special mom. Love you and talk to you soon.

Today I was lucky enough to cross paths with the inimitable Phyllis Dunning. As my English teacher at R.J. Reynolds High School, Mrs. Dunning singlehandedly imparted to my teenaged brain a deep appreciation of all things literary and poetic, a condition that continues to shape my work and personal pursuits and quite frankly my entire outlook. Not an exaggeration. So wonderful to see you, Mrs. Dunning, and to have the opportunity to thank you for a lifetime of inspiration!