During the two weeks each summer that I was stationed at Nana Summer Camp, an afternoon trip to Woodlawn Cemetery was always in the works. We'd grab the stale bread bag, Grampa and head out on a short drive to the cemetery and pond. Like in this photo, the invading ducks could be quite aggressive, but luckily hiding behind my grandmother's old lady dress was a good refuge. My grandfather has been gone an amazing 53 years this past summer. I still remember walking into the living room on Stevens Avenue and seeing my Mom, grandmother and aunts all in tears. Probably, the first bit of information that I ever received in my life that I just couldn't process. It was my first brush with death. I think of that man often. Mostly, when I see scenes like this.